October Baseball

Even during the period in the late 90s and early 00s when I didn't really follow baseball as much, I always watched the playoffs. I've seen some amazing things in October, but something tells me this October is going to be particularly memorable.

Both League Championship Series are shaping up to potantially be epic. The Texas Rangers offence which shredded the pitching of the Tampa Bay Rays could very well tee off against the Yankees struggling rotation. Of course the Yankees aren't slouches either when it comes to scoring runs, so it cold be the Rangers pitching that gets teed off on. Regardless, I have a feeling most games of this series will be, in typical American League fashion, a slug fest. It's also worth noting this is the first League Championship Series ever for the Texas Rangers franchise. While I am intrigued, it is the National League Championship Series I hope not to miss a minute of.

I believe this year's NLCS could easily go down as one of the greatest of all time. Look no further than the Game 1 pitching matchup, Roy Halladay and Tim Lincecum, arguably the two best pitchers in the game going head to head; Halladay fresh off a no-hitter and Lincecum fresh off a dominating victory in which he struck out 14 and allowed only two hits. I can't for the life of me remember a watching a pitching matchup that comes even close to this in the post-season. Suffice to say, expect a low scoring affair.

And that's only Game 1.

It doesn't drop off much going forward, with Roy Oswalt and Cole Hamels next in line for the Phillies and Matt Cain and Jonathan Sanchez waiting for the Giants. When Oswalt is on, he can dominate and Hamels' postseason resume speaks for itself. Cain and Sanchez may not have the experience, but they are a big reason the Giants are where they are. And the possible matchup of Joe Blanton and Madison Bumgarner in Game 4 isn't anything to sneeze at either.

The Phillies may have an edge in experience but the Giants easy dispatch of the Atlanta Braves in the NLDS leads me to believe that they will not lie down for the Phillies. It is going to be epic.

As a former pitcher, it goes without saying that this is the series I've been waiting for. I was rooting for the Giants to win Game 4 of the NLDS purely so I could see the matchup of Halladay vs. Lincecum. To see these two pitch against each other is going to be something special. I can feel it. Their contrasting styles of pitching, Halladay the ground ball pitcher and Lincecum the fireballing strikeout artist, it will be a battle of finesse vs. power, I suspect it will be a battle I will not want to end. And while I want to see Halladay and the Phillies win, I suspect the only disappointing outcome will be if one of these pitchers gets roughed up and the battle between them becomes moot.

But I'm confident that won't happen. These two guys are just that good.

I hope the Yankees and Rangers provide for an interesting game tonight. It might just be enough to hold me over until tomorrow when the real matchup starts. Suffice to say, I am not under any circumstances missing that game. Go Phils.

-matt

The State of Pro Sports

I don't know why exactly, whether it's because I've become older or simply more focused on my own sporting activities or increasingly disillusioned by the business side, but I've become less and less interested in pro sports. Where I could sit for hours discussing current events in the pro sports world years ago, I now find myself bored when that subjects enters the conversation. Yes, I still follow baseball and hockey religiously depending on the time of year, it just doesn't interest me te way it used to. When I get locked into one of those conversations, I want to talk about almost anything else.

I think more than anything, it's the business side that causes me to lose interest. Watching three of the five best basketball players in the world all sign with the same team has basically killed any remaining interest I have in the NBA. Watching the Yankees and Red Sox spend their ways to AL East titles year after year makes it difficult to justify spending time watching the Jays when they realistically have no chance of making the playoffs. And when the Chicago Blackhawks assemble a championship team that was exciting to watch and win the Stanley Cup only to have to dismantle it in order to get under the salary cap is disappointing.

On top of it all, the fact remains that I would rather be out playing the sports that I love than sitting and watching others do it. I have always maintained that if I could, I would play baseball every night for the entire summer and hockey every night of the winter. And I long for the days when I would go shag fly balls every day after work with the boys and skate on the pond every night after school.

But those days are long gone.

People don't fully understand why I get so intense when I'm out playing C division slopitch or rec league hockey, but I think that's it. Two, maybe three times a week I get to do the one thing I want to do every day.

So maybe it's just jealousy that I don't care as much for pro sports anymore.

-matt

The Slump and the Home Run

Even though I look at the numbers and they aren't very bad, I am in a slump at the plate. Aside from my big 4-for-4 game including my first career home run and being a double away from the cycle, I have not been hitting well for about a month. I'm getting on base by pure luck: misjudged fly balls, bad hops on the infield.

It generally happens sometime in the middle of the season every year for me. I start the season well, cool off, then finish the year okay. It's easy to forget and easy to shrug it off when the rest of the team is hitting well and we're winning games, but when it seems no one can hit anything and we lose are the times it's tough to deal with the slump.

To be quite frank, I feel responsible when we lose those kinds of games because I hold myself to such high standards. I know baseball is a team sport and I know it's pretty hard for one person to lose a baseball game, yet that feeling remains sometimes. And I hate it.

Whenever this happens, I' m never quite sure how to break out of it. One game it will just happen. A couple of solid hits and maybe a lucky one and before I know it, 3-for-4 or 4-for-5. Then another game like that, and the slump is over.


I'd feel remiss and I think my handful of readers would be somewhat disappointed if I didn't recount my first dinger, and quite frankly I'm surprised it's taken this long for me to do this.

The sun was starting to go down as we got ready for the 8:30 start. I stepped in to lead off as I often do, digging my right cleat into the dirt on the right side batter's box. The first pitch sailed in almost right down the middle and I took it for a strike. The second pitch looked outside but hit the back corner of the mat. Shit, 0-2. Not good.

"If it's anywhere close, just hit it hard and get it in play." I quickly thought to myself. The third pitch was right down the middle like the first, and I swung away. Off the bat I knew I got good wood on it, but not even for a split second did I think I had hit it out. I took off out of the batter's box as fast as I could, and as I went from first to second I could see the two outfielders both running towards center field, but I had no idea where the ball was.

As I rounded second, that's when I knew. I heard the guys from the third base dugout yelling "it's gone!" and noticed both fielders pull up. I was halfway to third by the time I was into the home run trot.

My immediate thought was "what a waste." Because of the home run rules in our league, it's much more advantageous to hit home runs with runners on base. For that reason I would never intentionally lead off a game with a home run. I actually felt bad, but everyone seemed to enjoy it, so I let it go.

I went on that game to hit a single followed by a triple down the right field line. As I stood on third after that one I got the inevitable jeers of "double for the cycle!" and I'm certain if our less than fleet afoot catcher wasn't on first ahead of me for my last at bat, I probably would have had it. But I didn't really care. Home runs. Cycles. I'm not about either of those things.

-matt

I Am A Thief

On July 1, 2006, Gary Matthews Jr., then of the Texas Rangers made what I would describe as the best home run stealing catch I have ever seen. He ran the ball down, jumped, then jumped off the wall to catch the ball that was destined for the bullpen.

And of course I will never forget watching Reed Johnson tracking down a towering fly ball off the bat of Prince Fielder last year, timing the jump and taking away a grand slam.

As an outfielder, that's the play I've always dreamed of. For as long as I've played in the field, I've always wanted to take away a home run. Sure diving and sliding catches are nice, but you get chances at those kinds of plays at least two or three times a year and even more in practice. I still love making them, but taking away the home run is the holy grail of catches.

It's the holy grail of catches because the opportunity is so rare, and making it is even more rare. In my entire life of playing baseball, I've had maybe one legitimate chance to take one away, and I didn't make the catch. Everything has to be right; the spot it's hit to, the height of the ball as it goes over the fence, your positioning, getting to the spot, finding the fence, the wind not getting it, timing the jump. After all this time, I have been convinced that taking away a home run is something I might be able to do once in my entire lifetime.

Last night, I did it.

After our third baseman turned a brilliant double play with the bases loaded, there were runners on first and second with two out. Right off the bat I knew the ball was going deep. I ran to the spot where it was coming down, two steps in front of the fence and looked up again to find it. I found it and could tell it was gonna be tight. Two more steps back and I could feel the fence with my throwing hand. As the ball came down I knew I'd have to leap to get it. I jumped, I reached up, and watched the ball into my glove and as I did I noticed my glove was about a foot and a half above the black piping on the top of the fence. As I hit the ground I held the ball up over my head in my glove for the umpire to see.

It wasn't until one of the other outfielders came over and mauled me that I realized what I had done. It happened so fast and without any conscious thought that I didn't really process what had happened until that moment; when the black piping and my arm above it registered in my mind. I had just taken away a home run.

As I jogged into the dugout, one of my teammates yelled "is that a smile I see on your face?" Yes, it was. I couldn't help myself. I could have gone 0-for-10 that game and I wouldn't have cared (as it was I went 0-for-4); that ball hit to the right center field gap that I probably should have caught was immediately forgotten. Nothing else I could have done in that game mattered.

After the game I told one of my teammates that I had a strange feeling I would take away a home run in that game. The truth is I convince myself that I will do something spectacular in the field before every game. It's very rare that I do anything spectacular, maybe once or twice a season, but going into every game ready to do something spectacular is a big reason why I think I'm able to make those kinds of plays from time to time. I really do feel that visualizing, seeing myself dive or jump or slide, makes a difference.

So there it is folks, probably the best catch I'll ever make.

-matt

Four More Days

Well it's almost time. Just four more days until baseball season starts. It's about time.

The gap between the end of hockey season and the beginning of baseball season is often easily bearable. April and May generally tends to get lost in the rain and clouds and playoff hockey. This year was different. This year we were out hitting balls in March which I don't think I have ever done before in my life. The weather was good; it was warm and sunny more often then not. It screamed for baseball, and yet I was forced to wait.

Two weeks ago when I was finally to get a taste of game action in Orillia for a tournament, it poured rain and the temperature actually dipped below freezing. As I stated in my facebook status, some summer sports are fun in the cold and the snow ... baseball is not one of them. Suffice to say, I was not very happy with that.

Two weeks and a few practices later, it's now almost time. One last practice Sunday, first game Tuesday, 8:30. Four days, one long weekend away. I'm not sure when it actually hit me just how close it is. Maybe when the schedule was emailed out the other day, maybe when I wrote in on the calendar, or maybe when I counted the days. But I must say I'm pretty excited.

Now if only I knew what position I'll actually be playing ...

-matt

Big Win ... Perhaps More for the Habs?

I don't like making predictions when it comes to sports. Quite frankly, I don't have much faith in my ability to predict the future as evidenced by the fact that virtually every prediction I have ever made has been wrong. I distinctly remember saying to a good friend after Game 2 of the cup finals last year that "Pittsburgh is fucked". Sure enough, the Penguins came back and won it in seven games.

I'll admit it bugs me when people ask me who I think will win or who will score the first goal etc. because I will probably be wrong, and really, I don't care, I just want to enjoy the game. For the same reason I shy away from fantasy leagues and pools. I'm terrible at them and I don't care, I just want to enjoy the game(s). So when people ask me those kinds of questions, I come up with the most outlandish answers I can. Like the other day during the Penguins/Senators game when a friend asked me who I thought would score first, I responded without hesitation: "Marc-Andre Fleury". Needless to say, I was wrong about that one.

Even though it's only the end of the first round, I am going to make one, not because my extensive knowledge of the game tells me it is the most likely outcome, but because I'm getting a vibe, a vibe I have felt before while watching a team in the post-season.

I watched, with great interest, the Habs/Capitals series, not because I'm a fan of either team, but because I cannot stand the antics of Alexander Ovechkin and would have liked nothing more then to see him and the Capitals ousted in the first round. It wasn't looking good early on, but Canadiens goaltender Jaroslav Halak almost singlehandedly turned the series and just minutes ago delivered a Game 7 victory (happy early birthday to me, right?).

Even though it's early, there is a feeling that Montreal could be this years Cinderella story. Much like the Flames of 2004 and especially the Oilers of 2006, I'm getting this feeling that the Canadiens, after barely squeaking into the playoffs, may just surprise a lot of people and ride Halak deep into the playoffs much like Calgary rode Miikka Kiprusoff and Edmonton rode Dwayne Roloson all the way to the Cup Finals.

Other things are going Montreal's way aside from the hot goaltender. Defensemen Hal Gill and Josh Gorges are playing out of their minds shutting down the other teams offense. They are finding a way to get that first goal of the game. And when it's all said and done, they found a way to win not once, but twice when facing elimination against the most potent offensive team in the NHL.

So now that I've made that bold prediction, it's very likely the Canadiens will be swept by the Pittsburgh Penguins. Sorry Habs fans.

-matt

The Long Ball

I am not a power hitter. And I probably never will be one. My game is to get on base and wreak havoc on the basepaths. I get a ton of hits, a few walks, and in the past three seasons of slo-pitch I have hit exactly zero home runs. And really at the end of the day (or ultimately, the end of the season), I'm fine with that.

That said, I have always wanted to hit one, just one, out of the park. I want to experience that feeling, even though I would probably shrug it off as no big deal as I do whenever I do anything spectacular on the ball field.

Yesterday at batting practice, I hit not one, but two balls out of Centennial Field. I freely admit that the first was helped by the wind blowing straight out to left field, but the second was described by my teammates as "a bomb". Right off the bat, I could tell it was gone.

Batting practice is one thing, when your own pitcher is lobbing in mozza balls, but it's nice to know that if I get the right pitch in game that I can take it out of the park. Maybe with a little luck (or a lot of wind), I'll be able to go into the home run trot I've been practicing all this time.

-matt

Street Hockey

Read this article today:

http://www.thepassinglane.ca/2010/04/rcmp-called-in-to-break-up-street-hockey-game.html

I have only one word: pathetic. Who in the hell calls the cops to break up a street hockey game?

So much is made about kids spending too much time in front of the television playing video games or watching TV. Not getting enough exercise. Being overweight. Not socializing enough. And then you see something like this. A group of neighbourhood kids addressing all four of those problems and what happens? A disgruntled neighbour calls the cops.

I agree 100% with some of the comments in this article saying that the RCMP officer should have manned up to whoever called in the complaint. Police officer these days have much more important things to do than to respond to complaints about kids playing street hockey, unless of course the kids are obstructing traffic or causing a problem. But 99% of the time, whenever the "CAR!" cry is yelled, the nets and all participants are off the street in about five seconds.

This takes me back to about 1990, when I was at that age where the afternoon street hockey games were everything; when every Saturday afternoon my friend across the street and I would knock on every neighbourhood kid's door whose name we knew, and called up every school friend we could to get a game going. Then we would gather on Sundial Drive in front of my house and play until it was either too dark to see the ball or until everyone got called inside by their parents.

This happened almost every Saturday until I was about 14 or 15 and all the kids moved away and I started high school (interestingly, this was also when I got fat; coincidence? I think not). Even when my friend's older brothers, the self-proclaimed trouble makers in the neighourhood, played, nothing malicious was ever done to the neighbours or their property and cars never had a problem getting past us. In all the years we played, I can't remember a single window, or anything else getting broken, and getting nothing but smiles and thumbs up from people as they passed us.

Even though my enthusiasm for street hockey has waned over the years, I would never even for a split second think of getting in the way of kids playing street hockey and having fun. Some of my fondest childhood memories come from those games on Sundial Drive, and I hope my kids will have the same experience growing up that I did.

This is what growing up in Canada is all about. Playing street hockey with the neighbourhood kids. My Canada includes street hockey.

-matt

Favourite Time of Year

As the stress of the end of school slowly melts away as one thing after another get crossed off my to do list, I've found myself in the thick of my favourite time of year.

The MLB season started a week and a half ago, and the NHL playoffs started yesterday. This leaves no shortage of either to watch and when I'm really bored ... well that's what the NBA playoffs are for. And if that's not relaxing enough, the month of April represents the lull between hockey and baseball. The lull when my body is no longer taking a pounding and I can actually sit back and relax without any lagging pain.

The little physical activity I tend to undertake at this time of year consists of riding my bike, my light workout I do after hockey season is done, and hitting balls with the boys on a sunny afternoon. Not quite the same as stopping pucks three times a week.

With only my honours thesis now on the do to list, it will not be long before I can fully immerse myself the excitement.

-matt

Mark Buehrle

This is the reason I love baseball:

http://mlb.mlb.com/video/play.jsp?affiliateId=CommentWidget&affiliateId=facebook_share&content_id=7282679

It is the most unpredictable game there is.

No wonder he won a gold glove last year.

-matt

Spring Chaos and Spring Training

After five long, at times painful years (be it physical or mental pain), my undergraduate experience at Nipissing University is slowly drawing to a close. Yesterday was my last class, April 8th will be my last exam, and whenever I finish my thesis, I will be officially done.

No matter the year, springtime always brings about inevitable chaos to university students. Assignments, essays, exams, summer jobs, and in my case, figuring out what the hell I'm going to do with myself after I'm finished, it can be a very chaotic time.

During these times, I enjoy hanging out at the rink or spending time on the ball field that much more. During that hour on the ice or out on the field hitting balls I can leave the chaos behind and focus on one thing for a bit.

Spring training commenced yesterday as a few friends and I went to the ball field to engage in the age old baseball tradition of "hitting balls". One guy pitches, one guy hits, everyone else left shags fly balls. As a rec ball player, this is probably as close to spring training as it gets.

I mentioned in a previous entry that I was looking forward to trading my goalie stick and blocker for a baseball bat and first baseman's mitt (although, in light of my previous entry, perhaps I'm slightly less excited about that exchange). When I stood in the batter's box yesterday and later shagged fly balls, I couldn't wait for the season to start. It's almost unfair, especially with the beautiful weather of late, that baseball season is actually almost two months away.

At the same time though, I need to get my baseball muscles going again. No better way than hitting balls.

-matt

New Gear

Goaltenders are a lot like children in many ways.

When things don't go the way we want them to, we sometimes throw tantrums. I distinctly remember several years ago allowing a bad goal in one of the few games I have actually played in front of people. In a fit of rage, I smashed my stick off the far goal post, breaking it clean in half. Oops.

When it comes time for new gear, it is like Christmas. Such was the case today.

As much as I like the CCM Blockades, it was time to put them on the shelf (my catching glove is not far behind). With a very generous income tax cheque in hand, I marched to the hockey shop up the street and came home with these:
One pair of white and blue RBK 8Ks. Beautiful. They will take some getting used to, but I like them already. They will be going on their maiden voyage Wednesday, unfortunately for me the last skate of the season. I lucked out huge, discount price, colours I like (the old Justin Pogge scheme) and the right size.

I think the equipment is part of the allure of the goaltender position. I have to admit that the equipment was part of the reason I was drawn to goaltending. It's unique, it can be flashy and colourful and is yet another way the goaltender is separate from their teammates. The strange fascination goes beyond that for me, I can tell you what kind of pads or gloves almost every NHL goaltender is using. It's a sickness, I know, but I have it in the worst way.

Don't ask me to explain, I don't know how to. Nor can I explain why I feel the need to wear my new pads as I'm typing this. Oh wait, I know, I'm "breaking them in". Nevertheless, typing with these things on is not easy.

-matt

Time to Get Away

One big difference between pro and rec sports is that rec athletes often know the exact day that their season is over. Especially for hockey players such as myself who generally only play shinny a few times a week, our seasons begin and end at almost the exact same time every single season. I knew in September that March 31 would be the last skate of the season. And three weeks from Wednesday, hockey will be done.

In my last blog I mentioned the strange feeling I get when the realization that the season is almost over sets in. This year for some reason, the relief seems to be the dominant feeling.

It’s been a strange season. At times I’ve felt on top of the world and at others I’ve felt like I couldn’t stop a beach ball. I think it’s the inconsistency that has plagued me all season that has left me frustrated more than anything else. Strangely, it seems to coincide with what has been happening to me off the ice.

Hockey is the one time in the week when everything else that is happening is no longer relevant. During that hour, the only thing that matters, the only thing on my mind, is stopping that puck. It isn’t as though I’m thinking of other things while the puck is coming at me, but for whatever reason when things aren’t going so well, that seems to have translated to a degree on the ice.

For that reason, I suppose I’m somewhat relieved that hockey is winding down since it leaves me with one less thing to worry about.

Even someone like me who would, and has, dropped everything just to play needs time away. I feel that time coming just as I do every year, and even though I would be content to play all year every year, I welcome the time away. As hard as it is to believe, I’m not getting any younger and it seems every year I get banged up just a little bit more than the year before and need that month or two before baseball just a little bit more each year.

On top of that, this is my last semester of undergrad which means this will be my last summer in North Bay, at least for a while. I want it to get here soon so I can enjoy it before moving on to whatever life deals me next.

So forgive me when I say that I hope March 31 comes sooner rather than later.

-matt

The Legend of Bobby Lou

When Roberto Luongo first entered the league, I didn't really like him. Perhaps it was because he was overhyped, perhaps it is because once he settled into the league, he was playing for my best friend's favourite team, I'm not really sure. As the years went by and the Panthers continued to toil in mediocirty despite Luongo's stellar goaltending, I grew to at least respect the fact that he was one of the best goalies in the world.

Once he was traded to Vancouver and I actually got to see him play on a regular basis, I grew to not only respect him, but to like his game. While technically sound, he wasn't the robot goalie I thought he was. When he needed to, he could make the acrobatic saves.

As time has gone on, hockey analysts have questioned his ability to win the big game. He never got Florida into the playoffs, and has never gotten the Canucks past the second round. In approximately four hours, we will find out just how clutch he is.

The legend of Roberto Luongo will be written tonight.

At 30 years of age, this is the time for Roberto Luongo. In what could be the biggest game of his career, a quarter final tilt against Canada's arch nemesis, this will be game that determines whether Luongo will be remembered as a hero or a choke artist. With the proverbial torch having been passed with Marty Brodeur sitting out the must-win game against Germany, it is now Luongo's crease.

I can't imagine the pressure he, or any other member of Team Canada, is feeling right now. None of us can. No matter how big a stage any of us average joe's ever find ourselves on in our lives cannot compare to what these guys are feeling right now. The thought of playing an intermural hockey game or a slopitch game in front of a hand full of fans is nerve racking enough for me. If you were to put me on the ice with not only all of Canada, but the entire hockey world, watching, I imagine I would probably pass out. It really amazes me just what these guys can do under that kind of pressure.

I will watch tonight with interest, and watch the legend of Bobby Lou unfold.

-matt

Change of Season

The winter has seemed a bit warmer than usual this year. Even though North Bay suffered through its traditional week of -35 degree weather, it has been much warmer than some of the others I have experienced. And as the temperatures inch slowly but steadily to zero, the snow begins to melt, the sidewalks turn to slush, and the smell of baseball begins to edge its way into my consciousness.

Often in early March, when my hips and knees start to tell me in their subtle way that they’ve had enough goaltending for one season, the weather turns warm and the number of skates left in the hockey season whittles down to single digits. I get a strange feeling at this time of year, a curious mix of relief, disappointment, and excitement. Relief that I can rest my knees and hips that take a pounding every winter dropping to the ice to make butterfly saves and getting up only to do it again ten seconds later. Disappointment that hockey season is winding down and is merely weeks away from being over. Excitement that baseball season is just around the corner.

This feeling has asserted itself early, coinciding with the warmer weather. There’s at least six weeks of hockey left, and yet the weather makes me feel as though I should be trading in my goalie stick and catching glove for a baseball bat and first baseman’s mitt any time now. Lately when I’ve picked up the baseball that I always have sitting on my desk and toss it in the air, I can't help but think that baseball season is just around the corner. But it isn’t.

It’s true that I love playing hockey more than anything, but I’ve played baseball longer than any sport I’ve ever taken up. For that reason, it will always be something that I look forward to. It is the ultimate summer sport, where most of the time you are either standing around in the field or on the base paths or sitting in the dugout. It’s no surprise that I, a goaltender, would be naturally drawn to baseball because, much like goaltending, baseball is a game played as much in your head as it is on the field.

Baseball is all about instinct. That instinct comes from experience. My baseball instincts are what make me a decent ball player. Sure being in good shape and being able to hit and catch and throw helps, but having the kind of honed instincts that can only come from years of playing baseball makes you that much better.

Knowing what base to throw the ball to before it gets to you, or even before the pitch is thrown; knowing the score and the situation and reacting the right way; knowing when to go for the extra base and knowing when to play it safe. I don’t have to think about these kinds of things anymore because I’ve played baseball for so long.

Last year I played for my third team in the past three seasons. Even though most of these guys I knew from hockey, it still took some time to get used to my new teammates and find my place. The plan is to play for the sporting store again, and I must say I’m looking forward to it. We were a competitive team that finished high in the standings, a farcry from the 0-26 season I endured the year before. We made it to the semi-finals and all things considered had a pretty good year.

I’m looking forward to doing it all over again.

-matt

Intensity

People often ask me if I actually have fun when I compete. A friend of mine who watched a lot of my baseball games last summer would always tell me that I looked so intense and focused that she couldn't imagine I was having any fun. I found this strange because there is nothing I would rather be doing.

Then I see the pictures. I always look angry; I always look like I'm ready to rip someone's head off. I can understand how someone might get the impression that I'm not having any fun. I present my current facebook picture as Exhibit A:
Yikes.

I was infamous in high school for that look when I played drums in band. Not even a conscious effort could remove it from my face. It became expected, and every time we would watch video of a past concert, everyone would wait for the camera to turn towards me and wait for the "matt is angry" face.

What it boils down to is this: I'm a very intense person. I take a lot of things very seriously; competing in sports is one of them. Over the years I've learned to harness this intensity, but that scowl on my face still remains. It extends beyond competing. As I mentioned, every time I sat behind a drum kit and played in front of people, that scowl reared its ugly face. Even sometimes when I'm in class or studying, people have commented that I never look like I'm enjoying myself much.

I suppose it's a bit strange, but I am a goaltender afterall.

-matt

Just Another Sunday

I don’t like to use the word hate, but in the interest of accuracy I’m going to in this case.

I hate football.

I have not watched a football game on TV from start to finish since I was … I dunno … 12 years old? It has been a long time and to be perfectly honest I don’t feel like I’m missing out on anything. Maybe it’s the 10 seconds of action followed by a 30 second huddle that turns me off; maybe it’s the borderline unhealthy obsession most football fans have with their team.

I think it has more to do with that fact that, as I always say, football is too American for me. People always ask me what I mean by that, and I don’t really have a good answer. It was a game born in the United States and spread to Canada and is the most popular sport in North America. But only in North America. Hockey has spread to Europe, baseball to Japan and the Caribbean, and basketball is probably the most global sport outside of soccer. But not football. For some reason, that bothers me, that the all-American sport has invaded Canadian culture, but no one elses. I suspect that is because the older, and in my opinion the superior, sport of rugby already exists. It's yet another example of how dominant American influences are in Canadian culture, and it bugs me.

Today is apparently the Super Bowl, the be all, end all of football. Thank God.

I’m not even entirely sure what two teams are playing, and I really don’t care. What bothers me about the Super Bowl is the millions of people who don’t give a rat’s ass about football, but all of a sudden on Super Bowl Sunday are die-hard fans of one of the two teams involved. Hypocrisy at its worst. And people wonder why I don’t go to Super Bowl parties. Why would I sit through 3 hours of agonizing television that I have no interest in just to have a few beers with my friends? And that’s just the pre-game show.

So while all you die-hards of varying degrees are out cheering on your new favourite teams, I’ll be doing the same thing I generally do during Super Bowl Sunday: homework, study, watch a movie, or maybe even play some hockey. Just another Sunday evening for me.

-matt

The Big Trade

The salary cap era of the NHL has killed the excitement of the big trade simply because the big trade is so rare, and the timing of the big trades that do happen has become so predictable. There’s usually one or two at the trade deadline, one or two at the draft, and maybe one more just before the season starts.

So you can imagine the shock when my best friend, now a writer at the Hockey News, left me a voicemail yesterday at about 11:30 that said “Dion Phaneuf is now a Leaf”. My favourite player on my favourite team had been traded to Toronto. It’s a feeling that had become almost completely lost on me and quickly remembered in that moment.

But that wasn’t all. After getting home and firing up my computer to check things out online and get the details of the trade, my friend sent me another message: “Giguere is next”. What? How can that be? They are going to pull not one, but TWO huge trades in one day? Within hours of each other? Amazing. Sure enough, it was announced that Jean-Sebastien Giguere was also a Maple Leaf.

I don’t want to comment on the trades themselves, but rather the feeling you get when your team, or any team for that matter, pulls off a big trade completely out of nowhere. Brian Burke was right when he said in the news conference that these trades are good for the game and that it’s a shame they don’t happen more often in the salary cap world. It creates interest and creates excitement.

Sure there are still big trades, but like I said, they are predictable in their timing and the feeling isn’t the same as when they come mid-season completely out of the blue. You go into the trade deadline knowing there will be one or two big trades, and often you know exactly who the big name at the center of them will be before they happen. The only question is where will those players be going. You know going into the draft there will probably be a significant trade at some point. And it seems every off-season there is a disgruntled player who asks to be traded and ends up being moved sometime during the summer.

Yesterday was an exciting day. Let’s hope that in the future, two GMs are willing to roll the dice mid-season the way Brian Burke and Darryl Sutter did.

-matt

Trade Demands

It always bothers me when players ask to be traded, like Jamal Mayers and Garnet Exelby of the Toronto Maple Leafs have. I’m not quite sure why. It isn’t always brought on because a team is losing, but no matter the reason, it bothers me when I hear of it happening.

Maybe it is because of the perception that the player in question is giving up on the team, something I never have, and I hope I never will do. Even when I played on a baseball team that went 0-26 a few years ago, I still showed up and still played as hard as I always do.

Maybe it’s the fact that these guys are paid obscene amounts of money to play a game for a living that I literally have to pay money in order to play recreationally. One of my lab instructors always used to say “money can’t buy happiness, but it can buy the gas to go find it”. You aren’t happy with where you play? I say deal with it. Even the seventh defenseman and the backup goalie make hundreds of thousands of dollars. Give me a break.

Maybe it’s because an unhappy player is often not a productive player. If they don’t want to play for the team they are on, are they really giving everything they’ve got? I’m not saying it happens all the time, but you will never convince me that every player who has asked for a trade is giving 100%.

Maybe it’s the perceived whinyness that goes with a trade request. One thing I can’t stand in sports, professional or recreational, is people who constantly bitch and whine about everything. Whether to teammates or to referees and umpires, I cannot stand it. Exhibit A: Dwayne Roloson. I can’t stand watching Roloson play. Every stoppage he’s working the refs; every time an opposing player comes with a foot of the blue ice, Roloson screams for a penalty. It bugs me.

Maybe it’s the fact that a player who publicly asks for a trade immediately devalues himself. It’s virtually impossible for a general manager to get full value for a player in a trade because they have to get rid of the player. The other general managers know this, and often take advantage of it.

I guess it is all of those things. Maybe that is why it bothers me so much.

-matt

Another Black Eye

Here we go again. The game of hockey has just been dealt another black eye by one of its own.

Not three months after the vicious hit dealt by Michael Liambis of the Erie Otters on Kitchener Rangers defenseman Ben Fanelli we again find another teenaged hockey player recovering from serious injuries as a result of another vicious hit to the head.

I’m sure we all have seen the video and while most people maintain that there was nothing wrong with the hit, I still believe Liambis deserved everything he got. Limabis skated as hard as he could from the blueline and struck Fanelli in the head with his elbow. He did not let up one bit, and that to me makes the hit dirty. To me it does not matter that Fanelli’s helmet flew off, the hit was unnecessary and Liambis got what he deserved. He was an overager and a fourth line goon who crossed the line.

And if that wasn’t bad enough, he was suspended again by the International Hockey League, which he joined as a member of the Bloomington PrairieThunder, for another hit from behind just two months later. Amazingly, he still hasn’t heard his lesson.

So here we find ourselves again. This time the culprit is Rouyn-Noranda forward Patrice Cormier, the captain of Team Canada at the World Junior Championships. We’ve all seen the video, and it was not pretty. After a line change, Cormier took a b-line for Mikael Tam of the Quebec Remparts during overtime and struck him in the head with his elbow. It was eerily similar to Cormier’s elbow on Swedish forward Anton Rodin during an exhibition game between Canada and Sweden.

You can argue that Liambis’ hit was in the heat of competition and that things happen so fast that he had no time to react, but that certainly is not the case in either incidents involving Cormier. Both seemed premeditated and he showed little or no remorse in both cases.

This calls into question what we are teaching these kids when they are growing up. Too much is made of “the big hit” these days. The body check is intended to knock an opponent off the puck, not put them in hospital. With all the hooking and holding taken out of the game at every level, the game has become faster and more dangerous even without all the headhunters roving the ice, waiting for their next victim with their head down.

I don’t know what the answer is. Do we take out headshots? Okay, that’s good and dandy, but what happens when Zdeno Chara tries to take Martin St. Louis off the puck? Do we take out body checking altogether? Might as well throw a soccer ball on the ice.

I feel like the changes need to come from the grassroots level. We need to teach respect; we need to teach kids that hockey is a dangerous sport at the best of times, and that trying to hurt other players is not acceptable because of what has happened to Ben Fanelli and Mikael Tam. Further, we have to punish those that refuse to show their opponent any respect as CHL commissioner David Branch has done with Liambis and as I expect he will with Cormier.

It’s like my political science professor always said to us: “Why do people obey the law? Because they are afraid of the consequences.” If the consequences are severe enough, if they risk their playing careers for “the big hit”, perhaps then players will play hockey the way it was meant to.

-matt

Stop the Madness

Enough already. It’s about time the NHL put a stop to the third jersey madness that has swept the league. In the past two years, more harm than good has come from NHL teams releasing horrendous third jersey after horrendous third jersey.

From the laughable Sens and Bolts jerseys of last year to the latest baby blue incarnations of the Panthers and Avalanche, it’s time to give it up. We’ve heard a million times how bad the Canucks “V” jersey of the 80s was or the Islanders’ Captain Highliner jersey of the mid-90s, but at least those jerseys kept the team’s colours rather than delving into something completely different.

It’s bad enough that Reebok forced every team to redesign their jerseys when they went to the Edge system after the lockout, but teams are taking it one step further by coming up with the worst designs and colour schemes imaginable

I have no problem with the throwback jerseys that the Islanders, Oilers and Flames are currently wearing as their third jerseys; those are classics that remind us why hockey has always had the best uniforms in all professional sports. But enough with the lame attempts at being cutting edge like the Thrashers, Stars, Panthers, Lightning, Senators, Avalanche, Kings, Predators … need I go on?

-matt

So Long Cujo

Today one of the true greats called it a career. Goaltender Curtis Joseph officially retired today.

Curtis Joseph was always one of my favourite goalies. Along with Ed Belfour and Mike Richter, he was one of my goaltending heroes growing up. Even during his time in St. Louis, I always enjoyed watching him play. He was a battler, a competitor. He never gave up on a puck. He relied on athleticism and reflexes rather than technique. It didn't matter what part of his body he used to stop the puck, only that some part of his body stopped it.

He was old school.

This style died in the 1990s, replaced over that decade by the butterfly style that almost every goaltender now employs. Curtis Joseph is one of the last of his kind. As youngster playing road hockey, I played a lot like Cujo. It wasn't until I was well into my teens that I began to incorporate the butterfly style, one that I now almost exclusively rely on. But there will always be that little bit of Curtis Joseph in me, the ability and willingness to make a sprawling save when necessary, saves that perhaps a more technical goaltender might not make. For that, I am grateful to number thirty-one.

With retirement comes the inevitable debate as to whether the player in question belongs in the Hockey Hall of Fame. If you ask me, there can be no debate in the case of Curtis Joseph. As far as I'm concerned, his ticket is punched, and it's merely a question of when rather than if.

I will start with statistics and get them out of the way. Over 18 seasons, Cujo compiled 454 wins (4th all-time behind only Martin Brodeur, Patrick Roy, and Ed Belfour; all sure fire Hall of Famers), 51 shutouts, a 2.79 goals against average, and a .906 save percentage in 943 games. The wins alone is impressive and when you consider the teams that Cujo played for, the goals against average and save percentage aren't too shabby either. The detractors have pointed to the fact that Cujo is tied with Gump Worsley for the most losses in NHL history with 352, but that speaks to Cujo's longevity and the quality of teams he played on and not his skill.

During the playoffs his numbers were even better, posting 16 shutouts, a 2.42 goals against average and .917 save percentage in 133 games. With numbers like that it's hard to believe that he never won a Stanley Cup. But then again, who knows how far the Red Wings would have gone in 2004 if they hadn't run into a Finnish netminder by the name of Miikka Kiprusoff (there is actually a story behind Game Six of this series which I will write about one of these days).

Let's ignore numbers for just a second, and get to what really made Cujo one of the game's greats. When you look at the teams he played for, it's a wonder he made the playoffs with regularity. What makes Cujo great is that he turned mediocre teams into good teams; teams that had no business being anywhere near the playoffs and single handedly putting them in. He even stole a few playoff series for good measure as Edmonton Oiler fans can attest to. If not for his heroics in 1999 and 2002, there is no way the Toronto Maple Leafs would have been one series away from ending their Stanley Cup drought.

All statistics and talent aside, there is no questioning the character and class of Curtis Joseph. Even a baseball writer would need an electron microscope to any kind of character flaw or classless act. He was one of those players that carried himself with nothing but class and gave generously to the communities in which he played.

And above all, he had one of the coolest masks ever. Enough with the debate already, put him in the Hall.

So long Cujo, the hockey world will miss you.

-matt

The Pond

There are a lot of things I miss about being a teenager. The feeling of waking up every morning and wondering what kind of trouble I'd get myself into (I still think this, but the word 'trouble' means something completely different when you're in your mid-20s than it does when you're 17); going about the day without a care in the world except getting my math homework done.

There is one thing that sticks out though, especially at this time of the year: the pond. Like many Canadians, I spent uncountable hours during my teenage years playing outdoor hockey. During high school I was lucky enough to have not one, but two good friends who had rinks in their backyard.

During those games, it didn't matter how good you were, what level you played at, or if you even played at all. If you had skates a stick, and a willingness to brave the cold, you were there. What mattered was that you were there and that you were there to play like everyone else.

We rarely kept score, it was more a war of attrition and the games would end only when the cold had claimed enough people that the game could no longer continue. Those of us that were left would go inside for hot chocolate, goad the people who left before us until they had no choice but to come back outside and we would do it all over again.

Outdoor hockey isn't the same anymore. It has become an excuse to get drunk in the middle of the day, or something to do on a holiday afternoon when there is nothing else to do. Back then, those games mattered. It was something we all looked forward to during the winter months that always came too late and always left too early. During those months, the weekend and Christmas holidays meant hockey on the pond.

During my first year of university, we played our last game on the pond. With my best friend's youngest brother leaving for school the next year, there would be no one at his house to build the rink. We knew this beforehand and gathered as many of our old friends as we could to play one last game on the pond.

We played as kids like we always had. Ten guys, two nets, and that one corner of the rink that would never freeze right. Just another night on the pond. For three or four hours, we played. Knowing this was our last chance, no one went inside. No matter how numb our toes were or how bad the ice got, we kept playing. When the teams were deemed unfair, we changed them; when we got bored of shooting at the same end, we switched; when the game got boring, we did a shootout. We played and played until sometime late in the night we realized it was over. Everyone had had their fill and now it was time to go inside.

Those are the times from my youth I will never forget, all those endless hours on the pond playing hockey. No amount of cold beer can duplicate the feeling I got playing on that homemade rink with the waist-high plywood around and the floodlights shining down from either end. Sure, I'll still drop everything to go play outdoor hockey and still enjoy myself, but it just isn't the same.

-matt

The Meaning of the Word Epic

epic - (n) a long, poem, book, or film about heroic events or actions - (adj) very impressive or ambitious

First, it was one of the most epic games of hockey I have ever seen in my life.

Second, I had a feeling before the game even started that this was where it would end. And even when Jordan Eberle decided that he was going to try to win it all by himself, I still had this feeling that the magic wasn't there; that Canada wasn't going to pull this one out as they had many times before.

The problem was that Canada had it too easy this year. Walking over Latvia, Switzerland, and Slovakia by a combined score of 30-2 only lulled this team into a false sense of security. On the New Years Eve matchup with real competition, it was clear that they were not up to par, winning the game in the last 10 minutes on sheer will. I wanted to believe they could make it six in a row, but in the back of my mind I knew it would end here.

That said, what a game. The third period was one of those rare 20 minutes that literally kept me on the edge of my seat, and when Eberle tied the game the roar I let loose was probably heard blocks away as I jumped up and high fived my friends. Even though the outcome was not what I and millions of other Canadians wanted, it was still one of the best games I have seen in the World Junior Hockey Championship.

It was a great run, initiated by the best team that Canada has ever sent to the WJHC and capped off by some of the most determined young hockey players I have ever seen. Even though it is over, I'm confident that another will begin as the next wave takes their turn at this tournament.

I give full marks to the US. They were the better team as evidenced by the fact that they outplayed Canada in essentially 100 of the 120+ minutes that the two sides faced off against each other. They were more skilled, faster, and in the end, got the clutch goaltending that they needed. More importantly, when the fierce Canadian charge came late in the game that counted, they didn't break. When they broke earlier in the tournament, facing the same charge late in the game, they held their ground when it mattered. They deserved to win.

I am very happy to see Swiss goaltender Benjamin Conz win the top goaltender award for the tournament. I watched the Switzerland/Russia quarter final and Conz was nothing short of spectacular in that game. He singlehandedly stole that game. As I watched I knew in the back of my mind that if Switzerland could somehow take the lead in the third, they would win the game. He had the kind of game where you could just tell that he would somehow win. Maybe it's my goalie sense, but every so often I get a feeling that a goalie is in a zone and isn't going to allow his team to lose. I had that feeling in that game. His effort in that game and throughout the tournament, on an underdog team missing team Olympic calibre defensemen after their first game, can be summed in one word: epic.

All in all, another great tournament. Epic.

-matt