Tonight, I was at the rink for the first time since April.
It made me incredibly sad, and I don’t know why, really. Partly because while I love doing stuff with the kids, and while their interests interest me, hockey is just such a bloody long season. And it’s all indoors. And it means winter. And we all know how I feel about winter.
Added to this is that once you’ve been involved in rugby or football, I don’t think you’ll ever want to go back to anything that isn’t as…well…that doesn’t have as much…where the player are all so…
Football is the sort of sport where if any one person isn’t doing their job, the entire team suffers. And the entire team celebrates when someone improves or succeeds. Each victory, be it small or colossal, is celebrated by the *team*.
Sure, you have starters and second-stringers; you have folks who’re better at one position or special teams, but by and large, everybody out there has to do their stuff. If the Offensive Line doesn’t block properly, then nobody’s going to score any points. And if the Defensive Line doesn’t wrap up and tackle properly, then the opposing team is going to have buckets of time to get their plays out, which usually translates to points scored. Every player is needed. And if you don’t do your job, the coach puts someone in who can.
(Or SHOULD. I’m looking at you, Saskatchewan Roughriders.)
That isn’t always the case with other sports.
Anyway, I think my melachnoly, baby, has to do with endings. I’ve never been good at endings.