Hockey In The Hood

I grew up in a predominately black neighborhood, and back then there were very few hockey players around, especially black ones.

That same area is now over 90% black, and is still not producing many black players.

The community doesn't offer any form of assistance to those individuals that are interested in joining this great sport.

Hockey is not offered in the local public schools, at any level.

Leaving the district is the only option, but then there are other issues to contend with.

Getting approval from the uppity snobs at these schools is hard enough as it is.

It can be even harder if you're a black kid from the 'hood'.

Black kids playing hockey in the southern Chicago suburbs is almost unheard of, and it's damn near impossible for them to gain acceptance into any of the organized leagues.

Hopefully this problem will be resolved one day soon.

It's not fair to the game to deny willing participants, and it's unfair to deny people access to the greatest game in the world based on their race, sexual orientation, or even where they come from.

It's sad that it's almost 2010, and the kid that cuts your grass isn't good enough to back you up on the blue line.

Then again, you might be surprised just how well the hood comes together when adversity is shoved in its face.

As often was the case, the kids from the wrong side of the tracks had to journey over to the nicer neighborhoods, the subdivisions, as those places had what is called community support in getting the ponds in order come hockey season.

That didn't exist where I came from.

You didn't shovel the snow for hours on end for recreational purposes.

You did it because you needed the cash, or because someone had to get their ride out so that they could keep their jobs.

If we were able to clean up a pond by us, it was only used by us because the snobby pricks wouldn't venture into our territory out of understandable fear for their safety and well being.

Even then, as soon as word got out that we had some decent ice opened up, some assholes would come out in the night and trash it with broken beer bottles, stones and rock salt.

So, we would wind up taking trips from hood to the suburbs in search of some ice that wasn't over populated, and would allow us 'outsiders' to play on.

There were challenges on all sides; the racist pricks, the rich pricks, the local pricks and even the prick cops.

I'll be honest, and I'll admit it, we did pull a few smash and grabs back in the day, but we only took the hockey equipment we really needed and couldn't afford, or used the ride to get a little closer to home.

Most of us were dumped off at the rinks and didn't have rides home afterwards.

Besides, isn't that what insurance is for?

If a group of thugs is seen walking down the streets of Orland Park or Flossmoor with hockey gear they were surely to get stopped by the cops and harassed, multiple times, for extended periods at a time.

Did you know that people like us are REQUIRED to carry, at all times, any reciepts and verifiable proof of ownership for the stinky hockey gear we carried around?

Me either. That strange law has always messed with my head.

But then again, hand me downs in the hood could last for generations, and it did help to get more players on the ice.

The end justifies the means, right?

Of couse there was always those few douchetards that would say "We can't have these niggers running around here with sticks and sharp skates! They'll kill each other!"

In a way, they were right.

One can only take so many rejections and rude treatment before some sort of action is taken.

As soon as the 'N word' was heard during play, it was on!

And, just as fast, it was over.

We came as a team, and we'd leave as a team.

Sometimes we left on our own, and other times it was in the back of a squad car.

A ride home was a ride home, dammit! Don't judge me!

And those sticks and sharp skates also helped to break out the windows and sctratch the shit out of your soccer mom vans!

That'll teach you to throw around that word and then claim that WE started the fights!

All is fair in love and war.

It was then, as it is now, survival of the fittest. Right?

That saying applied to every aspect of our lives, from the streets to the workplace and right on down to the ice.

Eventually, all of these things made us wiser individuals, better teammates and stronger players.

We learned how to recognize mismatches and how avoid them.
How to properly place our guys in their suitable positions.
And most importantly, how to work as a team.

We only had three lines, but they were the best three lines we could possibly put together.

And it was done by hand picking our favorites, or our closest friends, regardless of their skill levels.

By the time we played our first competive match, we had all learned a few things from each other and were able to apply and incorporate those things into our own particular styles.

Our records weren't pretty, but people talked about us. And if we played against you, you knew it and remembered it.

Even if the score was one sided, we gave our all, 100% of the time, and lost together as a team.

I'm not saying we lost gracefully. I'm just saying we did it as a team.

We never had a coach in the begining, and the captains C was passed around like the last 40 oz.

3 penalties in a game resulted in a one game suspension, and none of us had a problem achieving this mile stone.

We didn't have Jarome Iginla for a role model yet, so there wasn't anyone to be used as a positive role model when it came time to step up for one another.

To us, the captain was no higher than the goalie.

In our eyes, it was just a letter that was required on SOMEONES jersey in order to play.

Dysfunctionalism also seemed to be a requirement back then.

There was no 'parental code of conduct' contracts yet either.

We could always hear the other coaches and parents bitching and screaming and riding their kids and players like they were mules.

What a way to instill confidence in a kid.

Our business was handled privately, and sometimes it even came to blows, but never was any one person ever singled out for a bad play, or a loss, in front of the competition or spectators.

That's just not good juju.

Eventually we had made a name for ourselves, and maybe somewhat of a bad reputation.

Whatever. At least we had a team.

We all had to join USA Hockey, so we would be able to play in the 'real' rinks, where the good kids played, and that's where it all started to really come together.

There were Mexicans, Indians, and even some French Canadian dudes in these places!

What?

Yes.

It was first time we saw someone other than white people playing organized hockey.

That was a trip.

For the first time ever, we weren't the minority.

Anyways, we were assigned a 'coach', and he wasn't much more help than your common Public Defender.

We were allowed to name our own team, the Hood Rats, and then we were sent into the fire for our first 5 games to be evaluated by the powers that be.

It wasn't very pretty in the beginning, but by the time we got to games 4 and 5 we had proven to be healthy competition and were awarded a fourth line.

Well, not exactly awarded.

The fourth line consisted of individual players who weren't selected by the other 12 teams and just so happened to wind up with us.

The funny thing was, some of these new guys were better than us, and wound up on lines 1 and 2.

Great. We were now being picked apart from the inside.

By game 10, we lost our goalie to a team that had a bunch of his friends on it, and the pickings were slim for a replacement.

There was this strange kid named Tommy who played net.

He had a speech impediment and glasses thicker than a puck, but this kid was fearless!

We got him, and went on about our business of winning some and losing more.

It happens, but it was fun none the less.

Over the years we had been split up.

Only 4 of our original 16 members remained with the team.

One by one the guys either moved, went to other teams, ended up in jail, joined a different league all together or just gave up on the game itself.

As we got older, we were forced into different levels and divisions, until we were to old to play in those categories.

Eventually I joined up with USA Hockey In-Line.

I was addicted right from the start!

You could play this game year round, inside and out, and it was WAY more affordable than ice.

There was a place in Chicago Heights called the Roller blaze, and its location was perfect.

I worked around the area, and it was right in between two of my favorite bars.

That fact alone attracted players from the hood, and one by one, a new version of the Hood Rats came together.

This place accepted our kind right off the bat. And wouldn't ya know it, I knew 80% of the people that played there.

Every walk of life was welcome in this place, and we played our asses off in there for years.

I was even holding a few standing records when the place closed: most points by a defenseman, and most penalty minutes.

What are ya gonna do? I had fun in my own little way, and everyone accepted that.

Unfortunately, when the Blaze closed its doors, there wasn't another place to play that would be as accepting and open to our kind as a whole.

I wound up moving around and playing tournies accross 6 different states, and eventually lost touch with most of my boys from the hood.

As far as I know, 5 of us still remain with USA Hockey to this day and there are only 2 of us left who still play competitvely, myself not being one of them.

Those who are still slapping the puck around won't be doing it for much longer.

At our ages the body doesn't wanna heal in time to make it to work on Monday, let alone being healthy enough to do our jobs effectively.

Oh well.

At least we had fun hurting ourselves.

So, this is where I was going with all of that rambling; there needs to be more diversity in hockey, weather it be by race, sex or size, and it has to be applied to all levels, from the NHL on down to pee-wee.

Maybe we'll get lucky and Evander Kane will open up the peoples eyes wide enough to see that it is possible to play hockey at any level, no matter who you are, what color your skin is, or where you came from.

Lord knows that Laraque hasn't made any lasting impressions...

...at least not for the good of the game.