Whatever works in the game, I suppose
It could make the most die-hard hockey fans – hockey moms, included – cringe.
Or, depending on the artistry, it could leave the casual bystander in awe or confusion.
Green, blue, red and every variation of blond that existed – and even the variations of blond that shouldn’t exist.
There were fauxhawks and mullets and things that didn’t really fall into any category. And sometimes there were shaved numbers and team logos. I even once saw a checkerboard.
These were the annual tournament, provincial and playoff hairdos I remember from the years my kids played hockey.
I never really understood how a weekend or a few weeks of a new hairdo (followed by months of bad hair as you waited for things to return to normal) could make a difference on the ice.
But apparently it did.
I’ll never forgot the season my oldest son was in his second year of atom hockey and the entire Yarmouth Mariners team declared – since nothing had worked to that point – that our only shot at finally defeating the Shelburne Flames was for the entire team to dye their hair green.
I remember the phone call as I was getting ready to leave Greenwood to head home from a hockey game, the day before our next game with the Flames.
“We’re at the Pharmasave in Bridgetown and we’ve found green hair dye!” I was told by a very excited hockey dad.
By the time the puck dropped the next day the majority of our team had gone green. Not that you could notice under their helmets – except for the kids who got really, really sweaty and the dye ran down their face and neck.
Not only was this plan not very well thought out, but I’m pretty certain we still lost.
I have always found sports rituals and superstitions interesting and amusing.
Back in his bantam AA hockey days, my oldest son Jacob had a lucky Bauer t-shirt he always wore during their warm-ups prior to games. And a teammate wore a specific Under Armour shirt belonging to my son.
“We were losing when I was wearing the other shirt and then I started wearing this shirt and we haven’t lost since,” he explained to me.
“It’s just a shirt,” I said.
“No,” he insisted. “At school we were playing badminton and me and a friend were winning when I was wearing the Bauer shirt. Then I put on the Under Armour shirt and we lost three games in a row.”
What could I say? That scientific anomaly was enough to convince me that one shirt was lucky and the other was cursed.
Of course he had to wear the Bauer shirt.
I remember being at our league tournament later in the season telling our coach in a panic, “Jacob can’t find THE shirt!” By then everyone was aware of the good luck charm.
“Don’t worry, he’ll find it,” said our coach, although I could tell he too was concerned.
We finally determined Jacob had left the shirt in the closet of our hotel, which was just across the parking lot.
“You’re going to go get it, right?” said our coach, although I was probably already on my way out the door before he even finished his question.
That same hockey season we were at a tournament in Dartmouth. When we weren’t at the rink the boys on the team – their bad blond hair and all – had been collecting tickets at the arcade of the movie theatre next to our hotel. The night before our semifinal game they showed up at the hotel with the largest stuffed Hello Kitty I had ever seen.
Not only was I told this is what 2,000 arcade tickets would get you, “This is our new team mascot,” the boys proudly proclaimed.
At our semifinal game they dressed Hello Kitty in a team jersey, had her participate in the warmup, took a team photo with her and brought her onto the bench during the game.
But after we lost the game the affection for our new team mascot quickly soured, which I discovered when I went into the dressing room and saw stuffing all over the floor lying next to Hello Kitty’s torn-off head.
Or, as they referred to her now, ‘Goodbye Thanks-forNothing Kitty.’
Needless to say, she didn’t make the trip to provincials with us.
P.S. We should have beaten Cumberland. (Inside joke.)