When your favorite player calls you mom
EDITOR’S NOTE: The latest in a series of personal essays detailing how members of The Denver Post sports staff fell in love with sports.
Born and bred a Cheesehead, I grew up cheering for the Packers and Brewers, particularly Robin Yount, Paul Molitor and the rest of the 1982 Brew Crew. I listened to Al McGuire’s Marquette Warriors win the 1977 NCAA championship on my radio long before I dreamed of attending MU. I didn’t pay much attention to the Bucks, and hockey wasn’t even on my radar.
If you met me today, you would never believe that last statement. From August through March, my weekends and many of my weeknights are spent at a hockey rink.
When my husband, Tony, and I were dating in the early 1990s, he got me hooked on hockey by taking me to Chicago Blackhawks games at old Chicago Stadium. We were living in Colorado in 1995 when the Avalanche moved to town, and we immediately jumped on the bandwagon. But that was just the beginning.
After attending dozens of Avs games with our young son, Joey, he strapped on the skates at age 3 and hasn’t taken them off since. Five seasons of mites, two at squirts, pee wees and bantams — 11 years in all — cheering on my favorite player!
But hockey isn’t just a sport, it is truly our family. I’ve been the “hockey mom” for 11 teams. I’ve served on the Hyland Hills Hockey Association board of directors for two years and been the association’s events coordinator for four.
I’ve had the privilege of watching my son and his teammates grow from mites making snow angels on the ice to wonderful young men — and young women.
Last summer we said goodbye to one of these young men. I watched teammates, moms, dads and coaches rally around a family suffering an unthinkable loss. When times get tough, hockey families are there for each other.
My son has three years of club hockey — and maybe some high school hockey — left. Beyond that, I’m not sure where hockey will fit in the picture for him. But I’m already sad thinking of the weekends we won’t be rink rats. Sure the NHL is great, but there is nothing like having your favorite player call you mom.