The Joys of Hockey

The stadium in which my family and I were seated was buzzing with the sounds of excited draftees prattling away about the teams that had just claimed them and the mutterings of the National Hockey League's general managers. Those who were already drafted were able to roam around freely and to strike up conversation with new team members, the scouts that had acquired them or old friends.

This, however, was not the case for me. I sat rooted to the spot and hadn't budged for the past hour and a half. My name hadn't been called yet; I was beginning to panic. I knew my internal turmoil was evident, as both my father and younger sister had turned their attention to me instead of the podium up front. My father offered me words of encouragement, some of which were quite stupid and made me wonder about his intelligence quotient ("Don't worry, son! They're only saving the best for last!"). My younger sister had opted to give me a rather awkward side-hug, which only succeeded in quelling my anxiety for a few seconds. I quietly thanked them for their futile attempts to calm me down and kept my attention on the general manager currently standing at the podium, Mike Gillis of the Vancouver Canucks.

I leaned back in my seat and sighed loudly, albeit unintentionally. I really hoped Vancouver needed a new defenseman, because they were pretty much my last shot at getting in the NHL this season. I blocked out his whole spiel about his hopes for the upcoming season. My ears perked up when I heard the word "defenseman" in all of that banal chatter; I began to pay attention to what he had to say. For the most part, what he said was useless fluff, and I began to think I had gotten my hopes up much too early.

But he called my name.

I stiffly stood up; my parents and sister embraced me in what was, at best, an ill-formed group hug, but I nonetheless accepted it.

Their prying hands let go of me and I walked up to the stage as nonchalantly as I could, trying desperately to wipe off the silly grin that had taken up residence on my face so suddenly. I walked casually up the steps and onto the stage, that smile still on my face, and shook hands with the few members of the team's management. Gillis handed me a jersey emblazoned with the number eleven. I happily shrugged it on while a throng of photographers nearly blinded me with the flashes of their respective cameras.