Better
Better
Those thoughts running through my head drove me insane. You have to be better, I kept telling myself. As much as I tried, though, nothing seemed to work.
The puck slid across the ice and I skated after it, my mind in knots. I absentmindedly shot the round piece of rubber into the net with a thud that echoed around the rink. The place was completely empty, with the exception of myself.
Push yourself. I always heard those two words, and they rang in my head, louder than ever. I began to skate laps around the rink, the words getting louder with every stride.
I skated faster and faster, the muscles in my legs protesting. “I am pushing myself,” I muttered to no one. “I have to if I’m going to get better.”
That push to be better than what I was, to be the very best, came from other words I heard in passing.
Bottom-six center… Third liner… Nothing special…
I took a frustrated whack at the net as I skated by it. Nothing special my ass, I thought to myself. I didn’t have to be the superstar and score at least thirty goals per season, but I had a job on the third line. I did it well enough for the most part, and that was all that really mattered.
It wasn’t as if I was going to leave Buffalo anytime soon either; they needed centers, and that’s what I am – that third line center that works with the energy guys, keeping the game interesting.
For the fans, the players always seem to be the focus of the game. To me, the fans are always the most interesting. They make each and every game different, and I love that.
After however many laps I’d skated – I hadn’t kept track – I worked my way over to the lone puck I’d dug out and shot it absentmindedly at the net from center ice. Shooting at an unminded, empty net might not seem like something that actually improves your skill-set – I don’t think much of it to be honest, but I was doing it to compose myself more than anything.
I was stressed and frustrated, pressured to work harder by no one but myself. Nobody told me to do anything other than what I was supposed to do, but I wanted to show that I could improve. I wanted to score more goals, make more plays – I had to push myself more to get there.
The puck bounced off the goal post and right back to me. I let another quick shot go, not really paying attention to where it went. It flew over the net and hit the glass, the sound resonating loudly. Anyone around the rink, or even the whole arena, would be able to hear it, but no one was around – not at five o’clock in the morning on a Monday.
I felt a bead of sweat run down my face as I looked around the rink, my eyes settling on the puck, which was lying next to the net. It was then that I decided to stop for the day; it didn’t seem like it, but I’d been practicing all on my own for hours, and nothing had changed at all. I needed to improve my game, but practicing alone is not the way to become a better hockey player, or at least not for me.
The puck slid across the ice and I skated after it, my mind in knots. I absentmindedly shot the round piece of rubber into the net with a thud that echoed around the rink. The place was completely empty, with the exception of myself.
Push yourself. I always heard those two words, and they rang in my head, louder than ever. I began to skate laps around the rink, the words getting louder with every stride.
I skated faster and faster, the muscles in my legs protesting. “I am pushing myself,” I muttered to no one. “I have to if I’m going to get better.”
That push to be better than what I was, to be the very best, came from other words I heard in passing.
Bottom-six center… Third liner… Nothing special…
I took a frustrated whack at the net as I skated by it. Nothing special my ass, I thought to myself. I didn’t have to be the superstar and score at least thirty goals per season, but I had a job on the third line. I did it well enough for the most part, and that was all that really mattered.
It wasn’t as if I was going to leave Buffalo anytime soon either; they needed centers, and that’s what I am – that third line center that works with the energy guys, keeping the game interesting.
For the fans, the players always seem to be the focus of the game. To me, the fans are always the most interesting. They make each and every game different, and I love that.
After however many laps I’d skated – I hadn’t kept track – I worked my way over to the lone puck I’d dug out and shot it absentmindedly at the net from center ice. Shooting at an unminded, empty net might not seem like something that actually improves your skill-set – I don’t think much of it to be honest, but I was doing it to compose myself more than anything.
I was stressed and frustrated, pressured to work harder by no one but myself. Nobody told me to do anything other than what I was supposed to do, but I wanted to show that I could improve. I wanted to score more goals, make more plays – I had to push myself more to get there.
The puck bounced off the goal post and right back to me. I let another quick shot go, not really paying attention to where it went. It flew over the net and hit the glass, the sound resonating loudly. Anyone around the rink, or even the whole arena, would be able to hear it, but no one was around – not at five o’clock in the morning on a Monday.
I felt a bead of sweat run down my face as I looked around the rink, my eyes settling on the puck, which was lying next to the net. It was then that I decided to stop for the day; it didn’t seem like it, but I’d been practicing all on my own for hours, and nothing had changed at all. I needed to improve my game, but practicing alone is not the way to become a better hockey player, or at least not for me.