I remember when I first learned to skate. I was five or six years old. The weather was freezing cold, which is good for ice sports. My feet froze. I remember the intense pain of baking them in front of the old wood stove in the little cabin adjacent to the rink. I can still conjure up the smell, although it’s been nearly sixty years.
I later played hockey, but was good only to the age of eight or so. Being left handed and shooting right handed, it was a problem finding the right hockey stick. I never really learned how to raise the pack well.
When I was a young child, we had a black and white television set.
The set had two stations, 4 and 13.
The NHL had only six teams.
My favorite was the Chicago Blackhawks.
It’s a big of a reach back in time to remember the players. Was it Glenn Hall in goal? Was Bobby Hull the forward? Was Stan Mikita the center?
And why was I in love with an American hockey team, being a Canadian kid in Ottawa?
Now that I think back on it, I remember the excitement. But I don’t remember whether they ever won the Stanley Cup.
Wait a minute, isn’t that what Google and Wikipedia are for?
They did, they did. Check it out here.
I left Canada in 1969 and moved to Israel. Over the years, my love of hockey has waned. Israel is not a great place for ice rinks. They tend to melt. But it’s good to remember.