Danny's Pee Wee 2 team had a tournament at the Berkshire School in Sheffield, MA this weekend. The Berkshire School is a private boarding school for those in different tax bracket than you or I. Sheffield is a small town way out in the southwestern corner of the state, and the school is tucked into the base of the Berkshire Mountains. It's a beautiful setting, and the newly built Jackman L. Stewart athletic center is, simply put, magnificent.
Heading into the weekend, Danny's Pee Wee 2 team was coming off a district championship and their record reflects their level of play (unbeaten over a two month stretch). The team went 2-0-1 in their three tournament games to advance to the semi-finals on Sunday morning. It seemed as if they were on their way to the finals when they gave up a 2-1 lead with just over a minute remaining. After a scoreless overtime, the game was to be settled by a best-of-five shootout. 
The electricity in the air was beyond anything I've experienced at a youth hockey game - we were 55 strong in the stands and the other team wasn't too far behind. After the first 4 shooters, the score was tied at 1 shootout goal each. I was fiddling with my camera and simultaneously giving play-by-play to Deb on the cell phone when I heard someone say, "Look who it is!"...I looked up as Danny hopped out onto the ice. I had trouble holding the camera steady.
After the referee said a few words he left Danny standing at center ice, alone. The other team sat perched on one knee on the ice in front of him and when the referee blew the whistle the crowd went from wildly electric to stone silent. It was up to Danny.
Moments like this happen so fast. I was trying to explain it all to Deb on the phone (who dropped to her knees when I told her it was Danny), was responding to parents who were giving me the 'holy crap!' look, and trying to focus my camera and my brain to preserve the moment. Danny took off, collected the puck smartly, and went in at full speed toward the goaltender, slapping the puck side to side with his stick...
and was turned aside on his backhand attempt.
I felt so bad for Danny. His body language, which I know so well, screamed anger, frustration, and sorrow. He wanted so badly to be the hero - and I wanted it for him too. The other team went on to score the winning goal on their next shooter.
Danny doesn't know it yet but he'll miss on other attempts, and he'll score on other ones too. I also know that he showed no fear, left nothing in the tank, and played his heart out for his coaches and his team. At that moment I was never more proud of him.
3 comments:
Scott - the only way to value the exultation of victory is to experience the excruciating pain of defeat. So at least Danny has that out of the way.
I'm sitting here with goosebumps. Great job bringing us there, Scott. I also know all too well how Danny feels. I was a third-year mite, and we were playing at Providence College against West Haven CT in the semi-finals of a fall tournament. It was probably 20 years ago, but I still remember so many details of that game. I wasn't much of a goal-scorer, but the shootout went so long that I got my chance. I too went to my backhand, but my low shot couldn't plow through the accumulated snow in the crease and stopped under a pile of it right up against the post. We lost a few shooters later. I don't think I talked to anyone for six hours after that game. But the great thing about hockey (and sports in general) is that pretty soon, a zamboni will do its job and leave Danny and his team a clean sheet on which they can try again. And defeat is a heck of a motivator. That same year that we lost to West Haven, we won the NH State Tournament. If I may paraphrase Jack (and adjust for relevance), "The only goal you can score is the next one." Go Danny!
Scott,
You have done it again. You actually "took me there" to the rink at Dan's special moment. I found myself experiencing all the emotions you referenced. With all that you are doing, how did you have time to write this?
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