I saw a sign on a telephone pole yesterday that advertised an adult roller hockey league, and I paused for a moment and considered writing down the number.  Then I put down the crack pipe that I was smoking and turned my attention back to driving.  Of course I wasn't smoking a crack pipe at the time.  You should never do that while you're driving, ever!

About a dozen years ago my brother Doug convinced me to join a men's, over 30 roller hockey league.  I think it was the third game of the season when I found myself driving him to the ER in Voorhees NJ with his shoulder looking like something out of a CG altered scene from a bad horror movie.  Luckily not long after we were in the waiting room his shoulder automatically popped back into place with a sound and motion that still rings in my ear and has stained my memory ever since.

I think I played one or two more games that season, scored a goal and escaped with my bones intact and my joints still functioning and never looked back.  For all you men and women that still play in leagues and on teams, I take my hat off and my hockey jersey to you.  I still have it in my closet.  Nice jersey too.  I wear it when the local pond freezes and I skate the puck around with my kids once or twice each winter.

My son, who is 23 and still flexible and pliable enough to play hockey, plays in a men's league on Tuesday nights.  So last night I drove right past the sign on the telephone pole on the corner and about 20 minutes down the road and watched him and his buddies play one of their games in a cold, sparsely populated rink, oh sometime after 10 o'clock.

Well, the torch has been passed.  Usually after the game, we go over the good and bad plays of the game and he's happy I came to support him and my doctor and my insurance company are happy that now I just watch!