A Tale of Two Hockey Matches - Part 3

Drive for 5 Special: as a final homage to our promotional weekend, here is my bunch of fives.

5 star players (in no particular order).

1. Toms Hartmanis – Saturday’s man of the match. Scored a great goal and always pleasure to watch.

2. Scott Langdon – Sunday’s man of the match. Put himself about and took matters into his own hands on several occasions, taking a few very respectable shots on goal and bossing the defence.

3. Dale Mahovksy – always a strong, quick presence for the team. Scored a goal and got a bit aggro against Hull which was quite fun. Managed not to rip my sponsored jersey which was much appreciated (it’s an investment! I considered having ‘My First Hockey Jersey’ printed on the back but thought it might be a bit embarrassing for the poor boy, who already had to deal with having the words ‘Hockey Novice’ emblazoned across his bottom. Sorry about that, Dale).

4. Danny Stewart – a strong leader’s performance from the coach, capped by a superb goal against Nottingham. Anti-Penner Face of Steel™

5. Charlie Effinger – I’ve always had a soft spot for goalies. They’re a bit mental, see. Hockey goalies, more so than most. In the blame culture of modern sport they all too often seem to take the fall for a poor team performance. Even if they do have an off-day, I don’t like seeing one player being blamed for collective team failings. Especially when they appear to be thoroughly pleasant chaps. All that to say, I just want to give Charlie a cuddle. He had two really solid periods on Saturday, pulled some cracking saves out of the bag, and wasn’t at fault for us losing either game.

5 noob moments. After all, that’s why you’re really reading this, isn’t it!

1. Screaming at the ref until I realised I didn’t actually know what to say. I was shouting ‘penalty’, football-style, before I realised it wasn’t really relevant. I just wanted to be a part of it all!

2. Thinking ‘ah, bless’ on two separate occasions when the two guys behind me were wondering what was going on. Until I realised I didn’t either.

3. Nodding pensively whilst being schooled in the theory of the offside rule, but not actually getting it until the following morning, whilst in the shower. The penny did drop. Just very, very slowly. And from a great height.

4. The ‘dog with tennis ball’ effect that still happens to me all the time. You know, when you throw a ball for a dog. But you totally fake him out, and you’re still holding the ball, but he’s racing down the field already? That. Except with my eyes, and the puck. You know what I’m talking about, veteran hockey fans. Don’t pretend it doesn’t still happen to you, on occasion!

5. Once again, clapping when I had no idea what was going on. I must try to stop that. In fairness, it’s usually because of an obscured line of sight and just wanting to get behind the team! That’s forgiveable, right?

5 things that hurt.

1. Danny Stewart’s face (after being poked in it, by Penner’s stick)
2. Jamie Carroll’s face (after being punched in it, by Penner)
3. The Panthers player who was hit by Mike Prpich (after all, a man with that beard has to hit twice as hard as a normal human being, right? Just look at Chuck Norris)
4. Sammy Zajac’s knee (I think – he limped off on Sunday after being caught with a puck)
5. Er, my brain. Trying to come up with more things to write lists of 5 about.

Number of times I knew what was going on – 5. Nah, only kidding. It was 4.

5 highlights.

1. Danny Stewart’s short-handed goal v Nottingham
2. Mike Prpich throwing down the gloves against a mean Panthers side
3. Dirty Alex Penner getting his marching orders
4. The first period on Saturday (let’s pretend the rest of that match didn’t occur)
5. Cheering the players off on Sunday despite losing.

5 things that were funny.

1. A Hull player slipped past our defence and was one-on-one with Charlie – cue collective dramatic gasp – he levelled up, took a shot and… his stick broke, the head flying off behind the goal and the puck bimbling aimlessly out of danger. Brilliant.

2. Hull’s number 26, not blessed with height, who had his shirt tucked into his shorts and his shorts actually pulled up to his nipples. Trend-setting? I don’t think so.

3. One of the match officials actually escorting a Hull player from the ice by his ear. Well, it looked like it. ‘Sit down for two minutes and think about what you’ve done young man!’

4. The swagger on display from the midget gem teams that did their stuff in the breaks between periods on Saturday. So very cute.

5. Er, the Hull game stopped being funny after a while. And the Nottingham game was too dramatic to be funny!

5 things of wonder.

1. Mike Prpich’s beard. Really, just, wow.
2. Mike Prpich’s sideburns. You need sideburns like that to maintain the structural integrity of such a beard.
3. Um. What else? I don’t think anything can compare, to be honest.

5 things that were cold.

1. FIVE things?! Well, let’s start with the fingers on my right hand. And move on from there...

Top 5 skaters (in a purely aesthetic, Strictly Come Dancing on Ice kind of way).

1. Toms Hartmanis – so pretty
2. Dan Speer – super speedy. I feel with the news of his departure I need to add RIP or something, but he's not actually dead thankfully, so I'll just say goodbye and good luck. Shame.
3. Dale Mahovsky – pretty and speedy

4. Jaro Rzeszutko – ditto
5. Kyle Sibley – he didn’t even play. But he’s awesome at skating so I felt bad excluding him from my list.

The weekend, in 5 pictures.

Danny Stewart on Saturday night: Cheer up Coach, there’s always tomorrow

Prpich’s beard – compare with the picture from the Hull game, and tell me it did not grow overnight

Curling vigorously – tell me that’s not what it looks like

That’s my shirt that is

Chippy – apparently that means lots of grown men prodding, slamming and punching each other repeatedly. Yup.

A Tale of Two Hockey Matches - Part 2

Act Two – Sunday 21st November v Nottingham Panthers

Cue music. And the music is, for some reason, the opening to 2001: A Space Odyssey. It just seems fitting. The protagonist returns to the scene of last night’s crime, hoping for a reprieve. Yesterday the architects of their own downfall, today is an opportunity for the heavily-padded men to take matters into their own hands, against a mighty nemesis. Who will prevail? Only time will tell...

Yesterday’s game could have been described as winnable. Today’s, not so much. It was a David vs Goliath-type encounter, Arsenal v Dagenham and Redbridge, if you’ll excuse another footballing reference; a mammoth challenge for the Vipers and a match in which most fans would expect a rout.

The Panthers set their stall out early, conceding their first penalty after just 11 seconds, and it set the tone for the entire match. They were a massive physical presence, and the match was what could best be described as ‘chippy’ (thanks to Scott Langdon for that most fitting of descriptive terms, which I shall be borrowing indefinitely), but the Vipers gave as good as they got in the first period, and the crowd were behind them all the way. The Panthers seemed to revel in their pantomime villain role, conceding one penalty after another, notorious hard-man Alex Penner being sent off for the entire match after an incident which occurred right in front of me, in which he jabbed Vipers coach Danny Stewart twice in the face with his stick before punching Jamie Carroll. Charming! Penner has been described as an ‘ex-weapon’; what that specifically means, I don’t know, but It seems to translate roughly as ‘bit of an idiot’ as far as I can tell (please, please don’t tell him I said that. The guy is clearly unhinged. And I’m scared). New Viper Mike Prpich decided he meant business and threw himself into the action too, picking up a five minute major for fighting just a couple of minutes in. I think his beard might actually have grown since yesterday, so maybe it was weighing him down a bit. Or perhaps a small family of wood mice have moved into it. That would be annoying, right?

A moment of indecision as the puck tries to work out which is the lesser of three evils; a Viper, a Panther or a Match Official

The atmosphere was fantastic, rising and bubbling over both on and off the ice, the flames further fanned by what, even to a novice, appeared to be a relatively poor refereeing performance. I was caught up in the collective disapproval, which was possibly not for the best, as I tend to go rather high-pitched when indignant and end up screeching like a girl. Which is bad enough when I know what I’m talking about but as you will no doubt be realising by now, when it comes to hockey, I don’t really, and during Sunday’s match it just descended (or should I say, ascended) into angry squeaking. I suddenly realised I sounded like a hormonal rodent. So I stopped.

It really was a ‘proper’ hockey match though. And in a beautiful moment of recognition, I happened to tune into a conversation going on behind me between two dudes who were quite clearly attending their first ever game. I’m not sure where they were from but I thought I heard a hint of Aussie so in my head, that’s what they will be. Overheard:

1st newbie: ‘so what happened there then?’
2nd newbie: ‘I’ve absolutely no idea mate! I like it though!’
1st newbie: ‘Surely he’s not allowed to do that?!’
2nd newbie: ‘I dunno mate! But this is my kinda sport!’

I could hear the glee in the voice of newbie number 2 in particular. It had switched on the same light in his brain that went on in mine back in early October. But now I was the one who knew what was going on. I felt all, sort of, wise. It didn’t last long however, as a collection of players gathered in a corner of the rink and began to do that thing that looks like they are curling, vigorously. All scrubbing the ice together trying to wrest the puck from one another. There must be a more dignified way to get around that problem. No? Ah well. It makes me laugh, it all looks very pedestrian. Until someone gets an elbow in the chops. But anyway.

Oh, did you want to know what actually happened in the match? Sorry folks, I was too busy booing and things to really pay attention to the hockey. It was jolly good fun for a while. Until the Panthers went a bit over-board with their below-the-belt tactics, and a few key decisions seemed to go awry, and then all of sudden, the nightmare scenario once again reared its ugly head. The third period started. And lo and behold, we quickly conceded two goals and suddenly we were trailing and the Panthers were able to put the game to bed, despite an excellent late goal from Danny Stewart and continued battling from the feisty Vipers. The game had more fizz than an Alka Seltzer in a Diet Coke jacuzzi. And despite falling behind, the guys never gave up, battling to the end, and giving the fans something to shout about once again.

Prior to the Hull match I was quite concerned about next weekend’s break, and the fact that I would be missing out on my regular hockey fix. After the Hull match I was actually quite relieved. Now, I’m back to concern again. I have the jitters already. I need more! Call the emergency services! I’ve contracted an acute case of ice hockey. I fear it’s terminal.

And so the final curtain falls. Brave in defeat, the heavily-padded men can be proud of their achievements against the mighty nemesis, and can go away with their heads held high. Our protagonist feels once again cautiously optimistic, and carries the vestiges of battle away with her as a symbol of the good fight. And also because she’d paid for it and it had her website on the back. Yes.

Fin

PS Stay tuned - part 3 is up shortly! I know, I know, technically there isn't a part 3 as I've covered both matches already. It's a special post featuring lots of lists of 5!! Trust me, it's going to be more fun than it sounds. If not, you can have your money back. What, you didn't PAY to get onto this blog? I need to have words with the management...

A Tale of Two Hockey Matches - Part 1

Right then. Do I have your full and undivided attention, readers? We’ve a lot to get through, so make yourselves comfortable and I’ll begin. Sad to say there’s no Jackanory happy ending in sight here, so I’ll extinguish that hopeful dream before we get started. I’ve retreated to my happy place (this blog) and I urge you all to join me, in the hope it will ease the pain, at least for a few minutes.

This weekend was the Drive for Five promotion – two home games in one weekend, and a massive effort from all involved with the club to get as many fans through the door over both days as possible. Let’s take it one day at a time, and in true Shakespearian fashion (for some inexplicable reason my inner English student just won't let this theme drop), here beginneth...

Act One – Saturday 20th November v Hull Stingrays

We join our protagonist on a wet and chilly evening, at a dark and dingy ice rink in a north-east coastal town. Her face, like so many others around her, full of hope and expectancy. Enter stage right numerous men on skates, heavily padded and carrying sticks. The scene unfolds…

Warning: I may start to become coherent. I located myself with a group of most welcoming hardcore Vipers faithful for this match which was a good move, I quickly realised. I think I might actually understand the offside rule now! And you know what? It’s almost exactly the same as it is in football. Who’d have thunk it.

This was widely recognised as the more winnable of the weekend’s two matches, and to bolster the line-up new Canadian forward Mike Prpich (somebody lend the guy a vowel!) was finally available, having arrived mid-week, along with defencemen John Schwarz, returning after injury. Although we had lost Kyle Sibley through injury, so our defence were pretty much ‘as you were’.

My initial impressions of Prpich: fairly hard-hitting; awesome, awesome facial hair. He wasn’t massively influential but the guy only got here Thursday so let’s cut him some slack.

Mike Prpich, above.

No Mike, it is WE who must kneel before YOU. After all, one cannot argue with that beard. That’s a woodcutter’s beard if ever I’ve seen one. There are goats in the alps that are weeping into their milkmaids’ skirts over that beard.

What can I say about the game itself. It all started so well. We were a goal up within two minutes and then two up, er, a bit after that. To coin a popular footballing cliché, albeit in a slightly warped fashion, it was a game of three thirds. The final one being, well, shocking. In the first two we were totally dominant. Hull didn’t turn up, we skated all over them, and any shots they did have were confidently caught or parried by a seemingly revitalised Charlie Effinger. No worries. All this, on top of last week’s win, made me a bit giddy. I started to feel almost complacent. We had this in the bag.

And then they came out for the third period. And it was as though something had gone missing. Quite what it was, I couldn’t put my finger on. Although honestly, if you’d told me it was about three players, I wouldn’t have been surprised. The spark was just... not there any more. Hull exposed our flaws, and capitalised. They carved us open, and we stood back and let them. We served it to them on a silver platter, garnished with a giant helping of ‘terribly sorry for inconveniencing you with those two goals we scored earlier on chaps, please do have the points, we wouldn’t wish to burden you with our tiresome presence any longer. And how about a cherry to go on top of that for you, sirs?’

So I’ve experienced it all now. The game we deserved to win, and just about managed to hang on to. The game we maybe didn’t deserve to win, but scraped through to take the points anyway. The game we never had any hope of winning, but battled through and went down fighting. And the game where we were solidly trounced from start to finish. And to add to this motley collection, I now have the lowest of all rungs on the ladder of possible game stories – the game we were totally capable of winning, but threw away. The comedy of errors. An expert demonstration in how to turn a perfectly comfortable two-goal lead into what, on paper, looks like a convincing win for the opposition. It was desperately disappointing, especially with a game on the horizon against one of the hardest teams in the league. On which note, I’ll move swiftly on, as I have a feeling that despite this, I will have much more jolly things to impart to you tomorrow.

A dark mood prevails over the auditorium as the lights fade to black and the curtain is drawn on the first half of the action. Where will the Vipers go from here? Can they claw back their shattered confidence and start over in Act Two? Will our protagonist succeed in her quest to shout something constructive at a team member, at ANY point? All will be revealed...

Interval

Some time passed, between one hockey game and the next. Some DIY went on in my house. Some bacon sandwiches were consumed. Some beer also. A bit of sleeping went on. Some football was watched in a vague attempt to remember what watching other sports used to be like. Apparently, Chelsea have started losing. To Birmingham City. All is seemingly not right with the world.

*Alarm Bells* Please take your seats and switch off all mobile phones. The next Act will begin in 5 minutes (please note, when I say five minutes, I mean, maybe, several hours. I do have a day job, y'know! I'm speeding through the next match report as we speak. See you there!).

When Katy met Vipers...

Sorry, me again! Just one final post before this weekend's action, to let you all know that the crazy, crazy fools from Vipers management let me loose at the press day they held on Tuesday in aid of the Drive for Five promotion (what were they thinking?!). It was a much calmer, more sedate affair than expected (mostly due to the fact that I was too nervous to actually launch myself at anyone) and I managed to get some pretty good material which is now kindly being hosted on the Vipers website, under Vipers Hockey Radio. Linkage:

http://www.vipershockey.co.uk/vipers-hockey-radio.html

Alternatively, you can download the interview of your choice, or all three (oh baby) straight from Rapidshare, links below.

As will become eminently clear, writing is my most natural and comfortable form of communication, and I haven't actually interviewed anyone for a good six years or so, since my Birmingham days when I used to interview rock and metal bands for my radio show there. I grappled manfully with some audio editing software but I'm not a techie, so sorry if they're a bit up and down. Plus I had a cold. But anyway, enough of my blabbering excuses, here for your listening pleasure are three real live hockey players talking, occasionally interrupted by a stuttering, snot-ridden Southerner. Nice!

Danny Stewart - http://rapidshare.com/files/431983010/Danny_Stewart_161110.mp3

Scott Langdon - http://rapidshare.com/files/431983621/Scott_Langdon_161110.mp3
Jamie Carroll - http://rapidshare.com/files/431983363/Jamie_Carroll_161110.mp3

I did have all sorts of grand ideas about asking them silly questions and making some kind of Hockey Novice feature out of it, but I lost my bottle on the day, the gravity of the situation getting to me, and I ended up asking lots of serious and relevant questions like a proper journalist. Well, mostly. Sorry about that - I'll do better next time, if they ever agree to let me anywhere near real hockey players again.

Thanks to everyone for being so nice to me, it was much appreciated. And so, onward we go into the Drive for Five promotion. For those of you who don't know what this entails, it's two ice hockey matches. In one weekend. Yes, I'm a bit excited. See you all at the rink. LET'S GO VIPERS!

KT-Dude and the Hockey Team of Doom

Once upon a time, there was a girl called KT. She lived a happy life and would happily go about her daily business like all the other good and simple folk of the land. But, like many of these good and simple folk who had gone before her, KT was blissfully unaware that a mysterious and exciting and magical world existed right under her very nose. That world was the sport of ice hockey. It was a world that was known only to the few, but those few were lucky, for it was a world that was thrilling and intense and tumultuous. This world was inhabited by a team called the Newcastle Vipers and one day, quite by chance, KT stumbled upon the Newcastle Vipers at their home in Whitley Bay.

The first time KT ever laid eyes on this team she knew she was destined to belong to them, as even though they were poor and lived in a place that was small and cold and dark, they were young and fast and strong and valiant, and worked hard every day. There were lots of other teams to choose from in the magical world of ice hockey, and they were all bigger and better and shinier and richer, but KT didn’t care about those things, for the Vipers had already won her heart.

Now all she needed was to see them succeed in their endeavours, just once, to know that she had made the right decision, so she left behind her daily business and spent every weekend in the mysterious and exciting and magical world of ice hockey, hoping and praying and cheering and supporting her beloved team, but to no avail. Week after week, the bigger and better and shinier and richer teams came and sieged the home of the Vipers and laid them to waste, and when the Vipers went to their fortresses to try to retaliate, they were beaten down again and again.

Until one day, after many weeks of pain and frustration and heartbreak and despair, the Vipers faced the team from Edinburgh. The team from Edinburgh weren’t quite as big and shiny and rich as some of the other teams, so the Vipers knew it was their chance to strike. So they battled and fought and scored and saved relentlessly for 60 minutes, and nothing the team from Edinburgh could do could break them down. They won the battle, and KT and all the other Vipers fans were so happy, they vowed never to doubt their beloved team again and to support them through the good and the bad and even the ugly. Of which KT was quite sure there wouldn’t be any ever again. They would always be strong and triumphant and fearsome and victorious. It would begin with the chance to vanquish two foes on their very own patch in one weekend. They called it ‘the Drive for Five’, and the good and simple folk of the land would come from far and wide to join forces in supporting the Newcastle Vipers to further glory. And they would all live happily ever after (after a few stiff drinks, that is).

The End.

Close Encounters of the Blurred Kind

Well then. Hello again everyone! Where do I even begin to start about the experience that was Saturday night at Whitley Bay Ice Rink? I fell over myself to get to the laptop to write this post and now I'm here, I don't exactly know what to say. Except for...

WE ONLY BLOODY WON!!!!

I'll start at the very beginning. Some nun-type bird once said it was a very good place to start. And I'm inclined to agree. To say that this was a must-win game was a bit like saying that Wayne Rooney earns a few quid. Coming off the back of a nine-game losing streak, Vipers were rock bottom of the league and the Edinburgh Capitals were faring little better, just above them. The temperature at the rink was Baltic to say the least, and the tension was palpable both on and off the ice. The game was a cagey affair, not particularly physical, in stark contrast to last week's clash against Cardiff - although there were a couple of illegal moves from Edinburgh players during the match, one of which resulted in coach Danny Stewart falling to the ice and dramatically rolling about in pain for a bit before staggering to the dug-out (or whatever they call that box-y bit at the side in hockey). It looked serious, but he was back on in the third period with no apparent debilitating injuries, which led me to conclude that he was either over-reacting and is in fact a big girl, or he's brick hard. I'm definitely hedging towards the latter. I certainly wouldn't tell him otherwise, so I guess that's pretty much my answer!

In terms of the action, I can tell you that some goals were scored. Which was nice. And one was written off, which was even better as it was one scored by Edinburgh. We had the score up to 3-1 for a while but the two goal cushion did not last long as the opposition scored in the third period to bring it back to 3-2. But I'm not going to faff about with stats and specifics (as if I could!) when I can instead wax lyrical about what was undoubtedly one of the tensest 11 minute periods I have ever experienced in sport. I'm deadly serious. I was a nervous wreck, going from the edge of my seat whenever we pushed forward to cowering back with my knuckles in my mouth like an American teen at a horror movie whenever Edinburgh were on the attack. I was actually shaking although I think that was more to do with the fact I was freezing my knackers off. I'm as guilty as the next sports fan of silly superstitions but I swear every time I blinked, it made Edinburgh miss. So I blinked quite a lot. Although my contact lenses were giving me jip, which could have explained it. That in itself was a bit of a concern as on literally three separate occasions, the puck nearly exited the rink right by where I was sitting and I couldn’t actually see it properly. It was a bit too close for comfort. I might have to start wearing goggles. Now THAT would make me look like a novice! I’m so going to do it.

Despite the fact we were leading for most of the game, and we were clearly the better side on the night, I daren't let myself believe we could actually win, even in the dying seconds. But the buzzer sounded and the place erupted and I realised, we actually did it. We won a match. It was a real landmark for me, I'll be honest. A sort of coming of age. It was a carbon copy of the game against Braehead in so many ways (can we play a team from Scotland every week?!), yet it was a parallel universe. I was invested, now. I felt every challenge, mirrored every save, and willed in every shot. I was no longer on the outside. So it's happened, then. I've lost myself. I am in danger of glazing over and becoming a bit Shakespearian here so I'm going to beat a hasty retreat before I start spewing sonnets at you and refocus on the bigger picture. I am still very much a hockey novice. But now, even if I still don’t know the offside rule, I feel like a part of it all.

We have known too little of late the sweet elixir of victory (oops, I Shakespeare'd anyway!), but being the underdog makes winning that much sweeter. It’s why I have loved supporting Watford FC all these years as opposed to the Manchester Uniteds of the world. What’s a win when it’s a formality. The rollercoaster of emotion is what makes sport worth watching; the ups and downs mirror real life and it’s so much more satisfying to live in hope than in expectation; you’re much less likely to be disappointed.

That being said, I can confirm that on arrival back at my house I needed several strong drinks to return my shredded nerves back to normal, despite feeling on top of the world. Blood pressure medication and paper bags on standby, people. Hockey is not for those of a nervous disposition.

Fumbling newbie at large. Lock up your hockey players.

Hello everyone! Welcome to my first regular weekly post on this here blog. I have much to disclose to your fine selves after Saturday’s match, but let’s face it, it’s been a weekend to forget for the Vipers as far as results go, so I will attempt to lighten the mood by regaling you with stories of my continued blind fumblings through the world of ice hockey. Rather than talk about the actual results. Deal?

To try and liven up the blog a bit, I took some of my own photographs on Saturday. Big mistake. Here for example, is a picture of the team as they took to the ice before face-off. That’s what they call kick-off in ice hockey by the way! It just makes me think of Nicolas Cage being over-dramatic (ie, being Nicolas Cage). ‘Face...OFF!’ He should start every ice hockey match. Anywaaaay…

The white blobs are players, believe it or not. If a photo could have sound effects (yes I know, that’s called a ‘video’ – I’m not THAT backwards!) there would be a total Doppler effect ‘neeeeowww’ thing going on, like in Formula 1. Unfortunately this is a silent photo so you’ll have to do the sound effects yourselves. Try it, it’s quite fun!

And I can’t believe I haven’t mentioned this yet – they play the national anthem at the beginning!! Totally weird, considering 75% of those on the ice aren’t from this country. It’s all very sincere and serious though, and adds a sense of grandeur which I rather like. I took a picture of that, as it’s basically the only part where they all stand still.

Sing up, lads. They can't hear you at the back. 'O Canada...' No? Uh...

I don’t think I’ll bother trying that again!

On with the action. Vipers took on Cardiff Devils for the third time in as many weeks, and the match started out with a real buzz. It was a feisty match-up, blood presumably running high due to festering resentments, and there was no shortage of physical challenges. This included a good three or four fights, the most notable being between the smallest player on the ice, Vipers defenceman Sam Zajac, who would comfortably fit in a generously sized pocket, and a man so large, I was at first unsure if he was in fact composed of two normal players, one on the other’s shoulders (perhaps Cardiff have too many players on their roster?!). The name of this man mountain was Brad Voth, and he was a veritable behemoth (check my mad poetry skills).

So Zajac pretty much became an instant hero to the Vipers faithful, the little terrier, and was henceforth presented with the Man of the Match award and christened ‘the Hitman’. Scott Langdon also secured big props for defending his team-mates, being sent to the penalty box twice for fighting. Dude. The Devils are definitely a bunch of hard-asses, though. At one point Jon Pelle completely pole-axed Kyle Sibley and Vipers were in danger of being reduced to just two defencemen. But he escaped relatively unharmed, and I was able to shelve the mother hen routine, much to Sibley’s relief. (Trust me).

The match also saw the return of Polish forward Jaroslaw Rzeszutko who had been out with a broken wrist since before I started watching the Vipers. All involved should be extremely glad I wasn’t there to witness that one. He scored a goal, which was nice. And had a cool swirly skatey thing going on which was a bit nifty. So good on him. And stuff.

At this point I feel we should take a moment to remember why we’re all here. And that’s to laugh at me and my blundering incompetence. So I bring you:

Tragic admission of the week: once during the Cardiff match, I clapped just because everyone else was. I still don’t know what we were clapping for.

BUT! This week I almost figured out why someone was given a penalty! All by myself! Except not quite. I thought it was slashing, when in fact it was hooking. On reflection, I feel it may be advantageous to my future well-being to find out the difference between the two. I will return to my trusty rulebook.

Here’s the thing though. I know literally half of what’s going on. But what I don’t know isn’t worth knowing. Case in point: play starts from one of like, six or so spots around the rink. Or maybe it’s nine. Or five. I don’t know. Or care, much. How they determine where to re-start from, I have no idea. There will be some logic involved, and one day I might even bother to figure out what it is. But for now, it’s really not important when elsewhere on the ice, gloves are being thrown down and opponents engaged in headlocks whilst the Rocky themetune is playing (I’m not even kidding).

It crossed my mind, could the music be construed as an incitement to violence? I think so. And I like it! I believe that I too would be drawn to misbehaviour if I knew my reward would be a burst of Michael Jackson’s ‘Beat It’ followed by a two minute sit down.

Let’s get the formalities out of the way…

Hello everyone, and welcome to what I hope will be an interesting experience for all involved. Let me start by telling you about myself, and ice hockey. My name is Katy, and I'm a southerner, but I've been living here in the north-east for over five years. I am brand new to the sport of ice hockey, and attended my first Vipers match against Braehead Clan a few weeks ago. I fell instantly in love. It’s an all-encompassing and passionate love, quite Victorian in nature, so I immediately started to write about it. On reflection I realised that there must be a great number of people out and about around the north-east, and indeed the country, who would feel exactly the same love, if only someone were to draw back the curtain and show them what is going on right under their very noses. And so an idea was hatched. I contacted Craig Simpson, Vipers Media Coordinator, and pitched him my idea. And he kindly agreed to host my confused ravings on the Vipers website for all to see.

So here it is. A blog of my experiences as a brand new ice hockey fan. From the beginning, hopefully past the difficult teething stages and comfortably through my first full year as a blossoming Vipers fan. Please come with me on my journey. And please encourage others who might still be like I once was, blissfully unaware of this incredible sport, to read this blog too, in the hope that they might be inspired to come along and join us.

I have posted for you below a collection of my hockey writing to date, in chronological order, by way of an introduction to me, my new-found obsession for the sport, and the true extent of how little I really know about it all. Please feel free to start from the beginning to discover the true nature of my ignorance, and point and laugh at me. I fully deserve it!

A plea: the title of this blog is also my disclaimer. I am a complete and total newcomer to the game of ice hockey. I have, to date, seen four live matches, and one of those was over ten years ago. I have looked up the rules on Google and got confused by the Americanisms. I am however a lifelong sports fan so I’m picking things up fairly quickly, but I absolutely bow to the superior wisdom of all those of you who have been watching hockey for years. I feel as though I have been reborn into a slightly altered universe and am an outsider. I hope to learn from you, and in turn influence others who might have never considered attending a hockey match before, or who may not even know that it exists as a top-flight sport here in the North-East or the UK.

So please look upon me as a relative infant. Please be gentle with me. If you see me at Hillheads gazing happily but vacantly at the ice, I’m not on drugs, honest. I’m just in an ice hockey-induced state of diminished mental capacity. I am nonetheless enthralled. Please feel free to come up and explain something to me. I may invest in a dunce’s cap to help you recognise me. I might even feature it in a ‘fan’s tip of the week’ type section, if it takes off!

Note: Posts originally published on my personal blog, http://mypetsteedtangent.blogspot.com/, and have been adapted slightly. I would ask you also to forgive my frequent references to Watford Football Club. They were my first love and are my main frame of reference in sport. They help my thought process!

Ice Hockey and Me: A Love Story (originally posted 1st November)

So after a couple of weeks of pesky prior arrangements it was finally time for another hockey Saturday. About time too. The Vipers took on the top side in the league, Belfast Giants, in the much promoted Halloween Havoc clash at Whitley Bay Ice Rink. The impressive number of travelling fans, complete with rather large drum, were so noisy we moved from our regular spot near the back of the bleachers to one row from the front, which turned out to be an excellent decision. It felt completely different. Despite certain areas of the ice being somewhat obstructed in terms of the view, being right next to the action was quite something. It made it all a lot easier to follow. It was also a fly by the seat of your pants-type experience in that every so often, players came crashing into the sidings literally three feet in front of my nose. I can’t say that a pair of hockey players swiftly applied to the face would be a wholly unpleasant experience, but it might be a bit unexpected and possibly a tad sore in the morning. So I’m quite glad the plastic shields held up their end of the bargain and contained both teams nice and safely, with my face unharmed on the other side.

Pic half-inched from Newcastle Vipers website, by Paul Lynch photography. Does it look to anyone else as though two Vipers players are brutally murdering a Giants player? No? Just me?!

I am also proud to say that after three matches, I am finally starting to recognise individual players, not just by their physical appearances but by their skating styles and even their movements on the puck. Some players are more how shall I say, functional in their skating; it's all about getting somewhere, quickly. Which is fine, and necessary. But others actually have real flair, and probably wouldn't look out of place if asked to perform a triple salko in a figure-skating contest. Okay, you might ask, what have you done with the girl who was getting a bit excitable over large brutish neanderthal types beating the crap out of each other. I don't know where she's gone; perhaps my penchant for aesthetics has overtaken my primitive desire for some good old-fashioned violence. Whatever the case, the light-footed and speedy Vipers won me over in last night's match.

I know for example, that my favourite player, Dale Mahovsky, skates sort of face-first (possibly why he lost a few teeth in last week's match), but with the effortless style of someone who has been on skates for at least as long as he has had legs. Possibly longer. Mahovsky's impressive skating, dogged determination and good clean game all cemented him firmly in my heart as my number 1 Viper. He was vying for the position before defenceman Blair Stayzer left the club this week to return to his native Canada, but even without Stayzer's untimely abdication, Mahovsky still would have taken the throne with his performance this week. Toothless though he may be, he is valiant in his endeavours at all times, and actually helped get a Belfast goal written off due to some excellent work reasoning with the referee. Or so it seemed. A bit of a fan you say? Yes I do believe I am. I even wandered across to the shirt auction in the hope of inheriting his glorious Canadian sweat-laced special-edition jersey but alas, I was too late. Next time Dale, your shirt will be mine.

For fear of sounding a bit stalky, I'm going to move on.

Dale Mahovsky, prior to the dental incident. Photo again by Paul Lynch

At this point can I just say, I love ice hockey. I love it, I love it, I love it. I could just roll around and bathe in it. I am so invested in my team already it actually hurts me when they lose. Which is nearly always. And yet, we don't seem to deserve to. We played great on Saturday, despite having next to no defensive players available, and being up against the strongest team in the league. We were really good. Hard-working, some great skills, one of the most incredible saves I've ever seen in any sport by Charlie Effinger (who I'm also becoming quite fond of), a brilliant short-handed goal from Toms Hartmanis, a very jolly atmosphere and overall, a fully uplifting experience. I absolutely can't get enough. And I have a feeling that it’s just a matter of time before the results improve. Hopefully, a very short amount of it.

Extract from - Joke’s over now, okay? (originally posted 27th October)

Having recently been to see some live hockey matches and having not seen any live football in months, I found it quite difficult to get my head back in the game on my recent visit to see my team, Watford, play a Championship match.. For example, I was quite disconcerted that the staff at Vicarage Road hadn’t taken to playing bursts of fitting R'n'B numbers whenever there was a break in play. I was a bit disappointed to find that throw-ins weren’t sponsored by Phones4U. I found myself glazing over a bit whenever there was a section of play that lasted longer than thirty seconds. Although that may just have been because the game was flatter than a pancake. Laid flat, on a flat thing. In Norfolk. Or perhaps my attention span has been butchered into submission by hockey and I’ll never be the same again.

Things went from bad to worse that Saturday night when, forced to miss the Vipers game against the Cardiff Devils due to my foray darn sarf, I sat tensely in my parent’s home following the match on the Elite Ice Hockey League’s Live Scores page (which is about the most nerve-wracking method of following a sporting contest I have ever encountered, I might add). We lost again, which I was gutted about. Even worse, whilst reading the match report half an hour or so later, I let out an audible gasp upon discovering that Canadian forward Dale Mahovsky had to be treated after a goal was deflected in off his jaw and he lost three teeth! I concluded that ice hockey was just a big mean boys game and the Cardiff team must be a bunch of Neanderthals. How could they. Poor boy. He was one of the pretty ones, as well.

So that was that. Another loss for the Vipers followed on Sunday and I was left feeling particularly sorry for myself as another Monday rolled around, and this one a cold, damp and thoroughly autumnal one. I’ve changed my mind. Can I have winning back please? I promise I won’t complain about it ever again. I was only kidding, y'know. The internet clearly can't take a joke these days. Hmph.

Some further musings on my early days as a hockey fan… (first drafted 20th October)

Being a relatively under-represented sport in the UK it’s not surprising that ice hockey teams have to work hard to secure a large amount of sponsorship to support their existence, but the extent to which it’s infiltrated the game makes me giggle. When I was at my first match and heard over the tannoy ‘icing, sponsored by Winn Solicitors’ I was rightly confused. There was no cake in sight for a start. If there was, why hadn’t I been offered any? I have since discovered that icing is actually an illegal move, a bit like offside. But more puck-related than player-related. The pesky little thing sometimes gets ahead of itself, apparently.

Sponsoring an element of play is incomprehensible to me, and has always made me laugh, ever since we were at Hull’s KC stadium watching Watford a couple of seasons ago and the announcer kept insisting that penalties/half-time/possibly even throw-ins were sponsored by such-and-such. But I do understand the need for it in challenging times, especially for a sport that is so little known in this country. They could at least provide cake, though.

Something else I did find it quite difficult to keep up with in my first couple of hockey outings was the constant changing of personnel (I speak in the past tense as I am now, thankfully, beginning to catch on). There are unlimited changes allowed throughout the game, and according to the rulebook (of which I am now an aficionado) as long as they are not directly influencing play, players can even change during the run of play. Which seems like a wholly unnecessary complication when you consider by comparison the arguments that break out in football over exactly what constitutes 'directly influencing play' when disputing offside decisions. And football is played at less than a quarter of the speed of hockey. Really. It's been scientifically proven. By my eyes. But in hockey it can result in anything up to about 16 players on the ice at any one time, especially if both teams are switching line-ups simultaneously. It's baffling. I have a hard enough time matching what my eyes are seeing to what my brain thinks is going on without all that added confusion.

Which brings me to the player of the month award for September, which I feel it worth mentioning, despite it now being October. Latvian forward Toms Hartmanis took the honours, just ahead of Patrik Forsbacka, who probably came second due to the epic fight he had on the ice against Braehead, on the day that hockey stole my heart. But quite how anyone works out who their player of the month is I don't know, as following individuals is nigh on impossible; it’s like trying to find your pet bee at the Chelsea Flower Show. I've ended up choosing favourites based on their names, and the ones I've managed to track around the ice for more than a minute at a time. My reasoning is faultless.

Which reminds me, I have finally selected an NHL team. In the end I went for the ones with the nicest jerseys. Which turned out to be Calgary Flames. Minutes of careful research went into that decision, so don’t knock it. I also quite like Vancouver Canucks. For some reason I fancied supporting a Canadian team over an American one. It's colder there, therefore they have more of a right to win stuff on ice. QED.

And normal service is resumed… (or, why success in sport is bad for me); (originally posted 12th October)

I mustered a respectable crowd of 5, including myself, for the Newcastle Vipers match against Coventry Blaze on Saturday night, following last week’s epiphany (that being that ice hockey is a sport I could really get involved in – see previous post!). I even managed to drum up some actual enthusiasm! Mostly in anticipation of the numerous fights I had promised would break out (see, I told you it wasn’t just me!) but hey, they were there and that’s what counted. I had become a bit giddy of late, what with Watford reaching the dizzying heights of fourth in the Championship and all the goals they’d been scoring, and now I start supporting a new sports team and their response is to win immediately! It was all too much for me. Luckily, the winning streak was soon to come to an end.

We arrived early enough to see the pre-match warm-up which was quite a sight. Very well orchestrated training drills gave the impression of a tight-knit unit, which is what you would expect. But it proved to be a bit of a false prophet; not quite such a pretty picture was painted by the team when it came to the match itself. At first glance it appeared the Vipers were a little more organised than the previous week against Braehead Clan, and definitely more focused, with very little in the way of physical conflict – much to the disappointment of my brethren who were all but baying for blood, and also so it seemed later, to the detriment of the team.

Coventry were simply much more well organised and motivated, and they attacked Vipers netminder Charlie Effinger with increasing ferocity, systematically exposing the flaws in the Vipers’ defence culminating in a five-goal stand in the second period which effectively ended the game and put the kybosh on what might otherwise have been a jolly happy evening in Whitley Bay town centre. (Does it sound like I know what I’m talking about yet?) Gone was the buzz of the previous week, to be replaced by an air of frustration and discontent at the dismal showing, one particularly disgruntled fan taking it out on a poor, unsuspecting seat right in front of us and almost causing foot-al injury to one of my companions (although I have a sneaking suspicion his anger may have been caused in part at least by a spot of domestic unrest rather than the hockey). Luckily seats don’t fight back, although I’m not so sure about his rather shouty spouse who stormed after him all guns blazing. Apparently it’s not just the players who get wound up at hockey matches.

On reflection, despite a pretty uninspiring performance, I did enjoy the evening. My understanding of the game has increased exponentially in the space of a week, the kaleidoscopic action shifting ever so subtley before my very eyes and dissolving into clarity, sort of like a 3D magic eye picture. The hyperactive fly effect of the first night was replaced in my mind by a spectacle of grace and aggression – by no means a perfect example of how the game should be played, but enough to enchant me nonetheless. I continued on to think that perhaps I should begin following the NHL. After all, they exhibit the game at its finest. But it’s a rather strange concept, selecting a team to support when you don’t have the slightest inclination of loyalty to any of the available options. I was thinking about basing my selection on the team with the coolest name (currently I’m between the Buffalo Sabres and Minnesota Wild) but in reality, it’s best for me to wait a couple of weeks and just see who settles at the bottom of the league. It’s best for all involved.

It’s cold, it’s hard and it’s right outside my house: a novice’s review of an ice hockey match (originally posted 8th October)

Yes, it’s another post about sport. Really, I can’t help it. It’s not just any sport though. It’s that most whimsical and enigmatic sport generally embraced by those with colder climes than ourselves, ice hockey. I’ve never really thought about ice hockey before, other than a novelty visit to a match during my time in the states, 10 years ago (and that was in Arkansas so it really can’t have counted). So when my other half brought home free tickets to last Sunday’s Newcastle Vipers match I was mildly intrigued but thought no more of it until the time came for us to head to Whitley Bay ice rink.

Newcastle Vipers are an elite league ice hockey team who had suffered of late from a win-less run of matches in what was obviously a frustrating opening to their season. Or at least, that’s probably what someone who knew about British ice hockey would say at the beginning of a match report. However, I was blissfully oblivious to any of the back-story at the time, but on reflection, the reactions that night of a clearly dedicated fan-base spoke of a team in desperate need of some success. I have been that fan on many an occasion in my long and devoted yet tumultuous relationship with Watford FC, so I should have recognised it. And now I have, I’m right on board.

Okay I’ve bleated nonsensically for a bit but I can’t ignore the elephant in the room any longer. Being a total ice hockey noob, one of the few things I really knew about the sport was that they seem to have a lot of fights. I had wondered in passing whether being a bit cold perhaps makes one slightly irritable, or maybe it’s the jock-itch beneath all that padding that puts a player in an argumentative frame of mind. Either way, anyone with even a vague knowledge of the sport knows that it goes on and is an accepted part of the game of ice hockey. Yet I have to say, I was still surprised to see it happening right in front of me. And I couldn’t actually tell at the time whether or not the fights were for real, or staged, something like wrestling. I was hedging towards the latter and wondering if it was all bit camp and unnecessary but after further discussion and research it appears that this isn’t the case at all. It probably only looks a bit camp because it’s hard to have a fight when both antagonists are on skates.

Apparently, fighting, or ‘roughing’ as it’s known in the sport, is tactically important as the players defend their most valuable team-mates and disrupt their opponents’ play, and although it isn’t officially allowed within the rules of game, it’s not severely punished either, and officials are content to stand back and let it run its course in most cases. It’s actually condoned as part of the game in the US. Is it wrong that I find it mildly arousing? Probably. But I know for a fact I am not the only one. And most of the others are men.

Anyway, besides the fighting, what else can I tell you about ice hockey, from my completely novice point of view. It’s a very American sport. And by that I mean, there are a LOT of stoppages in play. During which, a multitude of well-chosen popular music clips are played over the tannoy and/or the match announcer explains what’s just happened in language that only those who already know what’s just happened can understand. Altogether, this made the bits where they WEREN’T playing a lot more over-whelming and confusing than the bits when they were. Even though the game-play itself is carried out at approximately the speed of sound and appears to have about as much form and style as a hyperactive fly at an all night rave. It’s a game for those with the attention span of a goldfish. A goldfish with Alzheimers, at that. It was in no way unpleasant though. In terms of levels of understanding versus levels of enjoyment, I suppose I felt something akin to a toddler watching a group of drunken adults play Twister at Christmas. Wide-eyed, happy and confused, but slightly concerned for the welfare of all involved, including myself.

And also, I found myself in the novel and unnerving situation of not knowing what the offside rule was. It’s not just because I’m a woman, OKAY?! Don’t worry, it was the first thing I learnt during my subsequent ice hockey rules study session.

Yet there was something undeniably thrilling about the whole experience. Maybe it was just the knowledge that top level sport was being played right on my doorstep, and the excitement of expanding my mind around completely new game, hungry as I currently appear to be for a football substitute (and all this despite Watford’s current impressive run of form). Maybe it was the exotic sounding names on the team sheet, giving me leave to support a team with ‘Newcastle’ in its name despite my slightly more Mackem loyalties (sorry!), after all, Blair Stayzer and Patrik Forsbacka can’t be Geordies, can they?! Or maybe it was just the chill in the air, the buzz of the crowd and the tension of the final few minutes that reminded me just how much fun it is to kick back and take in a live sporting event. There’s nothing quite like it. So I’m going back for more this Saturday.

As we later concluded, this is physically the closest top level sport to our home that currently exists (unless there’s a pro tiddly-winks league situated in the Billy Mill area of North Shields that I’m not aware of), and not only is that quite an exciting prospect, it also gives me no excuse not to get involved. Go Vipers!