Boston, still raining.
So here I am, feeling all sorry for myself after getting absolutely pummeled in my Friday morning
hockey game. The final score was 8-3, and that's indicative of how badly we played, myself included. To make matters worse, we even got the early lead, 2-0, and were ahead 2-1 after the first. That was as good as it got ...
The wheels came off pretty quickly in the second period. A shot from the point went just wide, and I got stuck in one of my patented "Help I've fallen and can't get up" positions (as the accompanying photo, above, will attest). The puck caromed off the back boards right to the stick of an opposing forward, Danny McCarthy, who tucked it into the open net. Tie game. Then a soft point shot went through a maze of legs and sticks, slipping into the far corner; 3-2, bad guys. A bang-bang play from behind the net made it 4-2, and a missile from Trevor Hanson over my glove (at least I think
that's where it went, since I'm not sure I actually saw it!) capped the 5-goal outburst.
In the third, three more goals got behind me, including another bullet shot, this time from Paul Albano. I couldn't get off the ice fast enough. The weird thing is -- and most goalies can appreciate this -- I didn't feel like I was way off my game. There are days when the puck just seems to hit you, no matter how out of position you are. And then there are days when that three-inch slab of vulcanized rubber seems to find every tiny little crease in your stance. Today definitely fell into the latter category. By the end of the game, I felt like a pinata. I should have stayed in bed!
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