Hockey goalies and editors

My time as a high school hockey goaltender has served me well in life.

The hockey culture of my hometown - St. Paul, Minnesota - is well known. And kids, almost all kids, grow up on the outdoor rinks at the many recreation centers in one of Minnesota's most beautiful and safe cities.

Youth had something to do besides drink. I lived within walking distance - imagine that - of three St. Paul recreation centers - Rice, North Dale and Front street centers. Usually, each center had at least two boarded hockey rinks and a "general" rink for those who did not take their winter sports as seriously.

Not only did each recreation center have its smattering of youth hockey teams, the many Catholic schools, one for each neighborhood it seemed, had at least one hockey team. St. Andrews, where many a storied Minnesota hockey player got their blades wet, had four or five teams, starting with sixth graders.

In all, I played about eight years of competitive hockey, ending my career on the MSU JV in 1978-79.

But I can still remember the drill. A goaltender is a special person, we were told. You must have the steel constitution to face down the rest of the maniacs who get to crank slapshots past your eyeballs. I have the lifetime experience of hearing the whiz of a 4 in. hard, black rubber disk flying past my ear at 80 mph.

I have the experience of one of those shots landing under my left eye on the cheekbone. This was before caged masks. You can feel this kind of shot with a fiberglass form-fitted goalie mask that I'm sure the State High School League would now outlaw.

I'm not sure how the physical experience of taking a slapshot to the face - in the context of good sportsmanship - prepares one for handling life's experiences as a newspaper editor, but I'm sure there are some.

Maybe once a goalie, always a goalie. There's just not much that rattles you when you came of age overcoming the fear of a 4 in. black rubber disk traveling 80 mph and headed for your nose.