A Hockey Night in Canada: The Link Between NHL Playoff Stars and Everyday Heroes

Ice skating and hockey on a midwinter’s eve for it’s own sake and no other characterises what it is to be Canadian. Every Winter, each of us battles blizzards or freezing rain or dangerous wind-chill factors going to work or school, our daily lives ever affected by the Canadian climate. The nature of the people here is stronger than mere weather though, and no amount of cold has ever stopped this country making the most of what’s on offer, even if it is ice and snow. People must brave the elements to keep their jobs and earn their diplomas, but they choose to go back out again and toboggan, ski, snowball fight, skate, play hockey, build snowmen… the list goes on and on. We feel passion for these things because they prove to us that we can face the odds and win.

To take the challenge squarely and relish every moment of it, despite the cold, despite the time, and come what may is a quality great men aspire to.

Every time someone snowshoes out to a cabin, jumps into a polar dip, or shovels the neighbour’s walk they embody that same spirit. I realised that no other activity could have compelled me into such conditions as we had just played. We were only out on the ice for maybe half an hour that night, less time than it took to get there, and we left just as feeling came back to my toes. But the worth of that night and nights like it carries on into who I am, as it does to each of us through work and play, ever impacting ourselves and the world around us. And every time I see a puck go ‘round or watch kids in the snow, it’s evocative of what we have gained through games such as hockey; in Canada, it’s mostly a sense of self.

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Not just Canada, I’m sure. I would never dare compare mere weather to a world filled with obscene struggle, so I simply state that each region, every demographic faces their own unique yet mutual strain which in turn builds character distinct to the area.

Countries that foster winter athletes have common bonds which are often forgotten, and it starts, of all places, with months of ice-cold weather. Hockey players who have come from these frost-bitten counties have shared the experience of three feet of snow on an early Winter’s morning as they sought to make the best of the difficult environment. The same goes for their comrades in cold who cheer them on from the stands and streets, the rest of the permafrosted population who wage their own battles day to day.

 

The art, sport and various cultural influences in such places reflect the resolve of a quietly courageous and diverse citizenry often overlooked by the world at large.

We force ourselves to go further and have found fun challenges along the way. 

After answering a few of my own questions, I have one more for the remaining playoff participants: what lesson is it they are forgetting? Why do some men step up against unendurable prospects and find a hidden reserve of spirit, while others lack the fortitude to live up to even the most reasonable expectations? Some have an ingrained mettle that helps them past apparently insurmountable chances, and some boast an A-grade arsenal but can’t find the trigger due to a lack of effort.

How can some stars apparently forget the sacrifices their parents made over all those years, or deny any responsibility to their team mates, coaches and fans?

I myself shall keep an eye on what kind of inspiration or lack thereof the remaining teams exhibit as each bid for the Cup with different coffers. In my experience, solid team identity creates character performances - heart-and-soul hockey - and it is these types of intangibles that make underdogs capable of toppling giants. Those who can draw on the personality-building experiences they underwent learning to have fun with a challenge will succeed. Those who forget what got them to such a prodigious venue as the NHL will inevitably falter on a weak foundation.

Once a team is eliminated from a series, they are gone, invisible, irrelevant.

...Such is the pitilessness of the NHL playoffs.

The few and only ghosts even slightly mourned are those that took their chance as far as humanly possible, cheated from a rightful place in a contest in which second best counts for nothing. If they must go, they will go out fighting tooth and nail, showing the Fates that even the most unfathomable odds will be challenged.

...Such is the relentlessness of the human spirit.

“Set my compass North, I got Winter in my blood… they call my home the Land of Snow. Canadian cold front, moving in. What a way to ride, oh what a way to go!”  -The Band, Acadian Driftwood

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