Antique Goalie Pads

ANTIQUE GOALIE PADS THAT SHOULD HAVE STAYED RETIRED

IT WAS JUST LIKE MY OLD BASEBALL GLOVE, THAT I BOUGHT AT BAMFORD'S CORNER STORE, IN BRACEBRIDGE, ONE SUMMER DAY IN ABOUT 1967. IT COST ME ABOUT FIVE BUCKS, THE MONEY RAISED FROM MOWING THE LAWN FOR OUR APARTMENT LANDLORD, HILDA WEBER. SHE GAVE ME TWO BUCKS FOR EACH CUT, SO AFTER THREE MOWING JOBS, I HAD A BUCK LEFT OVER THAT I BLEW ON BLACK-BALLS AND JUJUBES. BUT THAT GLOVE. THAT GLORIOUS, WONDERFUL GLOVE THAT HAD PRACTICALLY NO PADDING IN THE PALM. BUT YOU KNOW, I PLAYED WITH THAT BEAT UP OLD HUNK OF LEATHER AND WEBBING, UNTIL THE MID 1970'S. BY THAT TIME I HAD SUCH A LAYERED CALLOUS, ON THE PALM OF MY HAND, THAT I COULD CATCH BARE-HANDED WITHOUT ANY SERIOUS PAIN. I RETIRED IT TO THE CURRIE SPORTS HALL OF FAME. THEN, LIKE MY FAVORITE FOOTBALL, I GAVE THEM TO MY BOYS, AND THEY DISAPPEARED SOMEWHERE IN THE YARD OF BRACEBRIDGE PUBLIC SCHOOL AT RECESS.

WHEN I GRADUATED UNIVERSITY, AFTER PLAYING FOR A NUMBER OF TEAMS AT YORK, I CAME HOME TO BRACEBRIDGE POORER THAN THE LOCAL CHURCH-MOUSE. I PUT AN AD IN THE CLASSIFIEDS OF THE LOCAL PAPER, AND BY GOLLY, I FOUND A TAKER SHORTLY AFTER THE HERALD-GAZETTE HIT THE NEWS STAND. A FEW YEARS LATER, WHEN I STARTED PLAYING SENIOR HOCKEY, I CAME BACK AS A FORWARD BECAUSE I DIDN'T FEEL LIKE SHELLING OUT BIG BUCKS FOR NEW PADS. A GOALIE FRIEND, WHO WAS RETIRING, OFFERED TO GIVE ME HIS GOALIE PADS, THAT HAD BEEN GIVEN TO HIM SIMILARLY BY AN OLD GOALIE WHEN HE RETIRED. THEY WERE PROBABLY MORE THAN 50 YEARS OLD. THEY WEREN'T ALL THAT PROTECTIVE ANY MORE, AND I WAS STARTING TO FEEL THE SLAPSHOTS THROUGH THE PADDING, TO THE POINT I WAS GETTING BRUISED. BUT I FIGURED I DIDN'T HAVE LONG TO PLAY ANYWAY, SO WHY SPEND A LOT OF MONEY ON NEW EQUIPMENT WHEN THESE WILL GET ME THROUGH A FEW MORE YEARS.

AT ONE POINT, YOU KNOW, I DID RETIRE THEM. I FOUND AN OPEN SHELF IN MY OFFICE, AND MOUNTED THEM ON THE TOP, WITH A LITTLE NOTE……TED'S GOALIE PADS FROM THE GOLDEN ERA OF HOCKEY. ALL MY FRIENDS WHO VISITED HAD TO TRY THEM ON, AND PLAY SOME INDOOR HOCKEY WITH A GOLF BALL, OR WHATEVER WAS ROLLING ABOUT THE FLOOR.

I GOT A CALL ONE DAY, FROM A FELLOW ON A TEAM I USED TO PLAY ON, THAT THEIR GOALIE HAD INJURED HIS GROIN, AND WOULDN'T BE ABLE TO MAKE AN IMPORTANT GAME THAT EVENING IN BRACEBRIDGE. WHILE I WAS TALKING ON THE PHONE, I WAS ALSO POKING AT THE PADS ON THE SHELF, WONDERING IF THEY HAD ONE MORE GAME LEFT IN THEM. SEEMED GOOD AT THE TIME. I PROBABLY COULD HAVE PREDICTED DISASTER IF I'D BOTHERED TO LOOK MORE CLOSELY AT THE FAILING FABRIC ON THE SIDES. BUT I DIDN'T, AND IT WAS A FEW YEARS BEFORE I MARRIED THE MAJOR-GENERAL, WHO MOST CERTAINLY WOULD HAVE GONE OVER THE PADS WITH A FINE-TOOTH-COMB, BEFORE LETTING ME GO OUT TO PLAY.

SO I MADE IT ONTO THE ICE WITHOUT HURTING MYSELF, AND ACTUALLY HAD LET IN ONLY A COUPLE OF GOALS AT THE END OF TWO PERIODS OF PLAY. I THINK, IF MEMORY SERVES, WE WERE AHEAD AT THAT POINT BY ONE GOAL. THE THIRD PERIOD WAS PRETTY INTENSE, AS OUR SIDE SEEMED TO HAVE A PLAYER IN THE PENALTY BOX CONSTANTLY. TOWARD THE END OF THE PERIOD, WE WERE DOWN BY ONE GOAL. BUT IT WAS A GOOD GAME, AND OUR LADS WERE POUNDING THEIR NET. SOON HOWEVER, WE WOUND UP IN THE PENALTY BOX AGAIN, AND IT WAS THE BEGINNING OF THE END FOR ME…..WELL, MY PADS.

IT WAS LIKE A MARX BROTHERS SKIT…..A LITTLE BIT OF THE THREE STOOGES. A PASS WOULD GO BACK TO THE POINT, AND THE DEFENSEMAN WOULD TAKE A SHOT, SPRAWL OVER THE ICE; THEN OUR FORWARD, ON HIS ARSE, THEIR CENTER LOOKING TO SHOOT, DOWN, WITH OUR FORWARDS, UP AND DOWN. GEEZ, NO ONE COULD STAY ON THEIR FEET. IT WAS HILARIOUS. THE RIGHT WINGER WOULD SKATE UP ALONG THE BOARDS, GET READY TO PASS, AND FALL ON HIS FACE. THE GUY GETTING THE PUCK WAS DOWN. EVEN THE REFEREE HAD FALLEN ONCE, TWICE, ABOUT THREE TIMES, BEFORE A LINESMAN BLEW THE WHISTLE. THE GUYS WERE STILL LAYING ON THE ICE CURSING THE GUY THAT TRIPPED THEM.

SO THEN THE REFEREE CAME UP TO ME WITH A HANDFUL OF STRAW AND SAID, "HEY CURRIE, WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?"  "WHAT DO YOU MEAN REF?" I ANSWERED, STILL LAUGHING ABOUT THE PLAYERS GETTING UP OFF THE ICE, ONLY TO FALL BACK DOWN. "IT'S STRAW," HE YELLED INTO MY MASK. "WHERE'S IT COMING FROM," I ASKED. "YOUR PADS……IT'S COMING OUT OF YOUR GOALIE PADS." BY GOLLY, THE MAN IN STRIPES WAS RIGHT. BOTH PADS HAD EXPLODED. THERE WAS STRAW AND WHAT LOOKED LIKE HORSE HAIR EVERYWHERE ON THE ICE. THERE DIDN'T SEEM TO BE A BIT OF CLEAR ICE IN MY END. PLAYERS COULDN'T EVEN GET OFF THE ICE WITHOUT GOING ARSE OVER TEA-KETTLE. "CURRIE YOU BASTARD…..I THINK I BROKE MY ASS," ONE GUY YELLED AT ME, MAKING THE TRADITIONAL KNIFE-CUT MOTION ACROSS HIS THROAT, TO LET ME KNOW I WAS A MARKED MAN. YOU KNOW WHAT. IT WAS A GOOD THING THE GUYS COULDN'T STAND UP LONG ENOUGH TO TAKE A SHOT, BECAUSE THERE WASN'T AN INCH OF PADDING LEFT AFTER THE FATEFUL EXPLOSION, OF MY RELIC GOAL PADS.

I SHOULD HAVE LEFT WELL ENOUGH ALONE. THE PADS SHOULD HAVE STAYED ON THAT SHELF, FOR INDOOR PLAY ONLY. THAT'S PROBABLY WHAT STRESSED THE FABRIC IN THE FIRST PLACE. SO I GUESS THE MORAL OF THE STORY, SOME ANTIQUES JUST CAN'T BE UN-RETIRED, FOR THE SAFETY OF ONE AND ALL.