Hockey season is just around the corner, folks, and you know what that means: the real game begins. No, I’m not talking about the first puck drop—I’m talking about the battle royale for ice time. Every year, it’s the same thing. Parents, coaches, and local beer league heroes all throwing elbows, working backdoor deals, and pulling strings to get the prime-time slots at the rink. And this year? Let’s just say I’ve gone full Gretzky on these negotiations.
First stop: the hockey board meeting. I walked in like I owned the place (I don’t, but they don’t need to know that), armed with spreadsheets, schedules, and enough coffee to bribe a referee through a seven-overtime game. I started throwing out words like “developmental opportunities” and “player growth,” but let’s be real—what I really wanted was that 7 PM Saturday slot for the boys. Gotta have the right time for the post-game celly at the pizza joint, am I right?
But here’s where things got tricky. Other teams are gunning for those same times, and suddenly it’s like a faceoff at the Stanley Cup Finals. There’s whispering, back-channel deals, and parents throwing around phrases like “fair distribution of resources” (LOL, as if). I knew I had to step up my game. That’s when I decided it was time to activate my secret weapon: Hank’s patented “persuasion technique,” or as my son would call it, my “rizz.”
Now, let me tell you, not all rizz is created equal. I may not have the flow of a junior superstar, but when it comes to schmoozing the people in charge, I’ve got some serious dangle. Case in point: the club secretary. You know, the gatekeeper to all ice time decisions? Let’s just say a few well-placed compliments about her organizational skills and a conveniently scheduled coffee chat later, and boom—suddenly we’ve got an extra tournament squeezed into prime hours. Coincidence? I think not. Call it a toe-drag around the competition.
I even tried to sweeten the deal with some good ol’ fashioned hockey bartering. “Hey Bob,” I said to the scheduler for the youth teams, “you give us that extra practice slot, and I’ll hook you up with a couple of Michigan Glue stick waxes. Your kid’s top-shelf accuracy will thank me later.” I had him dangling on the line like a rookie defenseman.
At one point, I was half-expecting someone to throw on their beer league jersey and challenge me to a literal fight for ice time (not the worst idea, to be honest). But in the end, it all came down to charm, hustle, and knowing how to play the game both on and off the ice. My son’s team? Locked in for the best slots, with a side of extra ice for a bonus tournament.
Mission accomplished. Now, time to put my feet up and watch these other parents scramble like a D-man trying to stop McDavid on a breakaway.
Till next time—keep your sticks waxed and your elbows sharp.