On Friday the Alliston Hornets played the Penetanguishene Kings in a Georgian Mid-Ontario Junior C Hockey League game. The players, typically under 20, are billeted with families, usually get paid a couple of hundred dollars a month and will never get a taste of the NHL. This, as they would say, is a labour of love.<\/p>\n
<\/a><\/p>\n Tickets for the game were under ten dollars and there was a pretty good crowd at the rink. When we walked toward the bleachers, we were quickly accosted by a man who sported a patchy, not-quite-as-full-as-he-wanted-it-to-be goatee, and told that we had to wait until there was a stop in the action to proceed. He took his responsibility seriously. However, the swarms of undefeatable 12 year-old girls, as if a new and limitlessly powerful species, proved far beyond his control. They moved about freely, in happy packs, completely indifferent to his waving arms and demands that they wait for a stoppage in play.<\/p>\n <\/a><\/p>\n At the concession stand hotdogs were deep-fried, poutine gobbled like popcorn at a movie, and brand-new teens ordered The Grave Yard, a drink that was comprised of a couple of ounces of every flavour in the fountain. Women in cowboy hats sold 50\/50 tickets, and parents watched over their children with greater care than they paid to the hockey game. It was beautiful, like a country fair, and it proved to be an entirely transportive experience, relocating me to a time and place where the routes to first loves were all still being negotiated.<\/p>\n