The other night I took my dog out for a walk at Jimmy Simpson Park. While we were throwing the ball around in the middle of the field, about a dozen guys were playing a game of shinny at the rink.
Truly, the acoustics of hockey are a thing of beauty.
Free from the hysterics of sports for spectacle, there’s a quiet rhythm to the game. Gently muffled by the surrounding snow, you hear the sound of skates cutting into ice. There’s movement and breathing, a spray of ice chips as somebody stops or changes direction, the flat slap of a stick against the ice, and the cold, solid thud of the puck hitting a goaltender’s pads. Occasionally punctuating this narrative, young men in toques and sweaters call out to one another from the ice. Conserving their breath, their words are spare.
“ Behind You!”
“Man!”
“Back, Back!”
Five guys get out of a car. With their skates and sticks slung over their shoulders, they walk like gunfighters toward the rink. Coming from Leslieville, they were going to show those Riverside boys what for.
Game on!
At ten o’clock the city workers came and took the nets away, and quickly, the game just vanished. The players departed, and all that was left was the bright white rink, the snow and the sky.
And then it was completely silent, as if at that moment the entire city had settled in for the night.
I kept throwing the ball for Heidi.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, a big dog, his leash dragging along behind him, bounded upon us. A teenage girl with raccoon eyes chased after him, desperately shouting his name. When she caught up she was breathless, a lit cigarette in her bare hand. Seeming a little bit messed-up, she assured us that he was friendly and that we shouldn’t worry. However, the girl had the appearance of somebody who didn’t really have much control over herself, let alone the massive dog that was her charge.
Behind her slunk a boy in an oversized jacket with a ball cap twisted onto his head gangster style. Hands in his pockets, he just watched as she tried to corral her dog, waiting to capitalize on whatever opportunity the night presented, a look that wondered if he was going to get away with it on his face.