On Frozen Pond

Yesterday was Hockey Day in Canada. Today, a bunch of buddies - ranging from 14 to 62 years old - took over a parking lot to play pick-up road hockey. It felt like we had performed a snow dance, as the first snow of the season began to descend just seconds after we started running around.

Donning my jersey and gloves for the morning reminded me of one of last summer's best moments. I was up in Red Rock, playing the festival there, and a lady came up to me demanding, "Where's my hockey song?". I was embarassed to recall that I had promised her a copy of The Hockey Hymn the previous year, and had never delivered. I ran off to my laptop, burned her three different versions, and then played a dedicated version just for her in my live set.

Afterwords, she came up to me and said, quite emotionally, "You don't know what that song means to me!" I said yes, it meant a lot to me, too. She said "No, you don't understand... when I was a kid we could barely afford skates. I got a pair of hand-me down hockey skates and I had to learn to skate on those... I taught both my brothers how to play hockey." Here she paused, overcome, and said... "Both those boys made the NHL!" She was in tears when she asked me "Do you remember the Manson brothers...?"

Now I was overcome. I managed just to choke out, "I wear Dave Manson's number!" He was with the Leafs when I first donned number three with the Toronto Nomads... we were the worst team in history, but I always liked wearing Manson's number. He wasn't the best-known or most glamourous player, but I liked his grit, his presence and his raspy voice. Meeting Dave's sister and having her like my song... I can't even express what it meant to me, and means to me still.

In the spirit of big Dave Manson, of a little pond somewhere in a tiny northern town, of a sister helping her brothers become warriors, and of a bunch of boys old and young on a parking lot in Toronto, Happy Hockey Day.... every day.