The Dream Is Dead But It's Not Forgotten
Posted 2:26 PM ET | Comments 0
When he retired, the Great One told his dad: "...Every year when I go to camp, they're bigger, stronger, faster and I'm a year older."rnFor me, the draft is a yearly reminder that I've gotten older and the dream is really over. Granted, I never had a chance at playing at a high level anyways because I didn't have the talent on the ice or foresight to understand commitment to the game--but I (like most of us) am a dreamer. Hell, I would be lying if I said I never thought about a scout who happens to be at the rink when one of my mens league games is going on and he sees something in me and invites me to a practice. Throw in a training montage that shows me getting better as I climb the ladder to finally playing in a pro game and you have a sappy Hollywood film of an underdog beating the odds to make a dream come true. If anyone says they haven't thought of that, you're lying rnBut back to my point...when I watch the draft, I can't help but have mixed feelings. A big part of me is very excited to see the new crop of kids/talent coming into the league, but on the other hand, there's some jealousy. I can admit it. Watching these guys start on a path that I wish I could have gone down is bittersweet and a stark reminder that I'm past the age of making that life a possibility. Even though 30 is still considered young, in the sports world you're toast.rnThe extra jab comes with the Free Agent Frenzy and seeing the "older" guys in the last years of their playing careers, slowly phasing out of the game with small contracts, can be a strange thing because you remember them only a few years ago being onto of the league. What's even weirder is seeing guys you used to look up to as a kid now in management/business, etc. roles with different organizations. I remember watching them fight for their lives on the ice--full of youth, speed and power-- and now they're in the press box with suits, thinning hair and maybe a couple extra pounds.rnHere's the beauty of hockey, though. You can spend a lot of time and energy being an Uncle Rico, dwelling in the past and thinking of the how things would be different if A, B or C happened. But when you lace them up, it doesn't matter if you're in front of 20,000 fans or no fans...as soon as you hit the ice, you're a kid again. We've found the Fountain of Youth.