The moment we knew it was over.

Every now and then I share a tale from the good 'ol hockey days. I've received some positive feedback regarding the hockey, so I figured you may all be tiring of the wakesurfing training and this might be a good time to open the vault and retrieve one of my favorite hockey tales. (I am still training my ass off though. Bring on Drew in 1 week!!! It's awesome!)


Warning: Get comfy. Grab a beer. Top up your coffee. It's a long post. I promise you that it's worth it. You will laugh. You will cry. You will bang your fist against the keyboard and shout, "NO WAY!"


Ev often gets asked how and why he made the decision to retire from pro hockey. He was making a good living, traveling the world, living in fabulous places. Why, oh why would he sacrifice that life to join the "real" world? Although his desire and drive dissipated when his NHL contract came to an end and the Montreal Canadiens determined, essentially, that he had "expired," I can actually pinpoint the exact moment when the decision to hang up the pads was made. We were driving a 30 foot U-Haul, towing a 20 foot boat down the interstate through rush hour traffic in the city of Atlanta. We had approximately 4 hours to get to Charlotte, North Carolina. I was holding a broken side mirror out the window, screaming, "Change lanes now!" That's the moment. Read on.


The year started out so promising (detect foreshadowing?) Evan had signed a contract with the Nottingham Panthers of the Elite League in Britain. Historically, they were a winning team, had lots of dough to keep players and their wives happy, and I was actually able to work as a Speech Therapist in England, given the reciprocity between therapists in the commonwealth countries. Perfect, right? Oh you know this turns bad, don't you?

Rrrrrar....show us sexy panther

The first few months in Nottingham were fantastic. Ev, Biloxi, the cat, and I lived in a cute little flat and drove a cute little car (actually resembling a panther with whiskers. I'm not joking). I was loving my new job and co-workers at the hospital, and much to the amusement of Ev and his hockey team, my official job title was "Swallowing Specialist" (yes, it was actually on my name tag). I learned how to drive the little panther car on the wrong side of the road, shifting with the wrong hand each and every day. What an adventure! The Nottingham Panthers, as per usual, were winning. Ev was holding the highest save percentage in the league. I was beginning to make friends with the coach's wife, a lovely Dutch girl who shared in my hockey angst and suffered from the same anxiety during games. We drank wine and comforted each other. All was well. Until...dun dun dun, it all came crashing down.


The team lost their first game. This was then followed by another loss. And then another. Although the games were close (3-1, 2-0, 4-1, etc), the fact was, this team was not supposed to lose. There was too much money invested in this team to lose. Although Ev's save percentage slipped to 3rd in the league, I wasn't too concerned. I mean when the team is only scoring 1 goal per game, you will not win hockey games, no matter how solid your netminder. Goalies don't score goals.


I began noticing that the coach's wife was becoming distant, politely blowing me off during games and leaving my phone calls unreturned. Fans that had previously waved eagerly while I drove by in the panthermobile were now slipping me the bird. I then broke the cardinal rule of hockey wives and checked the fan forum online. Every hockey wife knows the fan forum is dangerous territory. The fan forum is a place for fans to bitch and complain and share their "expertise." Rarely does it contain anything positive. It's the equivalent of the basement in horror movies. I want to look, but I know I shouldn't...Don't fricken go there! Against my better judgement, I forged ahead through the posts. My heart sunk as I read a post titled, "Who needs to get the axe?" It would appear once I read further that Evan Lindsay was #1 on the chopping block according to the fans. They blamed him.


Within days, Ev was called into the coach's office (FYI: coaches don't call you in to their office to tell you that you are awesome). Evan was fired. Interestingly, as he was being fired, the new goalie was moving his gear into the dressing room. They had been working on replacing Ev for weeks. The coach's wife called me to apologize. It must have been extremely awkward for her to be my friend, knowing that my husband would be fired within a matter of weeks. Business was business. I blubbered my way through my 2 weeks notice at my manager's office, sobbing as I relayed this new development. Thankfully, they were sympathetic and I was able to get out of my 7 month contract with the hospital. The team was responsible for flying us back to Canada. It was December 18 and we were thankful that, at the least, we would be spending Christmas with our family. The team presented us with a red eye flight set to depart on Christmas eve. Merry F'n Christmas! We chose to pay the difference and fly home earlier on a more expensive flight. Biloxi, the cat, was angry. He hates Air Canada.


We returned home miserable, jobless, and in a state of shock. Ev's coping skills included eating anything and everything in site whilst excessively playing video games. He gained 15 pounds. In my depressed state, I stopped eating and began sleeping away hours of the day. I lost 10 pounds. We were a mess. Every day, Ev's agent would call with interest from various teams across the world. Ev had to finish out the hockey season somewhere. My job in Prince Albert didn't start until May 1. 

Eat another chip, Ev. It will make the pain go away.

One team that expressed interest was a team in Nowy Tard, Poland. Wha? I know. Where the eff is Nowy Tard? Although they were offering Ev very good money, once we googlemapped it to find a desolate, snow covered town (much like Prince Albert) and then discovered that Evan and I would be the only English-speaking folks on the team, we replied, "Hell no!" Ev threw a handful of chips in his mouth and I went back to bed.


We finally decided to take an offer from the Pensacola Ice Pilots of the East Coast Hockey League. They were losing. They would not make play-offs. But we had been to Pensacola before and recalled the beautiful white sand beaches and the ocean view from the rink. Why not? We packed up Biloxi, the cat, and a few suitcases and drove our little green jeep to Florida. Other than almost getting arrested at the border for treason (I will totally share this gem of a story with you as soon as I check with Lawyer to ensure that we can no longer be arrested), we enjoyed a lovely trip together down south.

Just tell them the goalie will be a little late tonight

Pensacola was fine. It took Ev a few weeks to get back in the groove (and lose those 15 pounds), but I met some fantastic hockey wives who were very sympathetic to our situation (you can always count on hockey wives to "get it"). We spent every free day at the magnificent beach and endless hours lounging by the pool. It was obvious that although Ev had finally stepped up his game, his heart was no longer in it. Once very structured and strict with respect to pre-game ritual, Ev was now lounging by the pool hours before he had to leave for the rink. He just didn't care that much anymore.


During our time in Pensacola, we found a great deal on a boat in Texas. We had it shipped to our location in Pensacola and intended to tow it back to Candle Lake once the season had ended. Once our boat arrived, we looked at it parked next to our little Jeep Sport and realized we would need a larger vehicle to tow this beast home. We put the Jeep up for sale, with the intention of buying a new one in Florida, and within days had a couple offer us full price for the "electric" Jeep (they thought the extension cord for the heater meant it was electric. hehe). It was literally hours after our little green Jeep pulled out of the parking lot that Ev received the phonecall. He had been traded.

Traded? But the tan's finally coming!

The Charlotte Checkers were poised to make a play-off run and required another goalie. They needed Evan in Charlotte, North Carolina to dress for a game in 48 hours. Evan was speechless as they asked him how he would be getting to Charlotte. "Do you have a vehicle or do you need a flight?" asked the coach. Ev looked out the window and responded, "I have a boat." Shit. We had a 20 foot boat, no vehicle, and had 48 hours to pack everything we owned and travel 700 miles north to Charlotte, North Carolina. "We'll figure it out." replied Evan.


I will never forget that day. Ev was suffering from a man-cold. You have to understand the man-cold. Ev played net with a separated shoulder. No problem. He once actually pushed in a protruding hernia and suffered through a play-off win. No biggie. Ev's a tough dude. The man-cold; on the other hand, destroys him. And me. It takes everything in me to feel sympathetic towards him as he shoves his fingers in his ears and creates this aggravating noise in the back of his throat ("It's how I scratch my throat when it's itchy.") As I tried to line up a rental vehicle with the capabilities of towing a 20 foot boat, Ev "scratched his throat" repeatedly. Staring at my husband, I silently chanted, "I love him. I love him. I love him. I just don't like him very much right now." Talk about a marriage-builder.


We finally secured a 30 foot U-Haul truck with a hitch to tow the boat to Charlotte. This truck was huge, especially given that we were traveling with only 4 suitcases and an angry orange cat. We quickly said our goodbyes, hooked up the boat, and began our journey north. Although we needed to haul ass, we would arrive on time. Spring break was in full gear on Pensacola Beach. As we sat in traffic on the bridge with hundreds of spring breakers in convertibles, jeeps, and motorbikes, pumpin tunes from their stereos, Ev manually rolled down the giant windows of our U-Haul truck and shouted (with a stuffy nose and scratchy throat), "What's up, bitches?" That's when I knew that he gone crazy.

Marriage-builder. Picture this + Man-cold AAAAGGGHHH!

Within an hour, we realized that the side mirror was not positioned properly. It was difficult for Ev to switch lanes with 50 feet of rig. As I leaned out the window to turn it, it snapped off. "You're going to have to hold the mirror, Kirst."


This brings us to the moment when we knew. The end was near. I held that side mirror out of the window and shouted, "Now. Change lanes now!" Once the dust had cleared and we had safely switched into the desired lane, Ev and I looked at each other and said, "What the eff are we doing with our lives?"
Good Gawd.


We spent the next 7 weeks in Charlotte. It was a great city. The hockey wives were really fun and I still remain in contact with a few of them. But...we were done. Ev was done. I was done. The nail was firmly hammered into the coffin. We needed consistency. We craved normalcy. The journey had ended.

The fabulous ladies of Charlotte. Boys lost. Season over. For us, the end of an era. 

That brings us to our current situation. 5 years later, Ev and I have steady "real" careers, a business, a house, the addition of Dundee, the little white dog. Life is consistent. It's pretty "normal." However, there is no doubt that our hockey experiences certainly shaped who we are today. We joke that we have a fear of commitment - and we do! A fear of commitment to location. Since Ev quit hockey, we have been unable to stay put in a  house for more than 2 years. ("I'm bored, let's build a different house!") We miss those highs that emerge after really low lows. Although life is still full of ups and downs, they are not nearly as dramatic or as interesting as they were in the hockey world. Which is good. It's comfortable. It's secure. But...there's something unbelievably exhilarating about packing everything you own, grabbing an angry orange cat, and traveling into the unknown together.