The Hockey Wife Food Chain

Wow! It's been a busy week! First, I've begun on the cool "Ryan" project and I hope to have input from all of his friends so that I can complete it by the end of the month.

Secondly, the horrid brace is officially off of my leg! Can I get a whoot whoot?! I contemplated burning it in some type of "cleansing ceremony" or perhaps drifting it to sea like a fallen sailor. I couldn't do it. As I stared at those happy tropical fish and the encouraging, "Good Job!" stickers, and smelled the blood, sweat, tears, and tequila, I realized that it's officially a keepsake. We didn't have "good times" together per se, but we certainly did have "times." I will have it vacuum sealed and placed in a box with my wedding dress. Well, no, I won't actually...but I am keeping it. The crutches, on the other hand, are still a big part of my life, damnit! I am ready to violently destroy those assholes once I have clearance from my Physio.

threatening the brace...just jokes. We have an understanding.

Thirdly, I was approached by a fantastic writer and blogger by the name of Amy Vansant. Her blog www.kidfreeliving.com contains a special series called, "Be More Interesting." Guess what? She thought I was interesting and interviewed me! So awesome... check out her fantastic blog (it always makes me laugh) and the interview here.

Finally, I am still meditating like Julia Roberts in "Eat, Pray, Love." (I admit it, that movie bored the h out of me -  I totally fell asleep during "Pray," and only awoke for the "love" segment). I'm up to 10 minutes per day! I'm also responding to deep, mind-blowing questions from my Master on a daily basis. I'm still stuck on one very important question, "Who are you?" It continues to stump me.

My problem is that for many years I defined myself by a category, a role and/or the people that I hung out with. "I am a school athlete." "I am a Speech Pathologist," or for many years, "I am a hockey girlfriend."

Thank goodness I now have the maturity and insight to realize that although my friends and family have shaped the person I am today, I most certainly am much more complex than just one that fits neatly under a category.

This reminded me of another hockey tale that I promised I would share with you. This story is an explanation of the hockey wife food chain that I perceived when I found myself defined as "hockey girlfriend." It's entitled: The Hockey Wife Food Chain.

In nature, the food chain is a quite predictable linear sequence of links where large vicious animal (i.e. tiger) eats docile animal (i.e. zebra). It’s brutal but it’s nature, and it’s survival of the fittest.

The hockey wife food chain is also quite predictable and sequential; however, it takes a bit of time to navigate when you first enter the jungles of hockey life. Although every hockey team provided a different experience (some teams much “friendlier” than others), and, overall, my experiences were positive, a hierarchy certainly exists and must be learned.

My first exposure to the hockey wife food chain occurred at the ripe old age of 16. I didn’t realize it at the time, but this early experience would shape the rest of my “career” as “hockey wife.”

The Prince Albert Raiders of the WHL were given complementary tickets to each hockey game. How they decided to use these tickets was up to them. Generally, if you were attempting to impress a girl or perhaps get past first base, it was wise to pass along a comp ticket.

The comp seats were predictably in section 11, directly behind the Raider goalie during the first and third period. During each and every hockey game, if you looked up at section 11, you would see, at a glance, who was currently "with" a Raider. 

Occasionally, a girl would be spotted in section 11 one week, only to be demoted to a paid seat a week later – indicative of a break-up.  I’m not going to lie, that happened to me on a few occasions.

Once I started dating Evan Lindsay; however, I was flung into section 11 and remained there for four years. I watched girls weave in and out of section 11 as new relationships started and old relationships ended (occasionally limited to several days). I became a fixture in section 11, perhaps resulting in a wee bit of cockiness on my part.  Stable relationship for 3+ years with one Raider had sprung me to the top of the hockey girlfriend food chain in the WHL.

What I didn’t realize was that as Evan entered the world of professional hockey, I would drop to the bottom of the big girl hockey wife food chain.

My very first professional hockey game experience was in Tallahassee, Florida. Evan had signed with the Montreal Canadiens of the NHL and was sent to their affiliate in Florida to “gain experience” (AKA: "we have no faith in your ability and have nowhere else to send you").

I soon realized that on every team, there is at least one hockey wife who takes pity on the visiting girlfriend and offers to drive her to the game and introduce her to the other women. Thank gawd for that one compassionate wife. As I took my seat next to the other hockey girls, it became apparent that I was much too low on the hockey food chain to be acknowledged by many of the women. Dressed to the nines in namebrands I had only heard of (Gucci, Louis Vutton), I felt quite out of place in my gap sweater and Aldo boots. A series of questions would establish my rank in the food chain:

“How long have you been together?”

“4 years.”

“Are you going to move to be with him?”

“No. I’m in University right now.”

“Oh….” (knowing glances…wha? Has Ev already replaced me?)

Occasionally, some advice would be offered by the much more experienced women who had managed to “land” their hockey player for life,

“You need to get a ring.”

The ladies' attention would soon divert to another section where the “groupies” sat (AKA: women who sleep with players, yet have no formal relationship status).

“Oh gawd, she needs to give up. He’s just using her.”

Phew. At least “visiting hockey girlfriend with no ring” trumped “groupie.”

As I sat with the ladies, desperately trying to hide my spastic reaction to shots on goal, I soon realized that even within this group, there was a very distinct hierarchy. The wife holding the baby donned in daddy’s jersey obviously commanded more respect than “live-in hockey girlfriend.” And “hockey wife without children” certainly trumped “engaged to-be hockey wife,” and so on. It was apparent that I would have to put in my time, get that ring on my finger and bear Evan’s children in order to make my way up that damn food chain.

During one season in Scotland, I was introduced to a new and very terrifying link on the food chain: “visiting girlfriend of cheating hockey player who currently also has local girlfriend.” Yikes. As I sat in between two young ladies, both blissfully unaware that they were dating the same player, I contemplated spilling the beans. But who was I to spring this news upon them? I barely knew either one of these ladies. Certainly they would figure this one out. Both girls jumped to their feet as their boyfriend scored the winning goal. As they celebratory cheered each other with their cups of beer, it was apparent to me that it could be worse. I decided to embrace my current status as “girlfriend to faithful hockey player.”