Man, trying out for Medfield High hockey was rough. Like, super rough the first time I did it. I figured, “Hey, I can skate okay, I can kinda shoot… how hard can it be?” Oh boy, was I wrong. Got cut after the first day. Straight up bombed.
The Wake-Up Call
Seeing my name not on that list? Hurt. Bad. Felt like everyone was staring, even though they probably weren’t. Some dads were laughing near the parking lot – probably not about me, but sure felt like it. Went home, slammed my smelly gear bag down. Mom asked how it went. Didn’t wanna talk. Just hid in my room feeling like a loser.
Took me a couple days to stop moping. Finally admitted to myself: I just wasn’t ready. Those other guys? They were fast. Their passes stuck to each other’s sticks like glue. Me? My passes bounced like crazy potatoes. Needed to fix it.
Getting Serious About the Grind
Decided right then: next year would be different. Started actually planning. None of this “maybe I’ll skate sometimes” junk. Summer became hockey summer. Here’s what went down:
- Skated. Every. Single. Day. No excuses. Didn’t matter if it rained, or if mom had to drive me to the rink super early before work. Even if it was just 30 minutes stickhandling in the driveway wearing roller blades. Gotta get those feet moving.
- Found pick-up games anywhere. Scoured community centers, talked to older guys at public skates. Just needed to play against people better than me. Got bumped around, fell tons, but learned real quick how to handle the puck under pressure.
- Hit the gym, sorta. Didn’t go full bodybuilder. Just did basic stuff – legs for speed, core for balance. Lots of squats, lunges, planks. Tried not to groan too loud. Felt stronger on the ice, less wobbly.
- Learned the stupid offside rules backwards. Watched high school games online, really paying attention. Asked the coach (politely!) after games sometimes about positioning. Stopped standing around like a pylon waiting for the puck.
- Got my gear actually fitting. Taped my stick right. Tightened my skates properly – no more floppy ankles! Figured out how to lace my shin guards so they didn’t slide down. Little things, but they matter when you’re flying down the ice.
Put in the work. Months of it. Got tired. Fell down. Got back up. Repeated.
Tryouts Round Two: Gut Check Time
Walked into that rink this year feeling different. Still nervous, sure. Sweaty palms. Stomach flipping. But underneath? Something solid. Knew I’d given everything I had for this shot.
Coach blew the whistle, and boom. Skated like I meant it. Every drill – backchecking, breakout passes, shooting drills – I went flat out. Didn’t hold anything back.
- Died during suicides (those skating sprints that make you puke), but kept pushing. Legs screaming, lungs burning? Ignored it. Just kept driving my skates into the ice.
- Made passes count. No more muffin passes. Aimed hard for the tape. Connected way more than before.
- Tried being LOUD. Called for passes. Talked in the drill lines. Hustled back like a demon when the other team had the puck. Coach always shouts about effort? Showed it.
- When I messed up? Got stripped, missed a shot… didn’t let it ruin the next shift. Shook it off. Gotta have a short memory.
Three days of total exhaustion. Body felt like jelly. Shower never felt so good.
The List
Check-in day. Saw the paper on the locker room door. Big crowd. Pushed through (tried not to elbow anyone). Scanned down that list… Saw my name. Saw my name! Right there, plain as day.
Man. Huge relief. Grin plastered on my face all day. Told mom, she cried a little. Called my buddy who helped me train. Didn’t make top line, heck no. But I made the team!
Point is: getting cut sucks rocks. But showing up the next year with actual effort? Knowing you gave it your all? Best feeling ever. Worth every drop of sweat, every sore muscle. Put in the work. It pays off.
