Hockey!

Ah, the passion of Canada, the pride of winter lovers and glory of the North. A fast-paced, hard-hitting and heart-pounding game on ice. Until the winter arrives, I myself prefer to play in the street, with wheels instead of blades. No other sport in this great country, can draw such crowds.1

I play, because I thrive for the ability to scream "goal!". I participate in the brawls, to prove a woman can break a nose just as easily as a man. I have endured scraped knees, split lip's and a bruised ego, but find my way back to center ice often enough. Crushed ribs against the sideboards, are worth the victory of skill. Spilt blood and friendly feuds, make the penalty box a place for tall-tales and testosterone pride. The thrill of a breakaway, one-on-one with the darting defender, suites me better than the lust of gangs and drugs. The emotion of a team after either a win or lose, can drown the desire for physical pleasure. Competition, is bred in our veins. 2

Pucks which knock out teeth, stick's slash to break fingers, ice that cracks skulls and skates that have cut throats - A game not for the light-hearted. I play, so that I can say; "I survived another three periods."