Riding the bus to Detroit this morning.
Big game at Joe Louis Arena today, playing the Trenton Cobras with a 4:30 puck drop. Wonder how big of a crowd we will get?
The Cobras are from Trenton, Michigan. We are the York Mills Minor Peewee Select Rangers. York Mills being the “skiers league” in Toronto. These Rangers in particular are my son’s team.
What the heck is a “skiers league”? In essence, it’s a hockey league populated by families that have other priorities. Schedule-wise, it looks like a normal hockey league, until the snow falls and then all games and practices are essentially held on weeknights. Weekends are held sacred for downhill pursuits.
So how will this would-be group of Crazy Canucks do against the Cobras? I have to admit to looking for some info about them online. Does that make me an overzealous, hockey-mad parent? Because I Googled a team of 11-year-olds playing tier-three select hockey?
Guess it does.
But don’t fault me for being prepared. This is a big weekend. The first tournament of the year for the Rangers. More importantly, it’s the first time my son has ever gone on a tournament trip.
It’s an awesome itinerary. Not only do we play at Joe Louis for one of our three or four games, we are also going to a Wings game, touring the Ford Museum, and having a pizza party at the aptly named Hockeytown Café. I’ve volunteered to be bartender for the adult meeting in the hospitality suite. What a shock, MH3 is organizing the party.
But the real magic of the weekend will be fostered on the 401 during the four-hour bus ride this morning. For me, I loved the road trips during my youth. Wrestling tournaments. Band concerts. Football games. Track meets. Playing cards, cribbage and chess on magnetic boards, telling mythical stories about girls from school, speculating on our opponents, getting advice from our coaches, avoiding unbearable gotchie pulls, pulling into McDonalds parking lots before they opened.
Sometimes we were driven by parents, other times by our coaches, but usually by a driver on a bus. I often wonder how they do it. Town to town. In darkness and snow. Screaming, smelly, selfish kids. Stinky equipment bags. Smellier leftover food. Smellier still bodies. Happy teams, sad teams, arguing teams, partying teams.
Oh, the stories the bus driver could tell. Entrusted with the safety of our children, our coaches, our lives. Enshrined with the mandate to get us to the next game on time. Empowered to decide if we stop for Timbits or keep motoring down the road. Think of all the people they have met.
I wonder if they realize how important they are. I am willing to bet that every single great athlete, every medal winner, Hall of Fame enshrinee, every star you could mention has done a road trip at some point. At some point, some random bus driver has helped those youngsters create memories of a lifetime.
Looking around the bus this morning, I can’t tell you I see any future NHLers on here. But one kid is already being touted for our national soccer program. Another is one of the best skiers in the province. I am pretty sure most of them will be successful academically and professionally.
When they reach adulthood, and think about this December weekend in Hockeytown, I wonder if they will remember the role of the bus driver. Remember that when they were pounding Cheetos and cream soda, someone up front was ensuring they got there safely. That person would be waiting for them after every game. That person would chauffeur them to the mall. That person would make sure they didn’t miss a second of the Jets taking on the Wings.
Hopefully, our kids will all thank our driver on Sunday. Because without the bus drivers in this country, we wouldn’t have experiences like this.
But… maybe, just maybe, they could speed up a little bit.