Dehydration Love

By VASHL Champion Reaper Goalie

Mike Hoffman

When I came to, I was being told to stay still.  My legs and back were cramping from the dehydration, and the room was still spinning, just slower now.  I couldn’t sit still and wait for an ambulance.  Where am I?  Canada. . . . I could tell because everyone was so nice and concerned.  Why am I on the floor bleeding?  Tougher question with a throbbing head from apparently hitting the wall . . . but I think it was because I either drank too little or too much, depending on your perspective and your choice of fluids to judge.  Coming more clearly into focus at that point was the realization that I had let my teammates down through my own stupidity.

Once in the ambulance, I feared concussion from the fall, but I knew what caused the fall.  This Vaso-Vagal response is one I had experienced before, in much more embarrassing circumstances.  Passing out (presumed drunk) in a bar was much easier to explain than passing out naked in the shower at the YMCA.  But I did that twice, because I dehydrated.  But I had a lot to drink tonight.   Yeah, I had A LOT to drink tonight.  Shit.  The alcohol was dehydrating my stomach and the rest of me, just like I learned freshman year in New Orleans.  Lots of fluids with your alcohol and you stand a chance of enjoying the good parts of intoxication without those nasty side effects. 

Remembering it all clearly as the ambulance pulled away.  3 hours sleep between two 10+ hour driving shifts to get to Brantford from New Jersey by way of Chicago (don’t ask!), to suit up in hot goalie gear (with no water bottle – IDIOT) and play continuously for 2 hours in a practice game.  Then shower and try to recover.  Tylenol. . . . Canadian Tylenol.  Yeah, that stuff works if you are sore.  But in this case, terrible mistake, as it made me not feel my body’s signals that it was suffering.  Moonshine Cherries.  Mistakes abounding and compounding.  Pink Vex. . . . wow, tasty, but very alcoholic  . . . I am hugging really cool lesbians!!!  I must have a shot with them!  Mistakes ROCK!  How much BETTER could things possibly get?!?!?!  The room is spinning, I love that feeling.  Spinning too much, let’s get up and head to the bar.  WHOA!  I should take a  . . . . . . stay still, don’t get up, the ambulance is coming.

The hospital had me sit in a hallway on a gurney for almost 6 hours with two, now lifelong, friends, who thought enough to call my wife on her cell and tell her what kind of idiot her husband is.  The substandard treatment of the medical staff was only counteracted by the . . . I will call it what it was. . . love of my friends there with me.  I was cleared to leave and play hockey at the crack of dawn (no not THAT Dawn!) and we made our way back to the hotel, exhausted and relieved. 

With a marker and a hotel hand towel, mimicking our founder Kevin Smith’s,  announcement to the world, I posted a sign on my door.  “Yes, I assure you, I am fine!”  I knew everyone was worried, and might knock to see if I was there.  I really needed some restful sleep.  And I got it.  When I woke up, the tournament truly began.  My roommate, whom I had agreed to let stay in my room, was gone before I got back.  Apparently after Dylan puked near him, and I was wheeled out on a stretcher, he decided that Brantford became Mos Isely and we were the scum and villains to avoid.  But he didn’t stop there.  His message to us was heard loud and clear.  Hydrate.  Be Excellent to One Another.  And. . . . Stop Partying On Dudes!  In his defense, he cared for all of us, me especially, but it was received mostly as a joke. 

I grabbed my goalie gear and headed for the rink in a fairly heavy rainstorm.  Are we actually going to play in this.  Once we were there for a few minutes, my question was answered.  Um. . . . fuck yeah!?!  Soaked, I donned my newly painted mask, bearing my own motto for the tournament, becoming the Reaper . . . in the words made famous by Robert Oppenheimer “Now I am become Death, Destroyer of Worlds.”  I was ready to play.  And we won.

And the next day, we won again.  And then, we lost.  As I was still feeling the love of my friends taking care of me after my fall.  It ground at me and fueled inside me to play harder and better, and we did.  By the end of that night, we had won our semi-final matchup and were scheduled to play in the finals the next day.  Better yet, our assistant captain, playing for another team, scored the most unlikely and unexpected shootout goal in VASHL history.  Gavin . . . . a stay at home defenseman and self-defined “funbassador” lined up to take his penalty shot . . . and scored on the crazy clown himself, Artist Jim.  And thus the Ever-Aging Vulgarians were out.  Off the most unlikely of sticks.  In the most unlikely of circumstances.  And I knew we could win.  The other team was tough and stacked and they were truly a team. 

I looked around at the Reapers, at my guys, at my teammates, at my friends, and I knew what I had to do.  I had to do the best I could possibly do out there.  I had to fight every shot and make every effort for them, because they would do the same for me.  We had no quit.  But we did have humor.  On the way into the hotel, I turned to the defenseman for my opponent the next day and said right to his face “Verdone, you suck cock.”  And I smiled and he was either confused or amused, but either way, he got my point.  There was no HATE, only pleasant rivalry.

That night I sat down in a quiet empty hotel room with that new mask and I made two additions to its’ back.  First, on the back of the headguard, I wrote the names of my kids.  They would be there in my heart, helping me succeed in the face of adversity.  Under each of their names, I put their birthdates.  And second, at the top, I put the date 6/6/04.  My wedding anniversary.  Without love, without my wife’s support and encouragement, I am nothing and I know that.  She was behind me even when I was an idiot.  She supported me when I fell, and she was the hand that helped me back up, from 1000 miles away.  She has always been my angel.  And my wife and kids would be there, in that championship game, guiding me.

When Crandall brought our team together to discuss strategy, I asked for a minute to say something.  Everyone got quiet and looked at me.  “Gentlemen, it has been an honor and a privilege to play with each and every one of you.  I intend to go out there and leave nothing to chance.  I am going to play my hardest for each and every one of you, because I know you will do the same for me.  Lets win this!”  And there wasn’t a cheer.  Just a confident nod from each of them.  They were feeling the exact same way.    

The game was close throughout.  I let in some bad goals, but I stopped some amazing shots from my adversaries.  Down one goal late, our opponents were pushing hard.  Jeff, in particular, was playing his heart out.  I just happened to have his number all weekend.  With seconds to go, Crandall and Jeff took a spill into the corner and as the buzzer sounded, Crandall arose bleeding, and Jeff, well, didn’t get up.  He was writhing in pain and Crandall was over him making sure he was alright.  Both teams went to that corner, to my left, to check on Jeff.  His injuries (and Crandall’s bloody knee) capped off a hard fought battle, but a clear win for the Reapers. 

Once it was determined by all that Jeff would be alright, the celebration ensued.  Handshakes and hugs to every member of the other team.  I was crying and everyone saw it.  I didn’t care.  It was such an emotionally charged weekend.  Starting in the ER, ending holding up this cup.  I let the tears flow, took off my mask, and kissed each of my kids names and my anniversary date.  They were there with me.  In my heart.  They led us to victory.  We moved off the rink and continued celebrating.  While the vex on Thursdaynight was sweet, nothing will ever taste as glorious as that drink of pink champagne out of the VASHL cup. 

Through the battles, the friendship, the love, the alteration of minds and souls that occurred that weekend, I would always remember that you never give up.  Even when you think you have done something to destroy yourself and your team, get up, hydrate and believe in yourself and your teammates.  Believe in the love around you and the love inside you.  Remember that it is an honor and a privilege to battle and love with friends.  When the Reapers did that, we changed things, we did what no one (us included) would have ever expected.  A photo of me, after the win, standing beside the car, said everything that needed to be said about the tournament.  I was standing up, a champion, and my heart was full.  (A year later as I write this, my VASHL Cup continues to overflow – with love for these crazy folks.  See you soon!)