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Question: i have joined a skating league and now i cant even get guys to look at me why not just because you play hockey some people think, what? a girl playing hockey??? please please send me any ideas. and dont suggest surgery, i am 12.
Answer: Wow! You’re one smart 12-year-old, if I may say so. Tough, too, it would seem.
Surgery, in fact, was the first suggestion that popped into my head as I began reading your letter, but you wasted precious little time robbing me of that avenue, didn’t you? You strike me as tenacious, as the kind of girl who knows what she wants—and you play hockey, which is probably my favorite sport. Since I respect all those qualities, I am going to break Non-Expert tradition and dispel some real, useful advice for a change.
Hockey is sort of like prison, except with better weapons and a lot more visitors. Probably a handful of other things, too, but my point is this: One of the most effective methods of earning respect and love in jail or in the rink is to royally kick someone’s ass. Of course, you could fight and lose, but some guys think scars are hot, so don’t dwell on that possibility too much.
In the spirit of hockey’s tradition of wanton violence, I offer a few potential solutions to your problem. Any of the following might be incorporated to help you appear more attractive to the opposite sex, or, at least, to instill fear and reverence, which is almost better when you think about it.
The Glove Letter
This is a classic ploy. First, choose the cutest guy on the opposing team, preferably one with all his teeth. Next, glide up to him mid-ice, make like O.J. Simpson and drop those gloves, and prepare to duke it out. To ensure victory, I recommend storing a canister of mace somewhere easily accessible in your padding—if memory serves, Wayne Gretzky’s on-ice bodyguard, Dave “Cement Head” Semenko, actually did this once, although it could easily have been a mace, too.
Once you’ve blinded the poor fellow, pummel him with rapid headshots (not in the teeth!) and then, when he is in the fetal position, retrieve one of your gloves from the ice and shove it as far into his mouth as it will go. When the smelling salts kick in and he comes to, eyes swollen shut with caked blood, go ask him out. He’ll either be impressed enough to accept, or too frightened not to.
She shoots, she scores!
Two Minutes—and a Lifetime of Happiness—for High Sticking
Any hockey player can attest that time in the penalty box is no fun. After all, you could be out there helping spur your team on to victory. Two minutes in the box, however, is a drop in the bucket when considering the potential for lifelong matrimony.
Before taking the ice next game, grab a magic marker and write a message intended for your beau-to-be on the blade of your stick. Don’t worry too much about your penmanship, as he’s going to get a “close reading,” if you follow me; but, since this will be the last thing he sees before he suffers permanent septum damage, do make it plain and memorable. Some possibilities include:
- Call me? 555-3327 (or else!)
- I’ve blinded you—with the tears of love!
- Now you show me yours!
- I’m type O. Need a loan?
He’ll appreciate the originality—trust me—and together, a whole new world will open up for the two of you. With his nose for the net and your fighting prowess, you’ll be junior hockey’s new It couple in no time. From there, it’s only a matter of years before you lead the NHL’s latest expansion team (the Mississippi Muskrats?) to the championship and adopt babies from Nairobi.
The Two-Man Advantage
This scheme is a bit different than the others, in that it involves courting one or more players on your own team at the same time. For it to work properly, you’ll need to instigate an all-out brawl between your squad and your opponents. The easiest way to do this, of course, is to attack the opposing goaltender.
Goalies are the team babies and are incapable of defending themselves—hence their ridiculous amounts of padding and those childish helmet designs with “scary” cartoon canines and lightning bolts. Roughing up your opponent’s goalie in the crease will incite a mêlée of glorious proportions, resulting in at least two of their guys coming in to aid their pad-laden teammate. It follows that at least one of yours will get involved, too, which means that when the smoke clears, you and at least one of your male teammates will be doing penalty time together—all alone in the box with nothing but your pre-pubescent passion to guide you.
Your time will be short, so practice what you’d like to say beforehand. Thank the boy of your choosing for coming to your assistance. Maybe tell him how you swooned when he thumb-gouged number 27’s nostril, or that the maelstrom of unbridled, murderous anger in his eyes was kind of dreamy. And it wouldn’t hurt to compliment him on the size of his cup—his “Stanley Cup,” perhaps?
Attempt to Run Over the Boy of Your Fancy With the Zamboni
Talk about a power play! The title is pretty self-explanatory, and though I could be wrong, I’m pretty sure you don’t need a driver’s license to operate a giant ice tractor.
Here’s how it goes down: You bust onto the ice in the middle of play and chase Romeo with the beast until he acquiesces to your amorous wishes. The crowd will go absolutely nuts in the meantime because, man, they haven’t seen a game this crazy in … three weeks? Sure, you will definitely be suspended, and probably imprisoned, but considering the statement it would make about your resolve, it may be totally worth it. He’ll get over it in a few years, the restraining order will be dropped eventually, and you two will be “zamboning” in no time—whatever that means.
Besides, haven’t you always wondered what it would be like to drive one of those things? Awesome, I bet.
I realize the entirety of my advice relies on unmitigated violence as a foundation, but, aside from winning a game here and there, what else is hockey really about? All said, you could just concentrate your efforts off the ice instead—start wearing make-up, mini skirts, and fishnet stockings while you strut your stuff at the mall, practicing pouty-lipped poses for any young buck that saunters past. Or you could lead a double life: a tough hockey maven by day and a sultry temptress-in-training by night.
But I wouldn’t recommend it, really. You’re 12. You should be playing with unicorns. Starting in on any sort of romantic activity at such an impressionable age could eventually land you with a hooking penalty that’s a lot longer than two minutes.
