I sit up straight, feel the shortness of breath, and I can feel how red my face is. Each year it is getting harder and harder to bend down to tie my skates. It probably has something to do with the extra pounds I’m carrying above my belt these days.
But this is my ritual — the late Wednesday night “beer-league” hockey game. It’s always the same, with the same pre-game nerves I used to have as a Peewee player. The eager anticipation as the Zamboni leaves the freshly-flooded ice. It is game time!
I know my story is the same as old-timers all over this hockey-mad country. I’m out here week after week, with each game being my own Game 7 of the Stanley Cup finals, or each goal getting me one closer to the Great One’s record. This is my Hockey Night in Canada. I am the Weekend Warrior.
After the three periods of skating, the post-game beer in the dressing room, the playful jabs at Billy for tripping over the blue line on that second period breakaway, I head back home with only one thing on my mind: the hot tub. My 103-degree beacon of soothing relation. My aching muscles need this. As I slide into the hot’s bubbling water, all I can think is “ahhh … I am the Weekend Warrior!”
Jeff McColl and his team at Beachcomber Hot Tubs know how to sooth the Weekend Warrior. Not only are they an incredible team to work with, but with their six-month relocation guarantee, I was able to temporarily install my tub in the colder winter months so it was ready for my hockey season. And we have plans to move it in the spring, when I finally get around to finishing the deck.
Take it from me, Beachcomber is a must for all of us Weekend Warriors.
— By Robert Meth
