Hockey On Cider Mill Pond

My daughter, Erika, and I recently spent a couple hours of Daddy/Daughter time at the Worcester Sharks hockey playoff game against the Providence Bruins. We took our seats behind the Sharks bench and waited for the singing of the National Anthem.

Before the first note of "O Say Can you see" Erika asked me if I ever played hockey. I laughed. Then I cried a bit and told her the story of my brief life on skates.

As a child, skating simply wasn't my thing. It wasn't truly my fault, however. We were a middle class family who weren't overloaded with extra cash and the result was that I never having a proper pair of well-fitting ice skates.

My Dad complains to this day that the reason he is not handy around the house is because he never has the right tools. Mom hands him a butter knife to turn a screw or his shoe to pound in the head of a protruding nail.

When it came time for a bunch of the High Street crowd to take over Cider Mill Pond, Mom would head down the cellar and grab a pair of Dad's old skates for me to wear.
It didn't matter to her that Dad was a size 8 and I was a size 3. Or that the blades of the skates were layered with rust. What mattered most is that I had skates and therefore I could join the guys at the homemade rink.

Had Dad's skates been unavailable I sense Mom would have hooked me up with my sister's white figure skates with the faux fur on the top. While neighborhood buddy, Gary Grenier was breaking down the ice with his Easton Synergy Skates, I would be wearing Melanie's Peggy Flemings.

And of course, had Mom dug deep enough into the wooden box that housed our mismatched skates, winter gloves and hats, I would have been presented with an antiquated pair of double runners that belonged to some Civin ancestor generations earlier.

To offset the enormous size of my skates, Mom would hand me several pair of woolen socks. I'd pull them up as high as I could and fold the length of toe into the tip of the skates. "There, that should be perfect," Mom would reassure me. And for a moment, I'd believe her and head to the pond.

Tim, Phil Lavallee, Dyno and I would head through my back yard and cut through Mr Daley's yard, hoping not to get scolded for cutting through. We'd traipse towards the pond knee deep in snow with my skates tied together and thrown over my shoulder.

We'd pass the tree where I inadvertently broke Brian Foley's nose and laugh about the story. Brian was older than me and quite a bit larger. One year he offered to bring me down the hill on his new Mountain Boy Double Runner sled. He laid on his belly and me on his back and we sped down the hill.

I threw my hands around his head and apparently covered his eyes with my snow-covered mittens. I saw the tree. Brian didn't. I rolled off the top of his back in the nick of time. Brian hit the tree with his face. Blood everywhere. Ooops. My bad.
We then laughed about the time we built a ramp out of snow and hosed it down with water over night so it would freeze. The next morning Rick Aucoin volunteered to christen our bobsled track.

Up in the air he lifted as his saucer hit the ramp. Down it crashed with his leg underneath. I can still hear the sound of Rick's scream and the scream of the approaching ambulance. We laughed now. We were scared white then.

We'd cross Pleasant Street, cut through another back yard or two and hit the Cider Mill Pond. Cider Mill Pond was simply named after a Cider Mill that sat up stream from the pond in the early part of the century.

It wasn't much of a pond and actually was smelly and littered with shopping carts during the spring and summer months. Occasionally a cart would peak through the ice and could be used as an end line on our make shift hockey rink.

The level of hockey we played wasn't great. After all we were American kids and only played the sport when the baseball field was snow covered. But with Spencer roots grown in Canada and with a roster filled with Cournoyer's, Deschamps and Delongchamps it was technically in our genes.

Before the two teams were picked, I'd sit on a log which all the boys used to change into their skates. Off would come my high top work boots and on would slide my first sock.

The itchy wool picked my feet, so I'd usually slide it on above my other sock. Seemed like I'd pull that sock on forever, before it finally made it's way slightly below my knee.

Rick and Tim would already be dressed and would be taking their initial spins around the ice, while I was loosening my first skate. I had tied my two skates together for the trip to the pond and invariably they had formed themselves into a knot that Houdini couldn't escape.

I fumbled and wrestled with the two laces and longed for the fork that Mom would use at home to poke at the tangled cord.

Once untangled, I'd have to pull the laces through the weathered eyelets in order to get my over sized foot into the boot. Then back through the 10 sets of holes, and wrap the superfluous string around my ankles to give me extra support.

The boys would start picking teams as I tried to get myself geared up. It didn't matter if I made it out to the ice for the pre-game draft. I was always picked last anyhow.

Two socks on, skates laced up, I'd wobble my way onto the ice like a ding-toed penguin. The second my blades exited the snow, I'd hit the ice. Not running but falling.

The boys would laugh and tell me I looked like Bambi trying to make my way to his feet for the very first time.

Tim was always one captain and Gary the other. They bucked up to see who was the Bruins and who was the Blues. I knew however that the only Black and Blues I'd be a part of where the ones forming shortly on my ass and legs.

I'd line up on the defensive side of the ice and dream of being Bobby Orr or Espo. I'd even accept being Dick Buttons or Oksana Baiul. All the while, I knew, however, that I'd spend the day more like an old-time Zamboni, cleaning the surface of the ice.

By the time the opening puck was dropped I'd have finally figured out that if I turned my feet in and walked on the side of the cracked brown leather I could kind of run along the ice and participate in the game.

I'd think of myself as Bobby Orr while in reality the only move I imitated was his fly through the air after his famous goal against the Blues.

The teams would race up and down the ice with the skill and speed of the 1970-71 Bruins. I'd plant my freezing cold tush on the ice and marvel at their skills.

Occasionally, when the puck was shot wide and went up onto the bank, I'd wobble myself over and toss it back onto the ice. At least then I felt like a contributor.
As the final horn sounded, and the score ended something to something, I'd already be up on the bank disrobing. Skates off, ankles sore, bruises already forming, I'd wrestle again with my knotted up laces and finally decide to tug my foot out of the top and leave the knots for next time.

While Tim and the boys circled the ice with an imaginary Stanley Cup held high above his head. I longed for spring and the start of baseball season. At least there I felt I was playing on an even playing field.

And my cleats fit better than Dad's skates.

Worcester Sharks Fraser McLaren: Wanna Go?

As a frat boy at Syracuse it seems like me and my fellow TEP's were always getting in a weekend scrap. Not sure if it was too much booze, too much testosterone, or too many gals that we were dying to give a tour of the inside of TEP Palace.

Every Friday or Saturday at 2 p.m. and sometimes an occasional Sunday through Thursday ended with the Weekly Square Dance. I was a muscular little fire plug in those days and was always ready to drop the gloves and go a round or two.

My ring wasn’t the square circle and certainly wasn’t surrounded by ropes or turn buckles, but the pavement in front of Sutters Mill, Buggy's Bar and Tavern and good ol Hungry Chucks.

Our weekly Battle Royal started for any of a number of reasons.

• For looking at a brother cross eyed
• For checking out our TEP Little Sisters or any sorority gal a bit too long.
• "Yes, I do mind if you dance with my date."
• To cover the back of any drunken TEP brother
  

Not sure what our record was in those matches. I suspect we won a few more than we lost. But we didn’t keep score. I just know that I came home many a night with a busted lip, in need of a stitch or two, or seeing the world through one slightly closed eye. Rarely did I end a night with out a little blood on my knuckles and someones tooth imprint in my hand.

My Dad had a buddy in the Army who was a parachute jumper. Dad once asked him if he liked to jump. He replied, “No, but I like to hang out with guys who do like to jump.“

The analogy being, that I am now 47 and haven’t fought for 25 years (well, except for defending a buddy in Barbados a couple summers ago). But I still like to hang out with guys who do.

So when I had the opportunity to do a Q and A with the Worcester Sharks resident tough hombre, Fraser McClaren, I assumed I'd be chatting with a fighter who occasionally plays hockey. Instead I found a skilled and articulate hockey player, who occasionally has to watch the backs of his "Brothers" or set the tone of a game.

I couldn't resist asking the Enforcer On Ice a few questions that I've always wanted to know. I asked him what he says to his opponent, as if comparing his answer to my repertoire.

"I usually say "Do you wanna go or whatever I think of at the time" said the 22-year-old left winger. "Sometimes you don't need to say anything at all. You both just no it's time."

"Sometimes you have to stick up for a teammate. Sometimes you just need to send a message to the other team or even to your own teammates if the team came out flat. I see it as my responsibility to set the tone of the game. Though other guys on the team sometimes do the same."

Fraser stands at 6'5" and tips the scale at 228 pounds of solid granite. When on skates the pride of Winnipeg, MB Canada adds a few inches to his mountain man frame.

"I'm not a fan of staged fighting." he explained, while spitting out a tooth or some blood or someone's ear. "This is when two guys go because they are expected to. Like it is their role to fight to give the audience there monies worth. I think I good hit has the same or better effect than a fight."

I asked him how fighting on skates compares to fighting in street shoes. "I don't know. I never have fought in street shoes", laughed Fraser quickly reminding me that fighting is simply part of his job not an anger issue.

McLaren in his first year with the Sharks is more than just the teams tough guy but a guy who can handle the stick as well as his gloves. He came to the team at the end of 2007 and played in only four games. This year, however, he played in all 75 Sharks games and netted seven goals and one assist.

Prior to joining the Sharks, McLaren finished sixth on his Canadian Junior team in points with 40 in 66 games.

"I consider myself to be a power forward more than a fighter. I love to kill penalties and really take pride in that part of my game. Most thugs don't kill penalties."

Fraser's earned a ten-minute misconduct and a season-high for penalty minutes when he scuffled with Steve MacIntyre (Providence) in only his third game with the Sharks last season. He scuffled for the first time in his AHL career with tough guy Kevin Westgarth of the Manchester Monarchs.

Despite being able to put the puck in the net on occasion, Fraser hopes to get to the NHL because of his ability to hit, bang and occasionally drop the gloves. McLaren broke the 600 career penalty minute plateau earlier this season after seasons with the Portland Winter Hawks and the Moose Jaw Warriors of the Western Hockey League.

"I hope to get to the NHL with the San Jose Sharks since they are the team that drafted me. But if that doesn't work out, I'd be happy just playing hockey."

McLaren, who leads the Sharks with 21 major fighting penalties in 75 games, once scored a Gordie Howe hat trick (a goal, an assist and a fight) in a game when he was with Moose Jaw. "I think I got a goal and two assists and then got jumped from behind to complete the trick, laughed Fraser.

As I was ready to wrap up my interview with the Mighty McLaren, I had one final question. Coincidentally, it is one that ties in with the Sharks ticket selling campaign. "Wanna Go?" I asked.

That's the last thing I remember. McLaren showed me why he's the toughest dude at the DCU and why I'm a 47-year-old sportswriter with a glass jaw.

Worcester Sharks Win Big While Losing Game

So I wake up this morning after a late night watching the Worcester Sharks, Minor League hockey game, and I jump on the lap top. I'm still stoked from last night's game.

I pour myself a bowl of Cap'n Crunch with Crunch Berries in honor of some of the bone crunching hits I saw at the game. I throw Warren Zevon, "Hit Somebody" into the CD player and I begin to recreate the excitement and the over all awesome event my family had just experienced.

Before I begin waxing poetic about the top notch brand of hockey we saw, I want to share a personal experience that was the precursor to writing this story.

Aside from my passion for writing sports, I'm a Customer Service Wizard. Much of my successful career outside of this Fantasy World we call Sports has been spent satisfying customers.

The phrase "The Customer Is Always Right, Even When They Are Wrong" has earned me more than my fair share of Franklins, while at the same time turning many a case of heartburn into volumes of success stories.

Well this story begin about a week ago when I bought 10 tickets to two upcoming games at the DCU Center involving the Worcester Sharks. We had been a few weeks before and the Sharks office placed a follow up call to see how we enjoyed our first game (GOLD STAR No. 1).

We had enjoyed it immensely. We sat at center ice right behind the bench, so close I was concerned that the kids and I would be showered with ice as each player whisked by.

We had enjoyed making new friends with season ticket holders and had even enjoyed chatting with the very friendly usher who calls Section 123 his home.

Upon receiving the follow up call, I bought the 10 tickets. Five for last night and five for their season ending regular season bout with the Providence Bruins.

I told Kate and our son, Dakota, about the tickets and I thought Dakota was going to kiss me for the first time (I'm the step Dad and kisses and hugs are just becoming common place). He asked if he could bring two buddies and we agreed.

Long story short...My credit card was double charged and I went BONKERS! I called my ticket sales dude and was ready to do a Cam Neely through the telephone.

But wait...I was greeted with a calm, cool and collected voice who told me, "Mr. Civin. You are our customer and we will find out what occurred. I highly doubt it was on our end but we will certainly find out ASAP and call you back."

I hung up. Almost disappointed. I wanted to fight. I had dropped the gloves, thrown down my stick, took out my two front teeth and I was ready to dance. I even shoved a fist in the whimp's face and he skated away. Smiling.

Within minutes I received the following email from the CFO of the Sharks. SAY WHAT??? Not an email from the bottom feeder but an email from the Top of the Food Chain?

It said,"Thank you for the patience that you have shown throughout this process. ("The process took all of an hour, I thought"........) I can say with full confidence that the Worcester Sharks have only been paid one payment of $130.00. Unfortunately your bank, citing privacy regulations, will not speak with me regarding your account....With all of that being said, you are a Sharks ticket holder and are very important to us. Obviously I cannot refund money that we did not receive but should you not get this straightened out with your bank, I, in good faith, will credit your Sharks account the full $130.00 so you can use that towards the purchase of tickets either this year or next. "

"Please keep me posted on your results, we appreciate your business and we all are VERY concerned that this happened."

"Holy Bobby Orr Slap Shot", I thought. A hat trick. An Over Time Goal on a shoot out. The Holy Grail of Customer Experiences. Where do I sign up? I'm sold!

To make a long story, even a bit longer, it was indeed a bank error, which was quickly rectified by conventional means and we all lived happily ever after. I have since purchased playoff tickets and am on my hands and knees groveling to my wife to let me buy season tickets for next year.

The moral of the story is one I learned early on in Customer Service..."If you treat someone poorly, they are likely to tell ten of their friends. If you treat someone nicely, they may tell one."

Me, being the over achiever that I profess to be, am compelled to stand atop the roof tops and tell the world...BUY YOUR PLAYOFF TICKETS NOW...

(My Dad, the traveling salesman taught me...."He who has a thing to sell and goes and whispers in a well, is not so apt to get the dollars as he who climbs a tree and hollers.")

And that brings us to the Main Event..The reason why I sat down to tell this tale to begin with.

We got to the DCU Center in Worcester ready for action. I had been singing the praises of the fine quality of hockey we'd seen at our last game when I brought our daughter and two of her friends. We had seen a fight filled contest, with hard checking and lots of scoring.

The game exhibited a much higher brand of hockey than I had anticipated. My daughters left ready to blacken their teeth they were so pumped up after the game. I sense they went expecting to see the Ice Capades, but instead so "Disney on Ice with Checking."

The Sharks are the American Hockey League affiliate of the San Jose Sharks of the NHL. The Mother Team on the left coast is currently sitting atop of the NHL with 109 points and are one of the favorites to win the Stanley Cup.

San Jose frequently dips into the Worcester roster to pluck top players to supplement their major league roster and I was concerned that the level of hockey would suffer due to the farm team arrangement. Was I wrong.

Though the San Jose team has shared such Worcester stars as Tom Cavanagh, Ryan Vesce, Rile Armstrong, Jamie McGinn, Thomas Greiss, Lukas Kaspar, Mike Moore, Derek Joslin, fan favorite, Brad Staubitz and former NHL tough guy Claude Lemeiux, the level of hockey was far superior to the few college games that I had attended.

Was it the Bruins? No. But for about 1/10th the price it was money well spent.

From the second we strolled into the DCU Center we were entertained. It happened to be "Be a Leader" Night so we were greeted by mascots from all the local teams. "FINZ", the Sharks Mascot, had invited his friends from the Worcester Tornadoes, The Holy Cross Crusaders, The Boston Breakers Female Soccer Team and several of the other AHL teams. Dakota, and his two buds grinned toothless hockey grins from ear to ear.

Once inside the friendly confines the boys could choose from Slap Shot Shooting, to Face Painting, to getting autographs from Worcester Tornado and Boston Breakers stars, both of whom are ready to kick off their seasons.

I had told the family that our seats were up in the Nose Bleed section. "All we can afford guys with the economy the way it is." The boys were disappointed, but tried to be appreciative. "Half the fun is just being here, Todd." I looked at Kate and she at me. We smirked.

After loading the kids up on dogs, pizza, cotton candy and an icee, Kate and I treated ourselves to a glass of Pinot and a beer and a delicious plate of Penne pasta in a wine sauce, as well as, a Roast Beef Panini with chips and a pickle. We sat near the beautiful oak bar while a Jazz Orchestra entertained us with a selection of hot jazz tunes. No, no one spiked my Kool Aid...I'm serious.

The kids, Kate and I were amply nourished and headed for our seats in "The Nose Bleed Section." Not so fast. For the whopping price of $13.50 (slightly discounted from the regular price of about $17.00, since we bought 10 tickets for two games), we had seats in the third row behind the teams benches. I sat in section 123, row HH, seat 11. The center ice line would have dissected me in half had it been allowed to continue off the ice.

Upon looking at my program, I pointed out that Saturday night was Family Night where the Sharks offer 4 tickets, 4 hotdogs and 4 sodas for $61.00 or less than the price of a medium priced seat for the Bruins.

The kids eyes were the size of a Zdeno Chara slap shot, as the usher brought us to our seats. Tim, our ticket sales person, had arranged to have us sit right next to Bruce and Diane Paine, who have been Sharks ticket holders since the franchise moved to Worcester (actually since the days the DCU was home to the Worcester Ice Cats).

"Where else can we go every Friday or Saturday night and get this type of entertainment," said the affable Paine. "And it's a great place to bring the whole family", added Diane. "It's a real family night out for cheap money."

From the dropping of the opening puck, the hockey was intense. I boasted to the boys that they will see NHL type hockey and they were not disappointed. The checking was bone crunching, the skating fast and the battles were hard fought.

With the "Woosification" of sports of late with steroids and rule changes it was exciting to see clean, young, natural hard bodies going to battle with each other.

Though I love the fighting aspect of any game, I explained to the boys as well as the kids around us, that the fighting is not because the players dislike each other or are even really mad. The fighting is part of the battle. The test of strength. The quest for territory and domination of your opponent. I think even Kate appreciated the sport more once she knew that "ooooh, they are trying to kill each other" didn't really mean that.

In between periods we were entertained by music, mascots and the tossing of t-shirts into the crowd by the on ice Shark's Ice Team. A special treat for the kids was the tossing of stuffed animals onto the ice when the Sharks scored their first goal.

Though they were to be shut out 1-0 on this night there were two nullified scores so the kids prematurely tossed "FINZ" and other stuffed animals onto the ice in celebration.

As I mentioned, "Our New Favorite" team lost that game, but did they really? The Civin clan, clan, plus two friends had enjoyed a wonderful night with the Sharks. For less than the price of dinner at the 99 we had seen a great brand of hockey and had a wonderful entertainment experience.

The boys fell asleep in the car on the way home. I had the recap going on the radio and Katie looked over at me and smiled. "You know, in this economy we may not be able to do all the things we normally do, but I appreciate you for taking us all out."

I took out my front teeth and smiled. I knew I had scored, despite the fact that the Sharks were shut out. I kinda think the Sharks and their organization scored a big victory, too.