Under Grumpa's Hat

Picture this: the arena lights blaze down, the crowd roars like a restless storm, and the Zamboni’s just finished its final glide, leaving the ice slick and gleaming. The ref drops the puck—clack—and suddenly, it’s all motion: sticks chopping, skates carving, bodies colliding. Life, my friends, isn’t so different. It’s a three-period grind with no guarantee of a highlight reel, but oh, what a game it is.

The game

You start with the first period—fresh legs, raw energy, and a playbook you’re still scribbling as you go. Think of your teens and twenties: every shift feels like a breakaway, every mistake a lesson in how to dodge a 200-pound defenseman. You’re figuring out your line, your role, the rhythm of the game. Maybe you take a slapshot at a dream and miss the net entirely. Maybe you get checked into the boards by a rejection or a failure. But the period isn’t over yet. You keep skating.

By the second period, you’ve learned a few things. You know the ice better—where the dead spots are, how to pivot when life cross-checks you out of nowhere. This is the grind: careers, relationships, mortgages. The adrenaline of youth mellows into endurance. You’re not just chasing the puck anymore; you’re setting up plays, building something. There are power plays (hello, lucky breaks!) and penalty kills (because let’s face it, we’ve all tripped ourselves up now and then). Maybe you spend two minutes in the box regretting that impulsive decision, but the key is to stay sharp on the bench. The game goes on, whether you’re ready or not.

Then comes the third period. The clock’s ticking, and the stakes feel higher. You’re tired, maybe a little bruised, but there’s a fire in you that knows this is where legends are made. You dig deeper. Maybe you’re down a goal—a missed opportunity, a loss—but hockey, like life, loves a comeback. You line up for one last face-off, stick trembling, breath fogging the air. This is it: the moment to pass the puck, take the shot, or block one for the team. Because here’s the secret: nobody wins alone. Even the superstars need a squad—the wingers, the goalie, the guy who sacrifices his teeth to block a slapshot.

Post game

And if you’re lucky, you retire from competitive hockey. The game now is for fun. No room for caution, just heart and instinct. It’s those unexpected chapters—the career change beyond 55, the late-in-life love, the second chance you never saw coming. You don’t play for the clock anymore; you play for the joy of the game.

But here’s the thing they don’t tell you: win or lose, the crowd’s gonna cheer. Not because you scored the cup-clinching goal, but because you showed up. You laced up your skates, you battled the shifts, and you stayed on the ice when it would’ve been easier to tap out. Life, like hockey, isn’t about perfection. It’s about sweat, loyalty, and the sheer audacity to keep charging the net when the odds are against you.

So tape your sticks tight, friends. The Zamboni’s always circling, and tomorrow’s a fresh sheet of ice. Play hungry. Play messy. And when the final buzzer sounds, make sure you’re gasping, grinning, and drenched in the kind of effort that leaves a mark on the ice. And this is why, folks, here in Canada, we keep our Elbows Up!