Yink
The Robo-PSIentist
Hey there, Yink here. I had to write an observational essay for a class in college. I just got it back today and my professor told me he'd want me to publish it! I'm very excited and I thought I'd share it with you guys.
As a quick note, I am 13 in the essay and at a local hockey game with a friend. Also there may be some errors, thanks to me not being able to transfer it directly from word.
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Sports are one of the major prides America holds. Baseball, football, basketball…you name it. Whenever I ask someone what their favorite sport is it usually comes out to be one of those three. Late in December 2003, I went to a sport that I’ve never really seen or heard much of: hockey.
My friend’s dad invited me to attend a hockey game because he’d won season tickets from his office. At first I didn’t like the idea of going to watch hockey. I didn’t know anything about the sport or the teams. My friend was a big fan and so was his dad, I’d feel stupid asking so many obvious questions to them everytime something happened. It didn’t matter though. Eventually I caved and went with them to see my very first game.
We arrived to the arena a little late, and to my surprise this was a much larger event than I thought it’d be. The second I opened the door the cold, silent air was filled with shrieks and whoops piercing the night. My friend instantly was in the spirit of hockey and started yelling just as much as other people and taking time to elbow me in the ribs to join in. I couldn’t help but feel pressured into doing so.
The inside of the arena was huge, with banners of what looked like a horse hanging everywhere. My friend told me the mascot was a horse, hence the name of the team we should root for (according to him since I had no knowledge of the teams) was the “Rough Riders”.
After shoving through what felt like one-hundred people we finally made it to our seats, which were in the front row on the west end of the arena. I sat next to a man who seemed to be in his twenties. He was wearing a hat with the letters “RR” on the side and holding a hockey stick covered with green and black paint. I could tell he painted it himself because he did a terrible job, but deep down I knew it didn’t matter. What mattered was that he loved the team enough to do it.
Suddenly he turned to me and looked me over. “Is this your first hockey game?” he asked.
I didn’t know if I should talk to him or not because he seemed a bit drunk but I answered anyways. “Yes, I’ve never been to one before. I don’t really know much about hockey.”
He laughed at me and his hockey stick fell, hitting my face. He grabbed it and of course looked to see if the stick was okay, rather than myself. After a moment he replied, “Well, you’d best be prepared for the fights…’cause you look like an innocent kid. There’s rough-housin’ in this game.”
I had absolutely no idea what his idea of “ rough-housin’ “ was. I didn’t really have time to think about it either because about twenty minutes later the game started. Lights were flashing, the crowd was screaming and the whole area was filled with the song “Pump Up the Jam”. It was so loud my ears were ringing.
Hockey seemed pretty simple to me. It felt a lot like soccer, where you have two goals and there’s a goalie for each one. Each team tries to get the ball (or in the case of hockey, the “puck”) into the goal. It wasn’t just interesting to watch the men fight over the puck; it was also interesting how they handled it. They looked like they were gliding over the ice, almost majestically. I was so caught up in watching that that when I focused on what was really happening in the match I jumped out of my seat.
When my eyes finally adjusted back from looking far away, I was about two feet away from a window (shield) of bloody mess. A man in a Rough Riders uniform had smashed his whole face into the shield in front of me. It wasn’t just his blood either it was also from the guy who pushed him into it too. The blood was smeared all over it, dripping down onto ice. The Rough Rider looked right at me and grunted loudly while the whole crowd was booing the opposing teammate who’d done this to their beloved Rider.
The Rough Rider pulled away and I got a better look at his mouth as he yelled to the other man. His mouth was covered in blood, either from his teeth or his lip. He was missing one of his front teeth and I didn’t know if it was from what just happened or a previous injury. I didn’t get too long to look though because the two men started taking violent swings at each other. The rival teammate who already had a cut on his forehead (from one of the hockey sticks as I’d later found out) now had a large bruise on his face. I stared in horror as the fans seemed to enjoy this, while I held back the need to vomit.
Throughout the rest of the game I continued to feel nauseous as more men were beaten and battered just trying to score points. Never had I seen a game so violent in my life. The man sitting next to me smiled and said, “You thought I was kidding when I said this was rough didn’t I? Or maybe you just didn’t know how rough it’d be. You’re too weak for this sport.”
He was right. I was too weak for hockey. By the time it was over my friend asked me how I liked it. Laughing uneasily I told him it was probably one of the most brutal things I’d ever seen in my life. I’ve never gone back to see another game.
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Hope you enjoy.
As a quick note, I am 13 in the essay and at a local hockey game with a friend. Also there may be some errors, thanks to me not being able to transfer it directly from word.
---
Sports are one of the major prides America holds. Baseball, football, basketball…you name it. Whenever I ask someone what their favorite sport is it usually comes out to be one of those three. Late in December 2003, I went to a sport that I’ve never really seen or heard much of: hockey.
My friend’s dad invited me to attend a hockey game because he’d won season tickets from his office. At first I didn’t like the idea of going to watch hockey. I didn’t know anything about the sport or the teams. My friend was a big fan and so was his dad, I’d feel stupid asking so many obvious questions to them everytime something happened. It didn’t matter though. Eventually I caved and went with them to see my very first game.
We arrived to the arena a little late, and to my surprise this was a much larger event than I thought it’d be. The second I opened the door the cold, silent air was filled with shrieks and whoops piercing the night. My friend instantly was in the spirit of hockey and started yelling just as much as other people and taking time to elbow me in the ribs to join in. I couldn’t help but feel pressured into doing so.
The inside of the arena was huge, with banners of what looked like a horse hanging everywhere. My friend told me the mascot was a horse, hence the name of the team we should root for (according to him since I had no knowledge of the teams) was the “Rough Riders”.
After shoving through what felt like one-hundred people we finally made it to our seats, which were in the front row on the west end of the arena. I sat next to a man who seemed to be in his twenties. He was wearing a hat with the letters “RR” on the side and holding a hockey stick covered with green and black paint. I could tell he painted it himself because he did a terrible job, but deep down I knew it didn’t matter. What mattered was that he loved the team enough to do it.
Suddenly he turned to me and looked me over. “Is this your first hockey game?” he asked.
I didn’t know if I should talk to him or not because he seemed a bit drunk but I answered anyways. “Yes, I’ve never been to one before. I don’t really know much about hockey.”
He laughed at me and his hockey stick fell, hitting my face. He grabbed it and of course looked to see if the stick was okay, rather than myself. After a moment he replied, “Well, you’d best be prepared for the fights…’cause you look like an innocent kid. There’s rough-housin’ in this game.”
I had absolutely no idea what his idea of “ rough-housin’ “ was. I didn’t really have time to think about it either because about twenty minutes later the game started. Lights were flashing, the crowd was screaming and the whole area was filled with the song “Pump Up the Jam”. It was so loud my ears were ringing.
Hockey seemed pretty simple to me. It felt a lot like soccer, where you have two goals and there’s a goalie for each one. Each team tries to get the ball (or in the case of hockey, the “puck”) into the goal. It wasn’t just interesting to watch the men fight over the puck; it was also interesting how they handled it. They looked like they were gliding over the ice, almost majestically. I was so caught up in watching that that when I focused on what was really happening in the match I jumped out of my seat.
When my eyes finally adjusted back from looking far away, I was about two feet away from a window (shield) of bloody mess. A man in a Rough Riders uniform had smashed his whole face into the shield in front of me. It wasn’t just his blood either it was also from the guy who pushed him into it too. The blood was smeared all over it, dripping down onto ice. The Rough Rider looked right at me and grunted loudly while the whole crowd was booing the opposing teammate who’d done this to their beloved Rider.
The Rough Rider pulled away and I got a better look at his mouth as he yelled to the other man. His mouth was covered in blood, either from his teeth or his lip. He was missing one of his front teeth and I didn’t know if it was from what just happened or a previous injury. I didn’t get too long to look though because the two men started taking violent swings at each other. The rival teammate who already had a cut on his forehead (from one of the hockey sticks as I’d later found out) now had a large bruise on his face. I stared in horror as the fans seemed to enjoy this, while I held back the need to vomit.
Throughout the rest of the game I continued to feel nauseous as more men were beaten and battered just trying to score points. Never had I seen a game so violent in my life. The man sitting next to me smiled and said, “You thought I was kidding when I said this was rough didn’t I? Or maybe you just didn’t know how rough it’d be. You’re too weak for this sport.”
He was right. I was too weak for hockey. By the time it was over my friend asked me how I liked it. Laughing uneasily I told him it was probably one of the most brutal things I’d ever seen in my life. I’ve never gone back to see another game.
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Hope you enjoy.
