This essay is written in three parts: 1) My Hockey Story, 2) My LGBTQ Story, and 3) What Gay Hockey Means to Me.

My Hockey Story:

I have loved hockey all my life. I grew up going to hockey games with my family, watching college and professional hockey on TV, and talking about hockey for as long as I can remember but never playing it. When I was young, we would go skating at the local park as a family, and while taking breaks from the ice, I would watch the big boys play on the lit-up, fenced-in hockey rink. I was silently envious because I couldn’t join them—first, I was a girl, and second, I was too small. But sometimes when it wasn’t busy, I would go out and skate on that hockey rink and pretend that I was playing with the big boys. 

Growing up in Minnesota, I recall having a cheap, kid-friendly street hockey set with a rolling puck, plastic hockey sticks, and a small net. We’d play out in the street, on someone’s big driveway, or in the local cul-de-sac. Like many kids, I distinctly remember yelling “CAR!” and diving out of the way whenever we’d be interrupted by someone driving through the neighborhood.

When I was 7 or 8, my parents enrolled me in figure skating lessons, thinking maybe I would enjoy learning to skate better. After only a few lessons, I knew one thing about figure skating: I hated that damn toe pick. I asked for (more like demanded :D) hockey skates and was obliged. I finished the remainder of the lessons with my own hockey skates.

When the opportunity presented itself to try playing girls’ hockey in late elementary school, my mom gave me a choice: you can play hockey or you can play softball, but not both. But secretly, my dad pulled me aside and told me I should continue playing softball because hockey was too expensive, and we really couldn’t afford it. Later in life, he told me that he was also afraid I wouldn’t enjoy hockey because I was brand new to it and would not be the best player. He was afraid I would give up on hockey and then never go back to softball. Oh, how little he knew me at that time.

Regardless, I continued to play softball throughout high school and was happy with my choice. I became a 4-season athlete: tennis, cross-country skiing, track, and softball. I was also in several extracurriculars, one of which was marching band. As a part of our band grade, we were required to participate in a certain number of pep band events. I loved playing my trumpet, so I signed up for every event that didn’t conflict with my activities, but my favorite pep band events were always ice hockey. While others in the band would goof off and head to the lobby to buy snacks/sodas, I vigilantly watched the games. At one point, I even considered signing up to be a hockey cheerleader just so I could attend all the boys’ games and skate on the ice, but I was never, nor will I ever be “cheerleader material.”

My LGBTQ+ Story:

In high school, I had a lot of queer friends (especially in marching band and drama!), but I never considered myself a part of the LGBTQ+ community. I was an ally and the occasional gay beard for a closeted friend, but at that time I wasn’t a member of the Gay-Straight Alliance, and I “knew” I was straight–more like I was afraid to think differently. I came from a religious background where some people considered homosexuality a sin. While my hometown was large and had a variety of beliefs and ideologies, being openly gay in high school was still unsafe, and my friends who came out were incredibly brave.

Fast forward to college, when I joined the softball team as a walk-on. I played with the team for only part of my first year before quitting due to illness, but this was the very first space I can remember where I was around openly gay women. I know the stereotype about softball players is not (always) true, but in this case, it applied. It was also the first time I was in a sex-positive space. 

At first, I’ll admit I was uncomfortable. I’d never been around women who were so open about their sexuality, but in the end, it allowed me to start to self-reflect and explore. That year, in some of my exploratory choices, I made out with a female friend at a party and realized I liked it. But with that feeling of attraction also came a boatload of traumatic guilt, so I put my feelings for women on the back burner and didn’t acknowledge them again for a long time.* 

Many folks say college is an awakening, a space where you learn about yourself, grow, and become the adult you were meant to be. It’s cliché, and I cannot say that was entirely true for me. Were my eyes opened to new experiences? Absolutely. Did I grow as a human? Obviously, yes. Did I awaken into a new person? No. 

I went to one of the most liberal seminaries in the country for graduate school. Many of my colleagues were LGBTQ+, and many became close friends. One of them, let’s call her Leah, was the first to recognize that I wasn’t as straight as I presented. Reflecting on it now, I wonder if her friendship was because of initial attraction or my need for a gay female mentor. Either way, I looked up to her. She was who I wanted to be. I wanted to be open about my sexuality and be content to publicly be who I truly am, without shame, guilt, or the fear that others will judge me. Nothing became of that relationship except friendship, but I learned so much from her and I am still grateful for her.

What Gay Hockey Means to Me:

This is where my two stories from above combine. In the summer of 2018, I was completely broke and miserable in graduate school; I needed a change in my life before depression took full hold. All my romantic relationships during that time had failed because I wasn’t being my true self, and I didn’t even have the energy to try. Therefore, I quit graduate school and eventually accepted a job at the University of Wisconsin–Madison in an IT-adjacent role. 

In my new position, I wanted to network with folks across campus, so I joined the IT Professionals Committee, where I met Amanda, the (at the time) president of the MGHA. She was exceptionally intimidating at first: someone who had been in the IT industry for a while, who was charismatic and professional, and who also played hockey. (Don’t tell her, but I may have weaseled my way into her circle just so we could become friends.) She knew of my love of hockey, and after a few years of cajoling, she finally convinced me that I should apply to play hockey in the MGHA. 

(My previous arguments and Amanda’s responses: I haven’t skated in ages – doesn’t matter, it’ll come back; I can’t afford gear because of graduate school debt – we’ll help you get some; how will I know if I like it? — *Amanda just laughs in my face*)

I couldn’t have imagined what a community of queer hockey folks would look like, especially because I never thought such a thing could exist. I had never heard of a queer sports league. I expected a small group of players and only a few teams, not the second largest (and now largest!) gay hockey league in the world. I was hesitant but excited to see what I was signing up for. 

Before I applied, Amanda warned me that I might not have priority because I wasn’t LGBTQ, but I disclosed to her that I was bisexual, just not very open about it. However, I decided at that moment that if I joined the MGHA, I would be my true self. I was done being afraid of what others thought and I wasn’t going to hide my queerness anymore.

What surprised me the most at our first practices and events was how welcoming everyone was. I also realized I knew quite a few people who played in the league already or who were joining along with me. I had been in a few queer spaces and been to a few gay bars in the past, but I never felt like I belonged in those spaces. Being bisexual makes me feel like we’re LGBTQ+ “lite” because we have both heterosexual and homosexual relationships, but unless we’re in a homosexual relationship we’re not a part of the “club.” I had never had a serious relationship with a woman yet, so I always felt like an outsider, more ally than member.

I have now played 4 seasons of hockey with the MGHA, and they have changed my life for the better. I have learned so much about playing hockey and I love being on the ice instead of in the stands. I have also made huge strides in being myself both on and off the ice. It has been so freeing to stop holding back who I am. I am a proud bisexual woman.

I have had a few crushes and a relationship stemming from my time in MGHA, but my highlight has been the friendships I have made and rekindled from hockey and the new social circles I find myself in. I have finally come out of my shell, and I feel more confident than ever, all because of my time playing in a gay hockey league.

So, what does gay hockey mean to me? It means the world.

*Funny side story: As a part of the softball team, we were so sex-positive that we painted boobs on the school’s bench (the equivalent to most schools’ painted rock) in the fall with the expectation that it would stir up some drama. Normally it would have to stay up for at least 48 hours and so the alumni returning for homecoming would see it and be concerned. Sadly, it was painted over 10 hours later and so the story just became a legend. (https://morningside.advantage-preservation.com/viewer/?k=spoonholder&i=f&d=01011897-12312010&m=between&ord=k1&fn=scan_20020117_20061207_0376&df=1&dt=10)

As a very closeted gay kid who grew up in South Central Wisconsin, I tried literally every sport in the book.  I tried every sport for the same reason many other young kids try a sport…  to fit in and find a community of people that could be your friends.  Unfortunately, team sports became another place for bullying that so many LGBTQ+ folks encounter not only in team sports, but in everyday life.

As a kid, from the time I started to walk my parents put a pair of skates on my feet.  I can’t remember a time where I didn’t know how to skate.  I was a competitive speedskater (see:  individual sport) but eventually lost the interest – as many teens do.  As a teen, I hated physical education classes – especially team sports.

Fast forward to 2023.  I had just taken a new job at the University of Wisconsin and a former MGHA board member, Bryan Zaramba, invited me to a work gathering of fellow LGBTQ+ staff, faculty and students at the Wisconsin School of Business.  I had absolutely no intention of talking hockey and, come to think of it, couldn’t even tell you how we got on the topic of conversation.  The gist is…  Bryan said I should sign up for the Madison Gay Hockey Association.  My response, “Seriously?!”

You see, I had plenty of horrible experiences in team sports as a kid – why on earth would I want to repeat those experiences as an adult.  As Bryan and I talked, he told me the basics of the league.  A league that caters to queer folks who, like me, may have had really awful experiences in school or team sports.  That was the day my interest was piqued.  I signed up for 2023 but as I soon found out, the league was full and I would have to wait until 2024.  

When I received a recruitment email for 2024, I knew I wanted in!  My husband and I were expecting the birth of our son in October of 2024 and I thought having an outlet to do something outside the house would be a good thing for all parties.  Little did I know that, signing up for the league, I would be signing up not just for a team – but a community of people that I now consider some of my dearest, most cherished friends.

On my first day at MGHA, I had the opportunity to meet just a few of the amazing people who would become part of my new hockey family.  My now teammate and good friend AJ sat next to me on the grass outside the ice rink.  We both had never played hockey before.  AJ explained that they had never skated.  We hit it off right away and I knew then that if everyone was like AJ, this would be a lot of fun.  But AJ is just one person…  everyone can’t be like AJ, right?

It turns out everyone, in some way, was exactly like AJ.  Everyone came to hockey for the same reason – to be a part of a community of like-minded people who wanted a safe place to learn something new, get physical exercise, or a chance to try and find that they could be successful in a team sport.  

So, what does gay hockey mean to me?  Madison Gay Hockey gave me the opportunity to find a part of myself that, for a very long time, I thought was off-limits.  I know my limitations, especially when it comes to sports, and I thought I had no business playing a team sport – especially hockey.  MGHA gave me a chance to prove to myself that coming to the rink, just as I am, is more than okay – in fact, it is celebrated.  

MGHA has become such a strong part of my life that I literally tell everyone I know about it.  Friends, co-workers, people I just met!  I am beyond proud to play with an organization that celebrates people like me.  The friendships I have had the opportunity to make are beyond anything I could have anticipated.  

On October 11, my husband and I welcomed our son to the world.  I had just met many of these new people from hockey and, surely, they wouldn’t want to hear me gush about my child.  I was so wrong.  Not only did they want to hear about my child, and see pictures of my child, but they wanted to celebrate with us.  No matter how you look at it, that is a special community of people.

That’s what MGHA is to me.  A beautiful community of people who simply wants the best for each other.  Hockey just happens to be the device we use to come together as a league.  To be sure, there is definitely competition…  and there are some tough plays and even tougher hits (I can definitely attest to the latter) but at the end of the day, we aren’t a league that is just about hockey.  We are a league that loves to see how people grow through that amazing (and, at times, slightly frustrating) vehicle that is hockey.  While we may leave everything out on the ice during competition, the friendships, community and family stay with us in and out of the rink.

A draft of cold air struck me as I stood in front of the vast expanse of barren ice. It pierced my padded torso like a splinter to my heart. The chill crept down my heavy gear, sinking down all the way to my poorly tied skates. It’s here, at the maw of the frozen dragon that a thought drifted over me: 

“What am I doing here? Why would I try hockey, let alone skating, for the first time in my thirties? What does hockey mean to me anyway? It’s just some stupid sport” 

The doubts heavied my mind, pushing me down into my skates that had called to the ice and froze me in place. 

“Doing okay?” A voice rang out, cracking into the frozen grip that had begun to encase my entire being. Though still too frozen to turn towards the source, I felt my lips could yet answer. 

“No.” I answered candidly. “I think I may be having a panic attack.” I threw out my lifeline, hoping that while the rink seemed to open and swallow me whole, I could at least be myself and not have to hide my feelings. 

“That’s okay. Is it alright if I stand by you then?”, his voice warm called against my frozen terror. He didn’t slip by me like others, but yet did not assume I needed saving. His presence was like a flickering campfire, inviting me to stay. Warm. Cozy. Handsome. 

The thought shattered the spell, snapping me back to the task at hand. 

The invitation to stay had to be declined, less I stay by the fire and never face the frozen beast. I turned to the rink again, realizing the fear had raked its icy fingers across my mind. Gone from my memories is the man who stood beside me, but the passion he ignited remained. 

Before me, the swirling blizzard subsided. Stood now in its place, a wintery wonderland. I heard laughter and sounds of joy alongside words of reassurance and welcome from all those around. I take one last weak breath and push myself off on unstable footing into the rink. The ice sparkled and glistened, and I was reminded of the twinkle of his eyes. His eyes? Who was he? I guess I’ll thank him later.

The next time I faced the rink; I greeted it in sneakers. In return, the magical ice beckoned me in with cautious curiosity. That would be the day I found out who the others on my team were. 

Would they be new to hockey like me? Or would I be laughed off the team for my lack of skill. I ambled about the ice making small talk with those around me. Hoping I can make a friend. A connection. Anything. 

I was assured I would be assigned a team but slowly watched as group after group got called off the ice. At worst, I’d be asked to leave and never come back. At best, I’d be the last kid picked in gym class. 

Finally, I, among the small handful of others all last picked, were pulled off the ice into the bleachers. Though my fears whispered I would still be axed, the figure before me announced himself as our captain. He introduced his husband, another captain, who passed around cookies. Our team color, he announced, would be white; as if the ice rink still mocked me with its frost. 

As we nervously chewed on our baked goods, we began to introduce ourselves.  

This one has been with the gay hockey association for a few years, that one for a few more. This other one transferred from another league, and another practiced all summer. I introduced myself and told my tale of new beginnings on the ice. They listened and laughed at my stories and woes and assured me I’d fit right in. I then headed home with doubts held close and waited for our first game. 

Game day came too quickly, and we met in the locker room. Only this time, I was not alone with my nerves as they lingered in the air. Our captains had an announcement: the name of our ragtag group. We were declared “We All Scream”; an ode to ice cream and my insides. 

Though the name implied, I was still taken aback by the sweetness all around me. One woman took me under her wing and taught me that was a hockey pun. My co-captain helped to tie my skates and the whole team agreed how shot our nerves were. 

The time had finally come for us to head out on the ice. The rink had shifted again, casting a deafening silence all around. I was to start the first game of the season on the ice, known as the starting line. I wobbled my way to position, face to face with my opponent. His terror did not match my own.  

And then, unceremoniously the puck dropped; the game had started. There had been no gong, no starting gun, nothing grandiose. I did not, as I had hoped, magically gain skill to fit my narrative. Instead, I watched as the players around me moved at both lightning speed and slow-mo. I decided to make my move and as I did, my skates decided against it. I lay flat on the ice looking for some hint that the rink itself had raised and trip me. Slowly I began to realize that I had tripped on my own.  

With panic and embarrassment, my body called for the safety of the bench.  Without the skill to stand up, I made the only choice I could. On hands and kneepads, I crawled across the ice. When I reached the sideline, my teammate took my position on the field without comment. Did they not see me? Were they too fighting their own battle with the rink? Or was I finally in a place without judgement? 

I pondered this during my escapes from the ice. Each shift was like a spoonful of ice cream with a stomachache. I watched the time tick backwards on the clock until finally my sentence was served. The buzzer shrieked across the rink ordering my release. The game had ended in a tie. My coaches explained to me a tie was the best outcome. They said a tie implied each team was balanced. I don’t remember the other team’s player that had to crawl off the ice.  

As we undressed in the locker room, my coaches pointed out plays and players that had done well. They awarded players with a puck, signifying their hard work and awarding them player of the game. Though not excluded from the praise, my swelling feet and welling tears caused any words to fall on deafened ears. The only words I could make out were “see you next week.” 

The following week, I was absent from the game. As I laid in my bed with my stuffed-up nose and sore throat, I couldn’t help but wonder if the ice was to blame. Even though I was feeling better than days prior, I still had felt the growing numbness of my frozen core. “I should skip this week” the chilled voice echoed in my head “It’s just some dumb sport”.  

The next week I had known I was to miss since the beginning of the season. I had a concert to go to with my family and had not touched my skates in weeks. I had figured I would have more fun at the concert anyway. And maybe, I had thought, I would skip the next week too. That would bring me to the winter break and I could pick it up next year.   

But just as the thought had formed, it was crowded out by a push notification that appeared on my phone. An email. From one of my coaches. Both of my coaches? I had received a few. They were worried about me and hoped I was doing well. They did not berate me for missing games or even mention it at all. They had just reached out to make sure I was okay. They cared. 

I thought back to the frozen tundra of an ice rink where I had fought to survive several weeks earlier. Moments ago, I was sure it was a dangerous pitfall, that I would be foolish to return to. But then the frozen blizzard shifted, and I saw my coaches skating upon it. The winter winds blew quickly by, but as I focused, I saw faces. My coaches were joined by the woman who had helped mentor me, and my other teammates. One by one they joined on the ice; laughing, smiling, eating ice cream.  As they passed me by each one invited me to join them. During a break in the line of skaters, I looked towards the center of the rink as the whirlwind raged on. Staring straight back at me was a warm, burning campfire. Sitting at the fire stood the twinkling eye of the storm. 

The following week was met at in the locker room with warm greetings and hearty welcomes. We talked about my concerts and my sickness, but never my absence. That was handwaved with a simple “we’re happy to have you back”. They helped to tie my skates and we made our way onto the rink for the game. But this time I did not greet the ice alone. My team had helped to warm my heart, and I was determined not to let them down.  

We lost that game. The other team was skating fast and playing hard . We had lost by only one point. It was exhilarating to try and keep up with them and everyone was having fun. I was still full of adrenaline as we made our way back to the locker room. It pumped through my ears so loudly; I could barely hear my coaches announce me as player of the game. 

I did a double take. Me? Surely not. I was nowhere near as good as my teammates.  

And yet, my coaches had seen past that. They had seen my hard work and determination. They appreciated that I was trying not because of my skill, but my lack of it. They knew what it was like to be in my skates and recognized me for trying my best. They welcomed me for who I was. 

To celebrate, the woman who took me under her wing took me to the Eagle’s Nest; A spot above the rink for players to hang out between games. There we had drinks, and I was introduced to more players from all the different teams. Each one greeted me with kindness and included me in one conversation.  

As most of the players moved on and conversation dwindled, I turned in my chair to see a man approach the woman who had mentored me. He was on the team we had just lost to. Even though we had not been introduced, and I wished not to eavesdrop, I could not help being drawn in by his aura. He spoke of his pets, and as he did, his passion and care for them was carried in his tone. Each word like a loving embrace. As my eyes focused on his lips, I couldn’t help but find myself falling for his adorable smile.  

He finally must have felt me staring as his gaze shifted to me. It was then that I saw his eyes sparkle just like the ice on the rink. It was in his eyes I saw the magic of the ice, shifting to frozen lakes full of joy and wonder. The magic twinkled in his eyes. 

Though he had invited me to his birthday, I would not see him again until New Year’s Eve. With the newfound confidence installed in me, I told him I wanted him to be my New Year’s kiss. Speechless, his nodding head informed me of his approval of my plan. We kissed for the first time at midnight and the warmth of the fireworks of our kiss melted the splinter deep within my heart. 

 It is now the end of my first season of Madison Gay Hockey. Our final match ended with a victory. My team is in the finals and my only game left is the championship match. In my hand, my second puck for Play of the Game, earned for showing tremendous growth and becoming a confident player. My boyfriend and his twinkling eyes are waiting for me in the car. I take a moment to greet my friend, the rink, and think one last time: 

“What does hockey mean to me anyway?” 

The question that has led to my fairytale ending. Who would have expected that finding my community and a place to belong would lead to me discovering my truth and truly understanding that confidence comes from within. Hockey may still be just a stupid sport, but Madison Gay Hockey has meant I become more than I could ever dream. 

And while I may have made a home in Madison with my Prince Charming and our 4 pets, I have a feeling that this fairytale is far from over. There are more seasons to come and more stories to tell, but one thing is certain: 

Madison Gay Hockey means to me happily ever after.