Seven years ago, on a blistery winter day in Pittsburgh, I hopped on a bus with my college roommate and a neighbor to go stand in line outside of an arena shaped like an igloo.

We arrived two hours early, yet we were still near the back of the line. Luckily, when we made it to the box office, there were still tickets remaining. We flashed our student IDs and were given three standing-room only seats for $20 each. The ticket stub said, “Must be 5’5” or taller to see over wall.”

I’m 5’6” (on a good day). I had to peek through the top of the wall and a railing to get a glimpse of the ice. I could barely see the far goal, but for the first time, I got to see an ice hockey game in person. The Pittsburgh Penguins defeated the Dallas Stars in a rather dull game, but something ignited a spark inside me—and I fell in love.

I threw everything I had into the sport of hockey. I followed the Penguins like only a die-hard could—I watched every game, stood in the cold all day for tickets, and camped out in front of the arena to watch playoff games on a big screen. I even got up at 4 a.m. to get a good spot to watch the Stanley Cup parade in 2009.

In 2010, I surrounded myself even more with sports, as I became a sportswriter for the college newspaper. I also managed to snag an internship with the Penguins during my senior year. In just four short years, I did everything you possibly could as a hockey fan, save for one thing—actually play the game.

Watching hockey made me happy. Writing about hockey gave me validation. Arguing with Philadelphia fans gave me purpose. And all of it masked the biggest issue in my life—one I was too afraid to face.

Basically, my hockey and sports obsession kept me busy enough so I didn’t have to think about the future. But once college ended and I was lucky enough to find a good job, I moved to Madison and was forced to.

I still watched as much hockey as possible, but I was no longer immersed in it as much as I was the year before. The issue that I kept sweeping under the rug kept creeping back out.

You see, living life in the closet is like holding your breath—you’re eventually going to have to exhale. I finally allowed myself to realize what I forced myself to not believe for years. I am gay. But that realization led me down a dark path.

For my first two years in Madison, all I did was sit at home, watch hockey, eat junk food, and occasionally go out with the few friends I had. Needless to say, it wasn’t a very healthy lifestyle—physically or mentally. I gained about 40 pounds and I wasn’t a very happy person. I didn’t see an end in sight.

Then, it all changed so suddenly and magically that I still sometimes wake up and think it’s a dream.

On a mundane Monday in late April, I was procrastinating at work and perusing my Twitter feed. A tweet appeared that linked to a Sports Illustrated article, written by a basketball player I never heard of. His name was Jason Collins, and he wrote a beautiful story announcing that he’s gay. I was struck by his honesty, and I admired the fact that he wanted the world to hear it from him first.

Minutes after reading his story, I opened up a Microsoft Word document and wrote the most important story of my life. Collins made me realize that I wanted to tell my story in my own words and not have the grapevine of a small town spread my truth. I am gay, and it’s about time I start being proud of that.

Hockey helped me through a difficult period in my life, but it also played a part in keeping me in the closet. I guess I wanted to divert any gay suspicions away by showing how much of a “masculine” sports fan I am. “He can’t be gay, he likes hockey” was my foolish reasoning. ButI never even considered playing.

And when I came out, I still didn’t think I could play hockey. I still feared the locker room. And I knew I wouldn’t be very good, since I’ve never played before.

Soon after I came out, though, several people emailed me and told me about the Madison Gay Hockey Association. After hearing how the league encourages new players, I decided to reach out and learn more. Two weeks later, I was on the ice for my first scrimmage. Finally.

But I had only been out of the closet for a few weeks. I still wasn’t quite sure what it meant to be openly gay. I think part of me joined the MGHA for the wrong reason—I wanted to prove to the world that a gay man can be masculine just like straight men.

Now that the world knew I was gay, I wanted to try hard to prove that I wasn’t any different, that I’m just like everyone else.

Thankfully, the MGHA taught me a valuable lesson. I am different. It’s time to stop trying to prove myself to people, and it’s time to stop trying to prove stereotypes wrong.

That’s not what gay hockey is about. Gay hockey isn’t about proving that we can do the same things that straight people can do. We all already know that. Gay hockey is about sharing my love of the game with other people who were discouraged from lacing up skates their whole lives. Gay hockey is about simply having fun.

Now, I don’t play hockey to prove that I’m just like everyone else. I play gay hockey to prove that I’m different. We are different. The MGHA is different. We play hockey because it’s fun. We play hockey to make friends and learn from each other.

Gay hockey has helped me find my place in Madison—a place I now consider home.

I lived in a small town in Pennsylvania for 18 years. I lived in Pittsburgh for four years. I’ve only lived in Madison for three years.

But Madison is home, and my MGHA family is a big reason why.

Gay hockey came into my life at a very opportune time. Initially, the Madison Gay Hockey Association was a chance to enhance my individual growth through teamwork and to learn more about the community that supported me (well before I even knew I was a part of it). I had just come out to my parents, which led to openly flirting with girls for the first time in my life. This paired nicely with the newness of a game that I had never formally played. I knew what hockey was, but I didn’t know what gay hockey was. Spoiler alert: I’m still not a professional at either.

Sports have almost always played a direct role in my life. Early on, I learned how to excel individually in softball and bowling. Neither is as physically demanding or as team-focused as hockey; however, both helped me define myself as an athlete. Years of my life were devoted to these sports, and over time I gained confidence, felt useful, practiced commitment, experienced failure, and learned how to quit. I was ready physically and emotionally to join gay hockey.

From the beginning of the season, I never needed to define myself as anything more than a player. During the first clinic, like the first 21 years of my life, external motivations dominated my mind. Stretching, passing, skating, and shooting were the concrete skills I needed to work on, and doing so made me feel useful. Like many activities, it’s an escape. An hour on the ice helps push aside work and life drama, directing focus to the beautifully simple goal of getting the puck in the net. I could go on forever about how athletes perceive and obsess over their passion for sports, but for once in my life, let me get to the point.

Gay hockey authenticates how sports represent life. Similar to the way art reflects life and life reflects art, I see sports reflecting and enhancing the connections we have to one another. Not all sports and not all teams are created equal, but in the MGHA we play gay hockey, which means we play for one another. I play hockey for my teammates, my community, and myself. It’s a display of how individuality and cohesion off of the ice come together on the ice. Gay hockey made me understand the importance of sports beyond athleticism and individual prowess.

Most importantly, gay hockey involves me directly in the LGBTQ community. I have less than a year’s experience openly talking about my sexual identity, but I am more educated and supported than I’d ever hoped to be. The ever-present worries, demons, and stories are real; it will take many brave words and acts to share our love outside of the LGBTQ world. Large and small experiences of being brave are the cornerstone of being a gay hockey player. Simply being a part of the MGHA gives us the opportunity to share every part of ourselves with those listening.

Diversity is normal, within people, thoughts, and actions. Coming together to make something tangible for ourselves fulfills my life, and I’ll never take for granted the love that exists within everyone in gay hockey.

This is my first year playing hockey, and it is a dream come true. Joining the MGHA impacted me in many great ways, but the real extent of it did not dawn on me until recently.

I had always wanted to play hockey. I started watching the CU Buffaloes play while attending University of Colorado – Boulder in the late ’80s. I liked the game a lot. So much so that I started to go to the student rec center and watch the recreational leagues play as well. I loved the fast pace of the game, the strategy, the intensity, and skating and stick skill needed. I admired those who played and the passion they put into the game. I loved that I never once saw a hockey player who was lukewarm about the sport, and this inspired me.

I had always wanted to be involved in sports but never took the step because of my experiences in school. There was a group of jocks at my junior high school who were aggressive, arrogant, intimidating, mean-spirited. They bullied me, made fun of me, hit me, and threw snowballs with rocks in them at me, and I was always scared of them. I never fought back because I knew they would just gang up on me even more. To their credit, I did learn how to run fast. In high school it was the same, so I tried my best to stay under the radar and just get through it.

After coming out, I gained confidence and found groups outside of school to support me. I was more comfortable, but the dream of sports never materialized. Underneath, I still felt unworthy, weak, and intimidated. I graduated and moved on to college. In college, I fell in love with hockey, and I secretly longed to play but had so many misgivings. I was afraid I would break a finger, which would be disastrous to my many years of guitar study. I was suffering from asthma and thought that the game would be too much to handle. I was too skinny and thought that the other players would snap me in two. I was homosexual and wouldn’t be able to stand up to the judgment. The excuses were symptoms of being bullied all those years. Sadly, my friends agreed with my reasons not to play—but I still dreamed. Eventually I finished college and went on to build my life.

Years later, fully involved in my career path of healing and counseling, I was reintroduced to hockey in a most unexpected manner. On September 11, 2001, I was in New York to attend a children’s peace conference at the United Nations. The next morning, the towers went down. Our group ended up volunteering with the Red Cross to counsel victims of this terrible event. One person I met while volunteering was a NY Gay Hockey League member. I was truly surprised to hear that such a thing existed. A seed was planted.

Later that year, I returned to New York to visit people that I had counseled from 9-11. While there, I decided to visit the gay hockey league and watch a game. The website said that visitors were welcome with an invitation to meet the players after the game. I practically ran to Sky Rink. I was so excited and blown away watching gay hockey. I met some of the players and Jeff Kagan, the founder of the league. Everyone was friendly and welcoming. I left New York thinking how unfortunate it was that there wasn’t a league close to where I lived, but seeing NYGHA in action made it seem possible.

Years later, I had become aware of MGHA and was very excited. I started thinking about joining, but there were many reasons why I couldn’t. Work, travel, school, age, etc. I eventually realized that the real reason I didn’t join was because I was still intimidated. I finally decided that I HAD to go for it and finally face these old issues.

I joined MGHA, got in after the season had started. My first day was at a game. Despite my terror, I was thrilled beyond words to be on the ice playing hockey after some 20 years of dreaming about it. Everyone was so friendly and supportive; I cannot express what that day meant to me. Since then, I have had only wonderful experiences. The experience has been healing and uplifting and I am truly grateful for how positively it has affected me. But it is only recently that I realized how much so.

In February,I played in the Madison Pond Hockey Championships. I was nervous because this would be the first time playing against non-MGHA people, so that “safety net” wouldn’t be there. The games went well—I had fun, played hard, and did my best. I felt proud of the progress I had made over the season. Later, I had a realization. Not ONCE during the tournament did I feel intimidated, judged, or bullied. Those old, doubting thoughts about size, skill, speed, gender, and sexuality had not surfaced once the entire weekend! I had been walking around meeting people, sharing stories, cheering teams on, playing. I remembered how the old me would have felt at this gathering, and how I would have treated the “straight” people there like they were the old bullies that used to torment me. None of this happened.

Upon realizing this, I went outside and looked around. Games were happening, there was a light snow falling, rocking music, the smell of beer, and friendly chatter…and me there, a part of it all. I thought to myself, “This is a perfect, beautiful moment. I made it at last.” I got a lump in my throat and tears welled up in my eyes, and I felt immense gratitude flowing through me. It wasn’t that I was just doing the best that I could; somewhere along the way, during this hockey season, my past demons had simply disappeared and what I was now sharing with my MGHA teammates and all those other players was simply the LOVE OF THE GAME. That is what I have dreamed of for so long.

The MGHA is an amazing example of what is important and necessary about having a healthy, supportive gay community. People are given the chance to work through fears, issues, and pain,and are given the chance to be beginners without feeling pressured to perform. The result is that people are able to find confidence, self-esteem, inner strength, artistry, and passion. This, in turn, allows them to share that good energy and well-being with the people in their lives. Playing hockey with the MGHA is a dream come true for me. It’s the awakening from an old scary dream, a chance to make friends, and outlet to blow off steam and have fun. I cannot put into words the positive impact this organization and its members have had on me. I cannot put into words how much I love this game.

Gay hockey means politely declining invitations to join for years, citing your paralyzing fear of team sports brought on by 12 years of hellish gym classes.

Gay hockey means finally giving in and trusting your friends who are MGHA members that there exists a sports league that is actually supportive.

Gay hockey means doing breathing-relaxation exercises while driving to the rink for pre-season practices and scrimmages because you’re a nervous wreck over how bad you’re going to be.

Gay hockey means meditating on the incongruousness of having teammates discussing the latest episode of RuPaul’s Drag Race while putting on their hockey gear.

Gay hockey means wondering if you’re not gay enough to fit in until you remember that you wash your jersey and socks on the delicate cycle with Woolite.

Gay hockey means being surprised when your straight teammates are the most vocal supporters of adopting unabashedly gay names like “The Green Gay Puckers” as the team name.

Gay hockey means feeling quietly relieved when you realize other beginners are just as bad at hockey as you are.

Gay hockey means obsessively watching the time on the scoreboard and hoping the game ends quickly because you’re embarrassed by the number of times you’ve fallen on the ice.

Gay hockey means realizing that your coach praising you for falling down often was not being sarcastic. (Falling over, he said, is a sign you’re pushing yourself.)

Gay hockey means having to bite your tongue—hard—and simply say “Thanks” to people who say they see improvement in your playing even though you don’t.

Gay hockey means helping members of the other team back on their feet after you knock them over on the ice.

Gay hockey means members of the other team helping you get back on your feet after they knock you over on the ice.

Gay hockey means having members of your team, members of the other team, and occasionally even the refs give you positioning advice.

Gay hockey means appreciating teammates who don’t exclude you from the game despite not being able to contribute much.

Gay hockey means staring at the Facebook photo somebody posted of you during a game and realizing after a few moments that yes, that is you and you are actually playing hockey.

Gay hockey means enjoying wearing your MGHA sweatshirt because after all the spills, bruises, muscle sprains, and aches, you’ve earned it. (And also because it’s really comfy.)

Gay hockey means finally being able to relax at the games and not care about the game clock, scoring, or even team rankings because you’re just there to enjoy playing hockey.

Gay hockey means watching your Facebook friends list explode with other MGHA members—and occasionally with their drag-queen alter egos, too.

Gay hockey means going from being relieved when there are weekends with no hockey scheduled to being annoyed and upset at excuses like “Super Bowl Sunday,” “Oscars Sunday,” and “Christmas.”

Gay hockey means feeling sad when the season begins to wind down because your hockey skills have finally improved from comically bad to just bad—and feeling proud of that improvement.

Gay hockey means feeling excited to sign up for summer scrimmages so you can see everybody again and play some more.

Gay hockey means wondering why you waited so damn long.

I first heard about the MGHA while looking for chess partners on Grindr. The odd mix of a demographic not known for sporting excellence and a brutal-looking sport caught my attention. I didn’t bite right away, but I looked over the website and—months later—set up a meeting to talk details.

Patrick must have thought I was quite the pill. I had a list of questions about this so-called MGHA. When are the games? What’s the overhead? How does the G play a part in the HA? I approached the hockey league like I approach most things—with caution and meticulous planning.

Approaching my 30s, I was searching for something to shake up my routine. My upbringing prepared me for a predictable life and career held aloft by prudent decisions. I envied my friends’ stories about the spectacular but ultimately harmless mistakes they made early in life. I often felt like I was cheated out of the opportunity to be reckless.

There were a few years during which I called my parents every few days like a pious son—only to end up telling them that they stifled me. My teenage rebellion came late. The frustration was directed at two human beings who no longer exerted that kind of influence on my life. It took me a long time to realize that no one, no thing had that kind of power over me—even longer to realize that I had to live my life instead of just telling people off.

I think I ultimately chose to join the MGHA because it offered nothing familiar. Being part of an organization with gay in the name and playing a team sport were both firsts for me.

Before stepping onto the ice for the first practice, I had only skated a handful of times. I was the kid that dreaded P.E. Dodgeball seemed to me a game invented by beefy Teutons so they would have an excuse to throw things at people. During the physical assessments, I hung like a limp noodle from the pull-up bars—not able to manage even one. I was flexible, sure. But the stocky gym teacher—who threatened to “whip [me] to death with chopsticks” when I didn’t run fast enough—wasn’t impressed. Looking back, it’s not hard to see why I never thought I was athletic.

Now, a few weeks from playoffs, I’ve reconciled mainstream sports with my worldview. It might not be a revelation for most, but I get the idea now that a sport is defined by the people who play it. In the first few games, I had people from the opposing team tell me where to stand to best cover their position. When players want to improve the game, not just intensify the competition—sports can be a simple pleasure. I wish that perspective could have come to me sooner.

The experience of hockey is incredible. The long process of suiting up makes me feel like I’m stepping onto the sands of an arena or making final preparations for a space odyssey. I even welcome the butterflies of anticipation as the teams wait in files for the gate to close behind the zamboni. Then there’s the sensation of flying over a surface that confounds our naked anatomy, the chase and the quiet roar of concentration! Given more words, I could really wax poetic.

I attended every football game in high school as part of the band—never cared enough to understand the game. Then I went to Duke and forced myself to attend a few basketball games. Cheering felt ridiculous. Sports have no relevance in real life, so why care that much? But in my first game, I distinctly remember screaming my head off—before I could even classify the act as cheering. I wanted so much for my teammates to feel supported, because so many of them were doing something new and brave.

My co-workers in California often ask what it is that makes the 12-hour round trip every weekend worthwhile. A family? A pretty girl? At the start, I explained a bit apologetically that it was a hockey league. But I have long since omitted any qualifications. Sometimes I even throw the gay in there for extra shock value. When I think about the camaraderie, the easy, intimate conversations, the space left by a missing teammate, it feels like a lot of life had happened in just a handful of Sundays. I have no doubt that what I’m doing is worth the trouble.

The rush of playing hockey is just one part of it. Meeting new people was always stressful because windows of opportunity for me to bring up my sexuality would open and close—each time making me wonder whether I was being too evasive or too in-your-face, rather than engaging the person in front of me. Not having to concern myself with that felt fantastic.

More than just silent understanding, teammates would often lend me their perspectives. What is it like to be one of the other letters of LGBT? What is it like to struggle with depression? How does a person find happiness after defeating an addiction? These unasked-for gifts have given me the means to reach out to people I have yet to meet in life. I couldn’t be more grateful.

I’ve lived in Madison for seven years. For four of those years, I worked and played with a young, well-to-do, heteronormative cohort. For the other three, I spent most of my time in hotel rooms in other states. I was fond of Madison, but I couldn’t call it home. Joining the MGHA marked the first time this place became a community my thoughts couldn’t leave behind.

I’ve been meaning to set up a debrief with Patrick to tell him how much the organization means to me. The opportunity hasn’t come up. But since this love letter is addressed to the full cast of the MGHA, this essay was the perfect opportunity to put down my thoughts. Each person has contributed to making this season an unforgettable experience.

In an ironic twist, I’m missing my first MGHA game as I conclude this reflection (sitting in a DTW diner called SlapShotz). The monitor across the way indicates that the flight back would be delayed until after the puck drops. Might I be granted the serenity to accept these things I can do nothing about.

What It Means

Becoming something larger than you ever imagined you were going to be, with the realization of the limits you set against yourself.

There is none able to decide what they are brought into. To grow up with aspiring opportunities or to strive for the next sunrise are close yet far. With struggles in life that deny our wishes or stomp out our dreams only succeed from our failure to ourselves.

Finding something that seemed as unique as I was, something that seemed to have every great aspect of any other sport slapped into one hard puck, finding someone who knew how to play the game and make a name by his presence during the Lindros years of the Philadelphia Flyers, it became the great escape. I knew I could be something in it. Something like he was, my own saga.

Without money for food or a stable home most the time, how the hell would one pay for hockey fees let alone make the team? I never wanted to give it up. I worked for change to buy supplies to make baked goods to sell at my library or gas stations but never enough. When the time came, I gave in and kept the channels tuned in, as that was all I would ever get.

Thirteen years later that forcibly matured kid is working 70 hour work weeks as a lineman, still recording Flyers faithfully. The choices and decisions, friends and enemies in those years came and went as they do for everyone.

As few do, one friend stuck out and close greatly. We were un-biological twins. Our bond had many layers, including the militaristic brotherhood as being ex-Navy and he being not-yet-deployed-Marine. Always thinking the same, doing the same, joking, laughing, crying, we shared it all, did it all. The road our future was on had turns but had no stop in sight. His motivation and life views always so motivating, we always fueled each other to keep humanity, to pay it forward, to help out no matter what.

In due time, it kicked my own ass into gear. This is your life, made just for you, and it comes to a close at any given moment. Why waste time regretting anything, you’ll only end up regretting the time you’ve wasted. I never forgot my dreams, I only forgot how to chase after them. I changed my life around. I put together my list of things I must accomplish before kicking the bucket, the a.k.a. Bucket List. I didn’t put much on there at first, but hockey took the first slot.

I spent a month on Google looking up Madison Hockey Leagues. Several came up, but one caught my attention. I pondered, contemplated, then questioned why I was even second guessing.

It was a Gay hockey league, and it admittedly frightened me. I never thought myself to be gay, but born into the wrong body. For lack of any understanding, gay was the only way to label what I was and would be most accepted to. But with so many labels and limits society places on us, why add to them? I myself was living my own life as it were to not interfere with others. To admit I was gay wasn’t shameful. I’ve always supported everyone in their lives, no matter what. But I couldn’t come to grips with what I was, or was going to be. A strong supporter vicariously chiming in at supportive gatherings that I never went to, and still haven’t.

On my lunch break, April 4th 2012, from the job that I worked myself into oblivion, and financially set me to be able to do whatever I wanted, I sat at a food joint and used my phone to complete the form for new players to join the Madison Gay Hockey League. I took a deep breath when I looked out the window upon completion. Excitement and nerves hitting the same chord. To see what the future brings.

On April 5th I had woken up, another 4AM work day, only for my life to be changed forever, as is so possible in just a second, just one moment.

My dearest friend, my military brother, the only person who had my back, the reason I had even filled out that application, that I ever considered improving my life by changing it 180 before self-destruction, had taken his life in his room on the 4th, the same day. Without a word, without a cry for help, without a second thought, without any attempt, he was, is, gone forever. It consumed me, as it would. He was always there, always over, always near, now he would never answer my calls, never reply, never know.

We would never know.

I could never get my head right. I tried to not let it go in vein, by remembering to be happy or live on or any of that junk. Easier said than done. As it never will, none of it made sense.

I had to force myself to realize, this is not my life. It was not meant for me. It was meant for me to live for others. To take that drive I’ve always had to help others, and to use it as fully as possible. The Navy for Search and Rescue, the child’s dream of being a Fire Fighter to save others, to live fueling the fire of the embers he left us.

With my miles and time and thoughts behind me through checking out of life and into work, half a year passed before I realized it. August came with a random email, ‘Welcome New Player’. I had forgotten. I had entirely forgotten I had even filled that out. I forgot my dream?

I got what equipment was needed, as orange as possible for my beloved Flyers, then hit the ice for the first time in my life. Never had I put skates on my feet before. Once at Tenney Park when I was 3.

Once.

I didn’t know how I was going to perform, but I knew I would give it my all. I had to and I would. I learned what I needed to, and took what I knew. The fear was overcome by the happiness from accomplishing something I never thought I would ever do, and meeting people who in turn, also ended up changing my life. By gaining a whole new understanding I thought I already had.

To support something, it isn’t about you. It is about that, about supporting it all, supporting others, them, those who cannot, the familiar strangers from afar, and them whom were like me, like he was, struggling to find themselves in the universe. Because you can, and they cannot.

We later put together his struggles with himself, questioning himself. That he could help everyone else but not himself. Too familiar for me than I wished to admit.

With every game I hit the ice it was for Elmo as the other players caught onto. For him. For myself as well, I did not forget. It was because of him, but for me.

What it means, to be apart of something bigger than I originally expected. That I ever imagined being. Ever imagined happening. To be with a group of excellent people of my city, who are happily accepting of you, as you, not because you are gay or straight, but because you are here, as we all are, to have the best time we can playing the best sport there is. The over powering feeling it was to have that be my first ever hockey game I ever seen in person, to have people asking me for advice, to get critiqued, to be there, to hold the stick, slap the puck, have my first goal, assist, shoot out, to find out my dearest friend’s favorite color was orange, to have orange to do everything with hockey then, to have his initials on my hockey stick, to pass by the bench dedicated to him at Tenney Park while practicing hockey for hours at night for the first time, to have the persons from hockey in my life as well, to help and be helped, to accomplish this all, by simply playing hockey,

Means a hell of a lot.

As I submitted an essay last year, let’s call this Part 2…

Over the last two seasons our hockey league has been in a state of transition around what Gay hockey means, that transition is still on-going and its destination seems yet to be determined.  In the course of fulfilling my role as a team lead this season I had to help another straight player figure out some changes to make in his play style that brought my definition of Gay hockey into much sharper focus, and I had some realizations that have not so much changed what Gay hockey means to me, as more sharply refined the definition.  When I shared this with the player in question, and our other team lead (also straight), the light bulb of this particular idea got brighter for them as well.

Initially,  Gay hockey was for me, and (I think) a lot of other players, primarily about what goes on in the locker rooms and at the bar after the games.  The League’s mission statement leads to this conclusion, especially in this sentence:  “We are especially committed to providing opportunities for those who have historically felt uncomfortable in traditional sports settings to learn and teach ice hockey in a safe, supportive, and fun environment.”  To be clear, it’s not my intention to critique the League’s mission statement, or to propose changes to it.  I’m only pointing out that it endorses my initial notion that Gay hockey is mostly defined by what goes on in the periphery of the game.

Even more explicitly, Gay hockey was hockey where the locker room banter didn’t include calling each other “faggot” or boasting about what we intended to do with (or to) our date after the game.  Growing up playing straight sports meant I spent a lot of time in that kind of locker room.  My life-long discomfort with that sort of behavior is one of the reasons that I prefer to play in the MGHA.

Hockey is a sport, and sports are competitive.  That fact carries with it the underlying assumption that winning the game is paramount.  I had been operating under the assumption that Gay hockey meant locker rooms that aren’t hostile and a focus on sportsmanship and stricter adherence to the rules, but that the underlying assumption that the point is to win the game is still paramount.

In actuality, if that were true, we wouldn’t be playing Gay hockey.  We’d be playing Straight hockey where it’s okay to be Gay.

What I’ve come to realize is that Gay hockey is a challenge to that most fundamental assumption about sports.  I’m not saying that winning isn’t more fun than losing, or that as a team lead I don’t encourage my team to try to win the game.  But the imperative to win the game isn’t paramount to everything else.  It’s a priority, but no higher a priority than the priorities of sportsmanship, inclusiveness, and safety that are explicated in our mission statement.

At the end of the 11-12 season the league president pointed out that nine of the top ten goal scorers in the league were straight men.  I know that some in the league took that as trying to make the league less welcoming to straight players.  I would like to suggest, respectfully, that the players that saw that statement as trying to create a rift between Gay and Straight players missed the point.  There are Gay players in the league that have played their whole lives, and are great hockey players by any standard.  The fact that those players weren’t amongst the top goal scorers meant that they were choosing to play the game with a different set of priorities.  Therein lies, for me, the definition of Gay hockey.

Gay hockey means that if we can’t win inclusively, we don’t win.  It means that we keep our beginning players on the ice for their shifts when we’re down on the scoreboard.  It means that, as an advanced and physically large player, I moderate how I challenge opposing beginners and smaller players for the puck.  If I can’t challenge them in a way that isn’t aggressively physical then I give up possession.  It means that, while I’m capable of carrying the puck end to end on my own, I rarely do so because I’m looking for opportunities to pass.  It means I pass to the beginners on my team when they’re open, even if passing to that teammate has already resulted in multiple turnovers.  I could go on, but I’ll leave the examples at that.

The point that the president was making was that the straight players in question were playing Straight hockey where it’s okay to be Gay, as opposed to Gay hockey.  This is a Gay hockey league, I think it’s incumbent upon everyone to try to play Gay hockey.

How the league defines Gay hockey appears to me to be very much up in the air, and the way that I’m defining it here is not ubiquitous.  I think the league moved this past season a bit away from Straight hockey where it’s okay to be Gay, and more towards Gay hockey.  I hope that the movement in that direction continues.

Oh, hey….I didn’t see you there but since I have your attention, why don’t you stay awhile and listen?  People call me Chuy.  I am from a small town called Chicago, where my family settled down from Mexico way back in the day.  (Which was a Wednesday if you care to know…)  I have recently celebrated my 10th anniversary of being 21 and I am currently a student with a goal of a career in the health field.

What I really want you to know about me is that I am a hockey player.  Yes, that is right and I am proud of it!  Granted, I just completed my first hockey season where I recently learned the game.  I didn’t even know how to skate before joining the Madison Gay Hockey Association (MGHA)!

So how did a Mexican-American gay boy like me pick up hockey at the tender age of 31?  Well, I didn’t know much about the sport before.  I don’t think I have even watched it on tv.  It just seemed like a sport out of my league, dominated by big rough Caucasian straight men with no teeth.  Well, I found myself at a very awkward period in my life around the beginning of the season.  I lost my job, went back to school, and moved into a new place with new room mates.  At certain times, the big changes in my life was very overwhelming and scary.

Then one day I met a friend of one of my room mates that was recruiting for MGHA.  I figured why not try something new, along with all the other changes I have been going through at the time.  What is one more thing?  I could use the exercise and it would be nice to get to know the gay community better and become more active.  Let me tell you, this was the best decision I’ve made all year!  I can’t believe I didn’t join sooner.

Now, I should tell you.  I am very secure with my sexuality.  I’ve known ever since I was little, growing up in a Machismo environment back in the inner city of Chicago, that I liked boys.  Growing up, I’ve had to come to terms with who I am very fast.  So while I have always appreciated LGBT support groups, I’ve always felt ok on my own, having my family and friends that I have already established.  I guess that is why I didn’t think to join a gay club or organization before.  It was through recent changes in my life that lead me here.

I understand you want to know what does gay hockey mean to me.  I feel that it is so much more than a gay organization, it is more like a family.  MGHA is such a diverse community.  We have gays and straights, men and women and transgendered, young and old, students and professionals, and everybody in every walk of life it seems.  We all choose to join MGHA through the interest of playing hockey.  And it is through that bond we share where we can break down borders set by society and come together as a team and create an environment of respect and support.

I have to admit.  In the beginning of my first season, I felt out of my element with the sport.  I didn’t know the rules, I didn’t know how to skate, and my feet and body were killing me.  I felt very disenchanted at times and missed a lot of the beginning games because I felt I wasn’t good enough and was frustrated.  Despite all of this, the support I received from the league was amazing.  No body cared that I was new.  I never once felt rejected or put down because I wasn’t a good player.

I remember one moment during one of my first few games we were losing.  I told my captain that I am ok with sitting out the last period so that they can have a better player out there to make some points.  I will never forget what he told me.  He said that wasn’t the point of the game.  Winning or losing doesn’t matter.  All that matters is that I go out there and try my best and have fun.  I can only get better if I try.  It was at that moment that I knew I found my place.  It is in MGHA where I found a place where I can play a sport I am increasing becoming fond of and not be afraid to be myself.  Here I can receive the support I need to become a better athlete in a respectful and fun environment.  Being gay did not once inhibit my ability to play or have a good time.  I don’t think I would have joined this sport if I didn’t have that reassurance.  I only hope that this finds other people looking for a similar experience.  I look forward to playing with them on the ice!

In 2005 I graduated from a small town of about 2,500 people. I struggled much of my middle school and high school years battling with my true identity. I did the normal thing and dated girls. I knew deep down, from when I was a little boy at recess sitting on the side lines watching the other boys tackle each other while playing football, that there was something different about me.

I attended a local technical college where I no longer kept to myself and began to finally accept myself for who I was—a gay male. I quickly became the student body president and head student ambassador. I introduced the Day of Silence to campus and struggled with a few protestors for doing so.

In 2008 I graduated and started at a four-year university. Here I attended a small LGBT gathering on campus with about 15 students. The next year I ran for president of this organization and the attendance went up to about 75 members. That year our organization was named the organization of the year and I received a leadership award.

In 2012 I moved to Madison to start fresh. I knew one person and basically everything that I had worked for meant nothing now. I was later put into touch with an individual who would help build and shape who I am today.

I pulled up to Panera Bread where I was to meet this individual who was supposed to help me get into touch with the gay community. As I sat in my car I contemplated turning around and just resulting to meet others at the gay bars. After arguing with myself for a few minutes and getting a few weird looks from people passing by, I got out of my car and walked in to a guy with several Our Lives magazines and an iPad. This person was Patrick Farabaugh. I couldn’t believe I was meeting thee Patrick Farabaugh. The person who was homeless at a young age, traveled the world, and ended up in Madison, Wisconsin where he stated his own magazine, professional networking group, and the Madison Gay Hockey Association.

We sat and chatted briefly before he made me read a short story about an inspiring Ames Barker. After her story about how hockey changed her life so much I thought to myself, why not join the league. My inner self replied, “Because you don’t play hockey or let alone any sport, you idiot.” I again awkwardly argued with myself and after little persuasion from Patrick I was picking out hockey gear the next day.

I strolled into the second newbie practice because I joined late and put on my gear slowly for the first time. I put on my skates, walked up the ice, bravely started to skate like an old pro and instantly fell. I was wearing Patrick’s All Star jersey, so I know I was doing him proud. That first night I made a handful of friends. I went home and instantly became connected with several people on Facebook. We then started meeting each other for open skates, dinner, and just hanging out.

The season began and I had a rough time in the beginning. I didn’t feel like I was getting the help from the veterans and other members that I should have. That quickly changed the third game when a team member stepped up and started offering me advice and some tips to help improve my skills. With the advice and expertise I had received from Jen Voichick, I made my first goal and one of my best goals in the league along with several assists in other games.

I volunteered my time on the Blades Against AIDS committee and we nearly doubled our goal from last year. I met a group of very passionate individuals who wanted this event to be a huge success. That it was.

I have gained so much respect for each of my fellow hockey players. Each person brings something unique to the league. I would not have met such a tight knit, accepting community had I not joined the hockey league. I am so glad that I argued with myself that day in the Panera parking lot and forced myself to do something I never would have done. I owe it all to the Madison Gay Hockey League. Now Let’s Have a KiKi!”

In 1996 my family came to the United States as a result of the Vietnam/Secret War, in search for a better life for us. We came straight from the refugee camps into this industrialized nation, I had never seen people of different skin color, nor did I know what music and television was or any other kind of technology, I didn’t even have clothes until I was 3 and here I am in a different part of the world where people were giving us free food, clothes and a home to stay, and all of a sudden I had cousins and relatives who knew me. But it wasn’t very long until I started seeing how different life was here, I was told to go hide every time a white man appeared because it was dangerous and soon after I was taken into a place called school where I was left with random people who didn’t speak my language.

Instantly the other kids knew I was different because I couldn’t speak English and for some other reasons, just didn’t like me; I would later make friends by giving them something of my own or stealing for them.  My insecurities would grow over the years as I realized what being poor meant. On my first Christmas, a year later,I was 6 and I watched as all my cousins opened a box, I didn’t know what they were doing but all the boys had toy guns and action figures and the girls had ponies and things I didn’t even know existed, I was so excited, I have never had a toy before, but couldn’t find my present.  I went to my mom and said “Mom, what about me?” but she didn’t have an answer, I was devastated at the time and went into a rage, but later promised myself after that I would never ask my parents for anything no matter how much I wanted, unless I felt that we were in a financial situation where it was ok, I didn’t want my parents to suffer; I’ve stayed true to that statement.

Skip ahead 3 years—On my first day of fourth grade my parents moved me to a new school for the fourth time, and I would be taking the bus. As we neared John Marshall, the bus stopped and all the kids started running out, and as I took my first step out of the bus I looked up to where a tall fifth grader walked up to a fourth grade kid my size and punched him in the face; all the other kids were shouting out “fightfightfight”, “girl” and “gay”. I was still struggling with some English at the time and was too shy to ask but I figured, gay, was just another bad word that the other kids were using, I didn’t stop to think about how much this word would later affect my life.

In the fifth grade some of the boys started calling me gay, and girl because I was “too nice”, I had recently started hanging out with some of the school girls and “girly boys”, and stopped playing dodge ball. I didn’t understand why I was getting called these things because I was just doing what I liked, my insecurities kept growing to the point where by the end of the year I would contemplate about all the terrible things I could do to these other kids who would call me gay or a girl, I thought to myself, “I had never done anything to them, so why should they be allowed to do this to me?” Eventually my cousins also started calling me girl and gay, which resulted in me hating everyone, I was confused and I didn’t like how other people dealt with my feelings; in my family at the time, it was weird if the boys talked about their feelings to their parents, so I never went to them. I already knew what the word gay meant, but it wasn’t until I was in sixth grade when I finally understood the meaning of the word Gay.  I was in the bus headed to class and was just thinking about that word when I realized that I was gay, it was the word that was going to define my life. When I got home I went to sleep at 5, and for the first time I turned towards god, I didn’t know how to pray but I laid on my bed to the side and clenched my hands together and said “God, if you exist, please make me normal, and if you don’t want to do that, than please kill me in my sleep so that at least it won’t hurt”. It didn’t work, but I thought it was because I wasn’t praying hard enough so I prayed harder and harder, and continued the process throughout the course of two or three years. I would also try changing my personality to be how a normal boy would act, tried dating a girl, and sometimes cursing this world, but eventually came to the conclusion that nothing was going to work and that I would have to hurt my parents one day. One day I came to the conclusion that maybe if I distanced myself from the people I loved that one day if I told them I was gay, and if they disowned me, it wouldn’t hurt them as much; that thought never left my head. So after I graduated from high school, I ran away to from home, it didn’t matter to me where I was headed, or how I got there, I was finding every reason I possible to get away from my life and everyone in it, and so I chose a destination.

Unfortunately due to my naivety I ended up in Fargo, and two years of mental isolation. Fortunately I was blessed enough to join the Theatre Department up there where I met Stephanie Olfert, Alex Stokes, and Kelsey Svare who are just some of three of the best people you’ll ever meet in this world. I don’t know how I would have made it through those two years without them; I didn’t have to worry about being accepted when I was with them.

Eventually I chose to return to Wisconsin, and being hesitant to return home, I transferred over to MATC in fall of 2011 and later UW-Madison. That very same year I auditioned for The Talking Out of School Plays directed by Monty Marsh-McGlone and was casted for a few student roles where I also worked with a friend, Paula, who later invited me to go see a LGBT Speaker at her church. I instantly smiled as I saw Patrick Farabaugh walk up, at the Praire Universal Unitarian Church. He talked about his life story and how he came to publish Our Lives Magazine and played hockey, I have never met someone so inspiring in my life, and had to talk to him. As I walked up to Patrick after his speech, another lady came up and started up a conversation with me, she wanted my number for her daughter, I didn’t want to say no, and was too hesitant to say I was gay to her, so the conversation dragged on for a bit and I was only able to say a couple words to Patrick.

After that day I started reading Our Lives Magazine, I would look at the hockey information, and later that summer would go to the pride parade in Madison by where the Hockey League was there.  I really wanted to meet people, and I didn’t have a lot of friends in Madison or in general, and I was still struggling to find a community that might accept me, and so I shot MGHA an email and got started.

I walked into my first hockey clinic at Hartmeyer Ice Arena in shorts and a jacket, and boy was it cold. There were a lot of people at the rink and I was nervous about how this was actually going to go, but one of the new players walked in, Jasmine Donahoo, and introduced herself to me and assured me that I wasn’t the only one. And just seconds after that, a taller guy walked in, turned towards us and smiled. Instantly I knew he was gay, and I knew we were going to be good friends, Matthew Basler. Unfortunately when the teams got picked all the rookies were separated into different teams and I would be thrown in the Black Team whom I didn’t recognize anyone’s name on the list except Brandon Rounds.

On the first day when the Dark Knights (name of black team) met up, I was thrown into a moment of consternation as I walked in, none of the guys looked gay, and I was sure they were all straight, Brandon Rounds also not going to make it, which didn’t help my situation. I really thought this was going to be one of those show no mercy to the gay newbies kind of day, except we only have one noob. It was quite uncanny for me to be out in front of a lot of straight people, especially guys. But when our team captain Joe Walsh started the passing drills and said “everyone find a partner”, Richard Avremenko came straight up to me and said “You’re going to be my partner”, I thought I died and went to hell, but now I would never change that moment. I now know that I was blessed to be thrown into this team, Rick, Jen, Brandon, Anna, Joe, Katie and Wally and the rest of the team, you guys are the best and this season was just filled with life for me.Because of you guys and everyone in MGHA I’ve really grown to love the league and the sport; I have never been this close to anyone, much less a community. Being in the league has really shown me that allies do exist and that people do care, and now I can say that I am gay and proud without being scared. I have made friends who I can call family without worrying about what I will be judged as. Being with MGHA I have come to realize that society can only hurt me if I let it. MGHA is more than just a league and a community, its family, love, and support.