You never think it’s going to happen to you. The pain, the shock, the split moment of memory escaping your consciousness, the adrenaline… and the uncertainty. It always seems to happen to other players, never to you. You feel sorry for them. Sympathetic even; looking at your center in thriving agony. You take a knee and watch your first responder teammates help him as the blood pours from his mouth and you thank the hockey gods that the tragedy eluded you… but now the skate is on the other foot. 

I was that player whose mouth flowed with blood. I’ve been around the hockey block more times than I can count since picking up our glorious sport on a small cul-de-sac in Mesquite, Texas – just outside Dallas circa 1993. This was thanks to an introduction by the relocation of the North Stars from Minnesota. I’ve seen my fair share of injuries to other players and even claimed some for myself. I’ve had bumps, bruises, and serious cuts so many times I’ve lost track, and I’ve accumulated more serious ones like (self-diagnosed) concussions and sprained, well, everything. I’ve gotten in a few fights. My shins are covered with bumps and lumps from coaching Mites and Squirts who can’t control their sticks…and some who can but think it’s funny to slash me anyway. Injuries are a part of the game. They’re life for hockey players of all skill levels, ages, races, and genders. They’re inevitable. Hockey is a tough sport in its nature.

March 10th, 2019. The day I was bluntly and violently reminded I’m not Superman. It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon in spring with perfect weather, sun shining, and a hockey game to get to at 3:30 pm against the Benders. I pulled up in my black Chevy Colorado 20 minutes before opening face-off, well ahead of the cultural norm five to ten-minute pregame arrival time beer leaguers are accustomed to. I walked into the brand-spanking-new four-sheet facility just built in my neighborhood, excited to play our sixth game of the season. The rink still had that new car smell. Greetings were exchanged with my teammates as I walked into the locker room which had not quite transitioned from that new paint smell to the “who didn’t air out their bag” smell that seemed to make the locker room its permanent home. You know the one? The smell that reminds you of the mix between burnt hippo nipples, your wife’s Tuesday meatloaf surprise, and rotting toe fungus? Yea, that smell. I found a spot to drop my bag and put down my carpet square provided by the team carpet square distributor Murph (yes, a carpet square. If you haven’t stood on sample shag carpet square while putting on gear, I strongly suggest you stop by your nearest carpet store and pretend you’re redoing your bedroom flooring situation so you can snag a free one. The feeling of the shag on your disgusting feet is amazing).

As the team finished their pregame beer ritual and weekly NHL talk, we knew the Zam had a lap or two left so one-by-one we headed out to begin warm-ups. Stretching laps on our half of the ice, and taking the goalie’s head off with errant shots all took place as the scoreboard wound down to face-off. Game time was finally here. We were all excited specifically for this game because some of the wives and kids of players were here to watch the early game (which is hilarious seeing how the following probably scarred some of those kids for life.) There’s something special about a kid watching his dad play hockey. It makes you skate harder. It makes you proud. Admit it or not, players are always happy when their family comes to watch. As the roar of the 14-person, preoccupied crowd echoed through the rink, the opening puck dropped. Both teams were even through the first period as it ended with a goal on each side. We all caught our breath in the 30 seconds of rest between periods and I was innocently aloof to the events about to take place. It was just another game after all, right? The second period began and I was playing pretty well but at my usual 75% at center (nobody likes a try-hard). Enter the event.

My memory of the injury begins with my positioning on the ice. The puck was pinballing around in our defensive end around the slot; a scramble. I remember skating toward my goalie with the intent to just get the puck out of there in order to regroup. Next thing I knew the puck was hit out of the slot and eventually ended up on the stick of the right point just below the blue line. My right winger taking care of business in the slot, so it was my job to go out and pressure the defenseman on the other team. I remember distinctly skating into his shot path with the intention to block the shot (with my shin guards of course…) and as I got 15-20 feet from the guy I straightened up, stuck out my twig to try and deflect the shot away from my goal. He wound up and took a clapper. BOOM! Slap shot to the teeth.

In instances like those you never really think about the reaction time. I had none. Granted, I shouldn’t have had to react, but the terribly high clapper from a defenseman who has 50 lbs on me really doesn’t care if you react in time. The half shield I had on apparently took the night off since it and my brain had previous arrangements to tilt my head up in case a puck was headed my way. I blacked out for a split second, which is normal for an injury to the head. Fun fact: with severe trauma, at the moment of impact, your brain’s neurotransmitters fire all at once, overwhelming your nervous system which results in a blackout. Fortunately, for me, this was only for a split second. In retrospect, I do somewhat remember that d-man winding up for the shot… then holding my mouth with my gloves still on, feeling the blood spilling into my mouth. Nothing in between. With my mouth closed, I felt the shattered teeth dangling and swimming inside the pool of blood.

As I dropped to my knees I heard the whistle blow and the sound of teammates rushing to my aid as I sat there thinking, “Well, shit, this isn’t good.” It all happened so fast. No one was sure where it hit me. Helmet? Shield? Jaw? One guy said, “Where did it hit you?” As another asked, “Is there blood?” I remember thinking to myself that the only way I can tell them that there is blood is to open my mouth so that’s exactly what I did. I opened the floodgates. Blood came rushing out of my mouth as I heard him say, “Yep! There’s blood!” It’s actually kind of hilarious, thinking back on it now. The rush of adrenaline does its job as I really didn’t feel any pain, just a slight throbbing. Gloves still on, I got up, skated under my own power, and darted straight to the hockey manager on duty as a teammate wrangled up two of my bottom teeth that ripped out from the root and onto the ice. Had to try and save them, right? 

My walk to the hockey manager led to me trying to use hand signals to tell him what happened as the part-time rink employee walking with me was in shock and obviously didn’t know what to do in an emergency situation. Still in full gear minus my bucket, I prepared for the ride to the emergency room. I took my skates off and walked all the way back to the locker room to gather my keys, wallet, and phone. The hockey manager took me to the hospital,  giving me a jacket he had in the car to prevent blood from getting on the interior. We arrived at the hospital a few minutes prior to my girlfriend who was coming late to my game from work. Awkwardly, I was stripped of all my gear except my hockey pants, the nurses took my vitals before escorting me into a private room to get an IV in me. Oh, how I miss that IV. Makes you feel so damn good! In my delirious and tranquilized state, I directed my girlfriend to call and text the appropriate people in my life and let them know about the incident. I lay there as the nurse cleaned me up best as possible and gave me a dental vacuum tube so I could suck out the blood and saliva as I sat there waiting. She handed me a mirror so I could see the damage firsthand. Turns out I had a dime-sized hole completely through my skin, just below my lower lip, and a half-inch chunk of lip dangling on the inside of my upper lip. In addition to the two bottom teeth knocked out on the ice, I had one upper tooth gone and another broken in half. It was a glorious war wound. 

Before I knew it, I was walking in my hockey pants and a hospital gown that evening to the building next door to undergo surgery. After almost fainting due to the lack of fluids we finally made it into the building and up to the surgeon’s office where they worked on my teeth and gums for roughly six hours. Nothing like laying in a chair for six hours and having ten or so needles plunged into your gums, only then to have pliers ripping the roots out of your mouth. With my girlfriend hearing my moans from the waiting room, the surgeons did their thing, and around 11:30 pm my surgery was complete. Bars on my teeth and 24 stitches on my lips and gums later, I could finally go home. But not before my girlfriend stole the show and fainted during the post-surgery instructions due to the thought of what my mouth would look like. So, after we got oxygen on her, she came and we finally headed home. 

I spent the next few days on the couch as my wonderful woman took off work to take care of me. A traumatic event like this tends to drain your energy, so even four days later, I could barely go get the mail and come back without feeling exhausted. I eventually did get my stamina back and felt good enough to try and play again only two weeks after the accident. Don’t worry, I swapped my windshield for a cage. I’m not stupid. I told myself that I would see how I felt in warmups. I was a little tired and it was blatantly obvious my energy was not back to 100%, but I felt like I could contribute so I played the entire game. After the game, it really was just a blur. I knew I had played but still was mentally fuzzy. Each week after that, I got increasingly better and more like my pre-injury self. My energy came back, my mental game got sharper, and I got used to playing in a cage without feeling claustrophobic. It took a few games to stop subconsciously flinching every time a puck was shot anywhere near me but I was back enjoying this game that I love. 

New teeth you ask? Yep… as soon as I get the rest of my teeth fixed. See, I never got braces growing up so the dentist wants (needs) to fix the placement of my teeth before he puts new teeth in. So, what was just a matter of broken teeth turned into a two-year plan to reconstruct my whole mouth. It’s a good thing, though. Now I’ll have a better set of teeth than I did before. I could even say thank you to the guy who can’t aim his slap shot… OK maybe not, but I’m sort of glad it happened I guess. 

Reflecting on this experience, I can’t help to be thankful. It actually has brought to light the generous people in my life. My teammates who helped the day of the injury, worried about me and started a GoFundMe to help with hospital and dentist bills. As well as family and friends who reached out via cards, texts, and calls, as well as donated money to relieve the financial burden. I went through a ton of pain during the injury and post-injury. Physical pain, yes, but a little mental and emotional pain. I like to think I’m a pretty strong guy, but when something like this happens, it gets to you. You don’t know what the outcome is going to be. You start getting down on yourself when thoughts creep into your head of going out into the world with four fewer teeth. How will you talk? What will people think? Thank God I have a girlfriend who actually thinks it's hot that she has a tough hockey player as a boyfriend instead of running the other way! In reality, you don’t know what the next day, week, or month is going to have in store for your recovery. You have to wait. Recovery is a slow process. You can’t rush it, as much as you may want to.  

Life comes at you from all angles and in all aspects. This time it came at me while enjoying the game I fell in love with back in ’93. Injuries are a part of life and a part of hockey. You have to take it in stride. You can’t let it keep you down. We all hear of those who get in accidents and sustain trauma only to be afraid to continue that activity. Someone gets in a car accident and then avoids driving. Another gets bit by a dog, so they shun every dog for the rest of their lives. The list goes on. I was NOT going to be one of those people. I have been playing hockey since Jagr had a mullet, Mylec was a company and Charlie Conway pulled the triple deke. Seeing a teammate go down during a game is cringing, to say the least. No one wants to see that happen to a player. No one ever thinks it’s going to happen to them… until it does.