Lyndon Froese. Tonight on Biped Radio: the hockey episode.

Lyndon Froese. The ice was filled with motion, speed. To the innocent, who had never seen it before it seemed discordant and inconsequent, bizarre and paradoxal like the frantic darting of the weightless bugs which run on the surface of stagnant pools.

And then it would break, coalesce through a kind of kaleidoscopic whir, like a child's toy into a pattern, a design almost beautiful. As if an inspired choreographer drilled a willing and patient, hardworking troupe of dancers a pattern, design which was trying to tell him something say something to him urgent and important and true in that second before already bulging with the motion and the speed began to disintegrate and dissolve.

I'm reading The Innocent at Rinkside by Mississippi-born William Faulkner. It's his account of witnessing hockey for the first time in 1955.

Then he learned to find the puck and follow it.

Then the individual players would emerge. They would not emerge like the sweating barehanded behemoths from the troglodyte mass of football, but instead as fluid and fast and effortless as rapier thrusts or lightning.

Men in rapid, hard, close physical contact – not just with bare hands but armed with knife blades of skates and the hard fast death sticks which could break bones when used right.

He had noticed how many women were among the spectators. And for just a moment he thought that perhaps this was why: that here actual male blood could flow not from the crude impact of the heavier fist but from the rapid and delicate strokes of weapons, which like the European rape here or the frontier pistol reduced the mere size and brawn to its proper perspective to the passion and the will. But only for a moment because he the innocent didn't like that idea.

It was the excitement of speed and grace with the puck for catalyst to give it reason, meaning. He watched it, the figure darted glare of ice the concentric tears rising in sections stipulated by the hand lettering, names of the individual fan club idols vanishing upward into the pall of tobacco smoke trapped by the roof. The roof which stopped and trapped all that intent, intense watching and concentrated it downward upon the glare of ice, frantic and frenetic with motion. Until the byproduct of the speed and the motion, their violence had no chance to exhaust itself upward into space and so leave on the ice only the swift glittering changing pattern. And he thought how perhaps something is happening to sport and that something is the roof we are putting over it and them.

Skating, basketball, tennis, track meets and even steeplechase have moved indoors. Football and baseball function beneath covers of arc lights and in time will be rain and cold proof too.

There still remain the proper working of a fly over trout water, or the taking of a rise of birds in front of a dog, or the right placing of a bullet in a deer, or even a bigger animal which will hurt you if you don't. But not for long.

In time, that will be moved indoors too, beneath lights and the trapped pall of spectator tobacco. But the Innocent did not quite believe that either.

We like to watch. We like the adrenalic discharge of vicarious excitement, or triumph, or success. But we like to do also. The discharge of the personal excitement of the triumph and the fear to be had from actually setting the horse at the stone wall, or pointing the over-canvas sloop, or finding by actual tests if you can line up two sights on one buffalo in time.

There must have been little boys in that throng too – frantic with the slow, excruciating passage of time, panting for the hour when they would be Richard or Laprade, the same little negro boys whom the Innocent has seen shadow boxing in front of a photograph of Joe Louis in his own Mississippi town, the same little Norwegian boys he watched staring up the slope of the Holmenkollen jump in the hills above Oslo.

Lyndon Froese. Team Biped is here. I'm Lyndon Froese.

Moe Thiessen. I'm Moe Thiessen.

Lyndon Froese. Yeah we're playing hockey here and we're going to run a piece here called the Neverending Saga. It was written by Sam Hagenlocher, the Biped editor.

Moe Thiessen. Yessir.

Lyndon Froese. A long time ago there lived a kingdom of mud and water. It existed in the center of a great expanse of land which was called the village, within which existed many kingdoms.

Though not as big or as loud as the rival kingdoms of the village, such as the Butt Sniffer kingdom of the East or the We May Not Be Seattle But At Least We're Not Butt Sniffers kingdom of the West, the Kingdom of Mud and Water was still much beloved by its humble commoners. And they were very happy there. In this kingdom, there existed two seasons. There was the season of I Don't Remember It Being This Cold Last Year But At Least It's a Dry Cold, which lasted longer than a long long time, and the season of Oh God These Mosquitoes Are Making Me Want to Kill Myself which was decidedly shorter. Since the I Don't Remember It Being This Cold Last Year But At Least It's A Dry Cold Season was so long, the people of the Kingdom of Mud and Water decided to create a game to pass the cold months. It was called the Hurling of the Little Battle with Hockey Sticks.

And it was one of the few things that gave that good-hearted folk joy. Over time the game expanded across the entire village with kingdoms all putting forth their own teams to compete against the other kingdoms across the expanse. As the sport grew, two leagues emerged. There was the large Butt Sniffer dominated league known as the NHL. Or, n-hl. And the smaller kind-hearted non-Butt Sniffer league known as the WHA, or wh-a. The Kingdom of Mud and Water join the WHA at its birth. And there they thrived. With their most beloved player, a man known throughout the kingdom as the Golden Jet. The Kingdom of Mud and Water would achieve more championships than any other team in the humble league. Even when facing their most formidable opponents, the Western Kingdom of Oil and their scientifically engineered hockey giant, the Great One, the Kingdom of Mud and Water held their ground and overcame their rivals. The Kingdom of Mud and Water was the happiest kingdom in all of the land and the Mudfolk were known to remark on how much they love their beloved home.

But evil was lurking on the horizon for the peaceful kingdom as the Butt Sniffers watched their success with jealous eyes. They wanted to destroy the WHA which had brought so much happiness and joy to the common Mudfolk and take away their Golden Jet.

And that's exactly what the greedy Butt Snifters did.

The WHA would die and its teams would be forced into the NHL to play by the evil Butt Sniffers' and rules. While the Mudfolk remained hopeful that their legacy would not be tainted by this sudden change, the Butt Sniffers were more greedy than any creature that roamed the land.

They took away the Mudfolks' most beloved players, leaving the humble kingdom to try and find new stars on their own, while competing with their newly stacked rivals. The Mudfolk would never be champions again. Year after year. Hope after hope.

The Mudfolk were relegated to the bottom of the league.

But if there's one thing you can say about the Mudfolk it's that they don't quit. They were a hard and stubborn people, as hard and stubborn and the land upon which they lived.

They would not soon give up on their beloved game. They would continue to fight in spite of the Butt Sniffers who left them to die. As the years passed, the Mudfolk would overcome their bottom play status.

Against all odds they continued to fight year after year. Desperate to return to their former glory.

But the Butt Sniffers of the NHL would not soon allow the humble Mudfolk to be happy. They would finish them off once and for all by taking away that which they held most dear: their beloved game.

The Mudfolk fought and pleaded with the Butt Sniffers to have mercy.

But the butt sniffers refused to take pity on the humble commoners. They stripped the Mudfolk of their team and shipped it away to a foreign kingdom in the south where not a shred of ice was found. Despair spread through the kingdom. And it soon became commonplace for the Mudfolk to remark to one another on how much they hated it there.

For many long years they dreamt of the day their team would return.

They would often be found yelling slogans like "Go Jets" at other sporting events, still grappling with the disappointment and denial of the tragedy which had befallen them at the hands of the Butt Sniffers.

Rumor of their return would come and go to much skepticism of the people who had still never recovered from the devastating loss.

But the league of Butt Sniffers would not continue their reign of terror forever. As the years passed the foreign southern kingdoms' teams began to fail and lose money, causing much distress for the Butt Sniffers.

Residents of the Village called for their teams to be brought home.

But the head of the Butt Sniffers whose name was Gary Bettman   refused to give up his evil plans. He hated the people of the Village and the kingdoms there in.

He did not want them to be happy. He didn't want them to succeed. But his foreign plans continued to backfire and he knew his stubborn desire to destroy the Village would not be able to save his precious league.

The Mudfolk continue to pray for the return of their beloved team and their prayers would soon be answered. For the most powerful man in all the land, a non-Butt Sniffer named David Thompson, had smiled upon the humble kingdom.

And he had grown tired of evil Butt Sniffer Bettman's medaling ways. He would use his great power to give the Kingdom of Mud and Water back their team and their pride. Butt Sniffer Bettman fought Thompson the only way he knew how: becoming a bigger Butt Sniffer than anyone had ever seen. But Thompson's power was too great for even a giant Butt Sniffer. Butt Sniffer Bettman lost his battle and would later be exiled to the Land of Atomic Wedgies. All the Mudfolk rejoiced. At long last their team was back. And the kindhearted commoner's could finally tell all the Butt Sniffers to go fuck themselves.

Moe Thiessen. Well here we are, skating at night. No helmets just to protect our heads.

Lyndon Froese. Yeah, Falcon Ridge Ski Slopes toques. You know a lot of people know that I'm not exactly a proponent of bike helmet wearing.

Moe Thiessen. Yes

Lyndon Froese. I really don't like the idea of a bike helmet law and I've got my reasons for that, like I don't think everyone should always be scared to ride a bicycle and stuff like that. But it's kind of funny because I think back to my childhood and I was I was raised out of town in a little town called Springstein and it was so small that there weren't organizations putting the hockey on for us kids. But we played lots of hockey. We played hockey on the ponds and in this little machine shed that someone would make a rink in every year – Gary Stasynec.

Moe Thiessen. Right.

Lyndon Froese. Yeah and so we kinda had free reign over those venues and we could kinda do it whatever we wanted without parental supervision and it was up to us to organize our own hockey basically throughout our childhood. It was a lot of fun and because we were kind of left to ourselves we didn't have to wear helmets if we didn't want to. Our parents didn't even really encourage that at all.

Moe Thiessen. At all?

Lyndon Froese. No! No, not really, no.

Moe Thiessen. Good old days.

Lyndon Froese. Yeah I guess so. Yeah it was before safety was invented, this was back in the 90s. But it's funny, I was the kid that decided to wear a helmet anyway.

Moe Thiessen. No.

Lyndon Froese. Yeah, yeah. So...

Moe Thiessen. Wait a minute. So... you wanted to wear a helmet?

Lyndon Froese. Yeah.

Moe Thiessen. OK.

Lyndon Froese. Yeah, I wanted to wear a helmet. I felt like I could play more aggressively because I was safer. I had some padding so I could skate harder, take more risks... that kind of thing.

Moe Thiessen. And how did kids take that? Did they all wear helmets?

Lyndon Froese. No.

Moe Thiessen. Just you.

Lyndon Froese. And I remember one time we went to a bigger town, Starbuck. We went to the Starbucks rink and I brought my helmet with me, but I was too embarrassed to wear it at first.

Moe Thiessen. Right.

Lyndon Froese. And so I just went out without it and I realized like I'd be having more fun if I could just wear this helmet.

Moe Thiessen. Right.

Lyndon Froese. But I didn't want to admit to being scared or something, because none of the other kids were wearing helmets really. And so I went back to the dressing room and I got it, and I remember Scott Cruise, he said to me "oh ya nice helmet" and I was like "oh yeah my parents made me wear it".

Moe Thiessen. Now, you had to wear a helmet in everyday life too like walking around.

Lyndon Froese. Well ya, walking's dangerous.

Moe Thiessen. Yeah, 'cause they were scared you were going to hurt yourself.

Lyndon Froese. Oh, yeah.

Moe Thiessen. Growing up, I remember you as a kid.

Lyndon Froese. Oh yeah, I was...

Moe. We were all kinda worried.

Lyndon. Okay.

Moe. So you probably wore a helmet a lot.

Lyndon. Probably.

Moe. Ya.

Lyndon. Now I usually wear one in the bathtub and other dangerous activities like that. Going down the stairs. That sort of thing.

Moe. Uh huh.

Lyndon Froese. Well, we're on the hockey rink.

Moe Thiessen. That's right. Lyndon, keep your stick down.

Lyndon. Keep my stick down?

Moe. Stick down. Stick on the ice.

Lyndon. Oh okay, yeah. Thanks for the tips.

This next piece is brought to us by the newest member of the Biped family, Natalie.

Moe. A welcomed addition.

Lyndon. She went to visit a cobbler.

Moe. Local legend in St. Boniface.

Lyndon. ...who sharpens skates. You can go to a machine at the rink and pay your two bucks or whatever it is, or...

Moe. The master.

Lyndon. You get the Master to sharpen your skates.

Moe. Yup.

Lyndon. Here it is.

Dan Danchuk. My name is Dan Danchuk and I'm the owner of Norwood Shoe Repair in St. Boniface.

Just one swipe to kinda smoothen it out and it just looks great, feels great, skates great.

Usually, like I say, you can destroy an edge within seconds if you have a bump skates will somebody, hit the goal post, walk on some concrete or whatever. Usually everybody averages out about five, six hours of ice time. But then after that, you want to get them done before they actually need it.

It's like a teeter totter, eh? You know, you find your fulcrum point and when you find that nice magic spot then everybody has a good time on that teeter totter, you know?

Patron #1. My son likes his skates sharpening more than anybody else. He just says he sharpens them the best. So that's why. And I like hearing his stories too.

Dan Danchuk. My dad was here prior to my myself. He was here for over 40 years. And myself I'm probably pushing longer than when my dad was here. So yeah there used to be about a dozen just in the St. Boniface area, eh. Now I'm the Last of the Mohicans.

Parton #2. My name is Dennis Parody. I've known this shop probably 55 years, I would say. Just as dad coming in here and 25 cents for his skate sharpening and he'd do it. Off we go. Sometimes it was terrific and sometimes it was too sharp and you didn't slide to good so you had to dull 'em up. But that was the old days. It was a good place to come. You came in, got it done just like now he has people come in here and have coffee with him, shoot the breeze. His dad had the same thing. We used to bump into one another, send other flying, sometimes get hurt. Today those rules have changed. I liked the old way bit, but it got rough so I guess you have to do something. A lot of his customers were kids in the neighborhood and they still live in the neighborhood and they bring their kids here or their kids are now bringing their children. It just seems to be going down. I don't know. He gives that little personal touch that we don't seem to have today in most places. He knows his customers, they know him and they send people to him. He's going to people that come from many miles away that he didn't tell you about, like five 600 miles away to get skates sharpened.

Dan Danchuk. First thing you want to do, if a person comes in and you look at the skate blade if you got examined how many swipes it's gotta take to kind of get rid of all the dull spots, the rust and whatever else is on there. The first one you use as a cross grind. Some guys don't use that they just go straight to that you know to the to the finishing wheel. But anyways, so on here...

You can see where it's kind of cross grind here, right?

You can see how how you look at the edges to make sure there's no shine...

There's a lot of guys that have gone to the NHL that have been here, for sure ya? And if you depended on them for business and stuff like that – they're like everybody. No matter who comes in, I treat them as if they were professional. I never give just a mediocre sharpenning to anybody that comes in. It's always like as if you were a professional.

Make sure everything is okey dokey look at see how nice it's cutting through the center of the blade there? Once all the dull spots are gone, the rust is gone and it looks everything looks perfect, eh?

That's when you give it back to the customer. Hopefully you they have a great time, either at the rink or on our river here.

Lyndon Froese. Hey Sam.

Sam Hagenlocher. Hey...

Lyndon. Oh hey, there you are. Do you have any beefs or bouquets related to hockey? This show is all about hockey so I thought I'd see if you have anything to say about hockey. So what are some really cool things about hockey? What are some things that kind of annoy you?

Sam. Yeah, I think probably a lot of people find the same thing annoying that I find really annoying which is people talking about hockey who don't know anything about hockey. It's one of the hardest things to endure about sports is the vast numbers of people who are sports fans that don't understand sports. You know, I never really understood how you could be a fan of something without understanding it, but sports are kind of like that. And it's not like hockey is particularly complicated either. It's relatively simple.

Lyndon. Kay, so just so I can get a feel for how you really feel about this, can we play a little game of Would You Rather?

Sam. Sure.

Lyndon. Would you rather listen to a yappy dog or listen to people who don't know anything about hockey talk about hockey?

Sam. Is there a difference between those things?

Lyndon. I'd probably listen to the people. Can't stand that. I don't think I could endure it for very long.

Sam. Would you rather listen to someone talking to pet in a baby voice or listen to people talk about hockey? "Who's a good, dog?"

Sam. Oh god... umm...

OK I would rather the uninformed sports people than that. I couldn't endure much of that either. That's pretty painful.

Lyndon. Are you ticklish?

Sam. Yeah.

Lyndon. Would you rather be tickled or listen to someone talk about hockey who doesn't know what they're talking about?

Sam. I'd probably go with getting tickled. I'd probably rather that.

Lyndon. Would you rather listen is someone chewing with their mouth open or listen or someone talking about sports who didn't know what they're talking about?

Sam. I'd rather listen to someone chewing with their mouth open.

There's still some substance to what's coming out of their mouth then.

Lyndon. Mush.

Sam. Mush.

Lyndon. Would you rather listen to two pieces of Styrofoam rubbing up against each other, or listen to someone uninformed talking about hockey?

Sam. That would be like that would be a perfect metaphor, I think, for people talking about hockey. Maybe not a perfect metaphor, but it's similar.

What if I had two pieces of Styrofoam on me that I could drown them out with? Like rubbing the Styrofoam until they stop talking.

Maybe I'll do that next Jets game that I go to, I'll bring Styrofoam and just start rubbing it together.

Lyndon. It's a good idea.

Sam. I think I might be escorted out, there. Nobody gets escorted out for talking to other people's ears off stuff that they don't know about. But I think if I started breaking Styrofoam and intentionally irritating other people, I would probably get removed. Just as annoying.

But one is socially acceptable. Right? We understand the terms, right?. We understand that if I'm going to sporting event, surrounded by people, the likeliness that I will have to listen to an informed opinion is incredibly high.

And that's the sort of social contract that we're agreeing to. Whereas we're not agreeing to any potential person rubbing Styrofoam in my ear.

But it's just annoying.

Emily Christie. Hey Lyndon.

Lyndon Froese. Yes, Emily?

Emily. You know all sorts about hockey and sports trivia, right?

Lyndon. Maybe, like, the rules of sports.

Emily. You used to read all about, right?

Lyndon. Yeah. Not really stats and trivia though.

Emily. OK, well, do you know how many goalies can jump higher than the crossbar?

Lyndon. No.

Emily. All of them. Crossbars can't jump.

Lyndon. Oh ya.

Lyndon Froese. Holy cow.

Moe Thiessen. It's quite a work up.

Lyndon. OK so we've got a story about one man's experience of the Vancouver 2010. Men's hockey gold medal game. Everyone is watching it. This is kind of a heart wrenching story actually.

Moe. It's pretty sad.

Lyndon. But here it is. It's written by Joe Johnson. And I'm going to read it.

Lyndon Froese. Few events can captivate Canadians is entirely as men's hockey.

Over the past century, the sport of hockey has evolved into one of the cornerstones of our national identity. Without living in Canada, I would imagine it's hard to understand just how big a social phenomenon in hockey is. It is so broad sweeping that even if you're someone who isn't particularly interested in watching professional sports such as myself, you still find yourself from time-to-time becoming lured in and enthralled with a hockey game. As a Canadian, hockey is irresistible. Nowhere was this more evident than during the Vancouver 2010 Winter Olympics and the men's hockey final between Canada and the USA.

On the day of the men's hockey final, the question of the day for Canadians was not if you were watching but where.

I remember I was working when the game began. At the time I worked supporting individuals with intellectual disabilities in their homes. Rest assured, before the game began I made sure that I had completed all my chores and that all the participants were fed and happy.

Sports fan or not, I wasn't going to miss this game. Lucky for me as the game began the participants were either happy to watch with me or were content enjoying various activities in their rooms. I watched the first period excitedly. When I had to finish my work, doing this or that in other rooms, I kept the volume high so that I didn't miss a moment. Even if I couldn't witness it all.

I was scheduled to leave work just as the first period was coming to a close. I knew this, so I began my departure early hoping to catch an early bus and get home sooner. The bus ride home typically took 45 minutes to an hour and I wanted to miss as little of the game as possible.

Not wanting to be left out of the loop during my journey home, I arranged for my brother to text me the moment either team scored during the second period. When Canada scored, I joyously received an enthusiastic "Canada scored!" text.

Of course, being on a bus surrounded by people, I didn't really need his updates. Everyone on the bus seemed well aware the game was going on.

At about the halfway point in my journey, seemingly out of nowhere, one man jumped up and yelled "Yes!" loud enough to overcome the obscenely loud music blaring from my iPod.

It would seem through some marvel of technological innovation that this man was listening to the game live and Canada had just scored. It's important to note just how profound a point that is. A random stranger broke social convention by exhibiting great amounts of enthusiasm in a public place. Enthusiasm that was based solely on his personal experience of listening to the game and experience no one else around him was aware of prior to his outburst. I can't be sure but I'm doubtful that his reaction would have been so animated if he had, say, received a text that the love of his life was returning to him a genuine cause for enthusiasm if there ever was one.

I can think of only two likely reasons why he was comfortable enough to show such public excitement. Either he was so overwhelmed with happiness that he did not feel he could contain himself or he felt he was in a context where other individuals understood why he was excited, or both. After his outburst he began comfortably discussing the game with other strangers on the bus. Either, or both, of these explanations suggest how powerful a sense of identity this game held for Canadians.

I ran home from the bus and immediately began excitedly talking to my mother father and brother about the game. In that moment of excited expression, everything changed. Instead of talking about the game, I was immediately made aware that my father was moving out, right there and then in front of me.

I presume they were waiting for me to get home so he could say good bye.

For quite some time I knew there were issues with my parents and that eventually he was likely going to leave.

In the end, you have to be happy in your life so I supported them doing whatever they felt was necessary to be happy. Nonetheless it was still a significant shift in my life.

We said our emotional goodbyes and I told him I would speak to him soon. There was much to ponder, reflect on and adjust to, so we all sat down together and watched the third period of the men's hockey final – a little quieter than before, but intently nonetheless.

It isn't that this change in the family was in any way less important than a simple sporting event. But how could we miss the game? Regardless about what our internal feelings about the changes suddenly happening in our family were, I remember there was still excitement in the room when Crosby scored the overtime winner, giving Canada the gold.

Hockey has a funny way of doing that – distracting us for a moment from our real life struggles and hardships while uniting us in excitement, passion and, in this case, celebration.

This was a moment that everyone would be talking about. This was a moment that would become part of our history. It was suddenly more than a game. It was more than a sport. It was a shared cultural experience, one that transcended working, travelling, cultural norms and significant life changes.

Those 23 players were literally representing us and their success was our success, at our game, in our way of life, on our land.

Even in a hard time like this, hockey gave us, gave my family, gave me something to celebrate.

Lyndon Froese. On behalf of everyone behind Biped Radio, thanks for listening to this episode.

On this episode you heard music from Apparat Organ Quartet, Les Jupes and Royal Canoe, all courtesy of Head In The Sand records. You can check them out at headinthesand.ca. You can check out all our past episodes at bipedradio.com or on iTunes. We're on the air every Saturday at 8:00 PM.

Until then... keep your stick on the ice...