The romance of night hockey

One week ago. Tomorrow we do it all again. I can't wait.

More iceholes

Just an excuse to post a couple of more photos that didn't make the transfer. That's Al, Tom, some kid, and Jack in the shanty.

Iceholes

Iceholers. January and Lake Mendota froze over. The shanty was hauled out and the games began. The games...and the shoveling, blowing, hauling, drinking, laughing, aching. Sundays at 1; Wednesdays at 7pm. or thereabouts. Last Wednesday, 6 of us, about average for the night game. Plastic puck with a glowstick in it. Snow falling, glasses fogging, beer and icehole going down. Shovel till 7:30, play til 10ish, drink and jaw until midnight. Superbowl Sunday; played for a couple hours, hung out until holers drifted off to various plans for watching Superbowl XLII. Icehole? Its a peppermint schnapps made over in Minnesota with an icefishing hole on the label. We've adopted it. Our pond hockey ID. All comers. Generations. Great piece of ephemeral real estate. Middle of Madison. View of the Capitol. Picture window, woodburning stove, candles. No rent. No electricity, no sound system. Voices and heavy breathing. Play to 5, keep going or take a break. Depends on how winded and/or frozen. Usually sweating and steaming. Sometimes subzero. A rush. Something special. Al, Jack, Paul, Tom, Eric, Tony, Chris, Jason, Mike, Jeff, David, Dave lately; in days of yore; Dave, Lauris, Beezer, Tom, Natasha, Sabrina, Angie and many others who have come and gone.