The sweet smell/stench of success

The Sweet Smell of Success

“Poo-poo!” my 18-month old cousin exuberantly exclaimed with one stubby finger extended in the direction of my hockey equipment. Poo-poo is perhaps a more accurate description of the smell emanating from the equipment than anyone would care to know considering all the times as a freshman I was relegated to the bathroom stall to get dresses due to the small locker rooms.

Nauseating, overwhelming, and life-threatening are all words that have been used to describe the horrific stench emanating from the depths of my hockey bag. However, regardless of its ability to send young children fleeing, this pungent odor is a special one to me because it serves as a strong, though occasionally visible, reminder of the achievements, failures, and lessons I learned through both. Two of the most important lessons I realized throughout my hockey career are determination and patience. Both of these ideals are indispensable in the rink and even more so in real life.
Parents, teachers, coaches, all these people have my best interests in mind and therefore try to teach me important lessons such as determination and patience, but because I was not learning them for myself, I foolishly paid little heed to their teachings. Hockey is different. Hockey threw me into situations where I learned the lessons on my own and because I was learning from reality, the lessons drove deep. Sometimes it took years of reflection for me to see the lessons in my experiences, but they were there nonetheless. One such lesson initially occurred when I skated for the first time and made my first trip to the emergency room-on the same day-and not necessarily in that order. The fact of the matter is that skates are great for skating, but when jumping off 8’ bleachers they provide less support than 10” Stilettos. One broken leg and a cast later, I was at home and furious that I did not get to skate. My dad then made the easiest decision since, “Do I look fat in this?” (Correct answer: No answer, immediately change subject). The dilemma that faced him was take me skating, thereby ignoring doctor’s orders, risking further injury, and jamming skates on my feet (my right foot was about the size of a 1992 Lincoln Towncar), or spending the night at home with a drugged up and violently enraged five year old. Needless to say within the hour I was Wayne Gretzky streaking, or maybe more appropriately hobbling like a wounded animal down the ice. I learned that day, although it took me 12 years to realize it, that obstacles will surely obstruct my path in life, but I will just as surely be able to overcome them.
I realized I had officially earned the title of “bench-warmer” they day my dad asked me if I wanted my skates sharpened and my thought process was as follows: If I get my skates sharpened then I will leave scratches in the bench when I stand on it to watch the game. “No” I answered. My skates remained dull along with the rest of the replacement players until the second round of the playoffs where I sharpened them just in case. We played a team we had already beat them twice in the regular season by a combined score of 12-4, but by the end of regulation we were tied 0-0. Desperate, my coach looked down the bench player by player (one could almost here the drum roll), and in a move that could only be explained by temporary insanity, stopped on me. The face-off was at center ice and once dropped, the puck was slapped down into a corner by our goalie. I gave chase, gathered the puck, and spotted my teammate in the opposite corner. My plan was to safely throw the puck behind the net to him. However, as Wile E. Coyote displayed countless times, things do not always go to plan. In actuality I shot the puck in front of our net, yet behind the goalie, missing scoring on our net by inches. Eventually we won the game and although I failed, I was heartened by the fact that I was given an opportunity, and the next time I get one I will be ready.
Hockey has given me experiences that at the time seemed purely fun. As I grow older and begin to think about who I am and how I got that way I look back and realize that those fun experiences were simultaneously giving me perspective and morals that I will carry with me into adulthood. The writing of this essay prompted me to venture to the basement and once again inhale the memories from my younger years. They have never smelt sweeter.

If my morals in the future can be half as strong as the stench they indirectly were created from, I will be in very good shape.

Opinions on which intro/conclusion is better would be much appreciated.