Mar 18
Sledhead—The Poem
for Billy Bridges
This isn’t standup hockey. Our team is colder, bolder, more bruised under the maple leaf than you can imagine. This is the definition of physical. Full-body contact into unforgiving boards, pucks to the face, torsos to ice, spiked sticks stabbing into sides. Every man on the ice has a story whose moral is victory, if only he doesn’t run out of time. This is ice-calligraphy. Sleds carve their names as they race from goal to goal, bench to bench, penalty box to locker room. This isn’t standup hockey. Our team tests its strength against the rinks and scoreboards themselves. No prediction remains unsmashed.
