March 31, 2014

The Lost Weekend

For those of you familiar with the 1945 Billy Wilder film adaptation of THE LOST WEEKEND, you'll remember the story of Don Birnam, a raging alcoholic who goes on a weekend bender of epic proportions. His weekend is followed by a stint in rehab where a counsellor tells Birnam the truth about his alcoholism.
There isn't any cure, besides just stopping. And how many of them can do that? They don't want to, you see. When they feel bad like this fellow here, they think they want to stop, but they don't, really.
I am feeling bad and its not just the wear and tear of 4 games in 24 hours- my own Lost Weekend. It's not the 148 shots or the dozen breakaways or the blown defensive plays or soft goals I let in. It's not the soreness in my hips and knees or the muscle cramps through the night. I'm feeling bad because of the score and the losses. All four of them.

Some of them were close and some were blow outs and in every game I feel like I just couldn't do enough. Not enough saves, too many mistakes and not finding a way to elevate my teams to win by giving an inspiring performance by their goaltender.

I know what my goalie coach will say. I know what most of my team mates will say. "You did your best." "We let you down man." "Thanks for showing up." "You made some good stops." None of those welcomed and best intentioned comments change my mood.

What's the cure for the irrational competitiveness? What's the cure for wanting to put myself in a position of constant and glaring failure. What's the cure for wanting to be a goaltender?

There isn't any cure, besides just stopping.

I'm not stopping.