As I walked into the Vadnais Heights Sports Center with my son this past Saturday night I bumped into another parent and excitedly said, “Home opener, teddy bear toss–this should be fun tonight.”  The look in his eye told me I had overlooked something as he replied, “Yeah I think it might be a little somber, actually.  They’re going to have that moment of silence before the game.”  He went on to explain that one of the captains of the White Bear Lake boys high school team’s father had passed away the day before after a fight with cancer.

The same captain who had just lost his father had also been recently diagnosed with mononucleosis and was to miss considerable playing time until receiving medical clearance.  Needless to say it must have felt as if a storm cloud was hovering somewhere over the 55110 zip code for this kid and his family. 

But despite the mono, on this night for the home opener the captain who had lost his father just 24 hours earlier was going to suit up and start the game.  Probably seeking a tiny bit of normalcy he wanted to be with his team as they began their season.  His dad would have wanted it that way. 

The game began with a fitting tribute from a teammate’s father and family friend who talked about the loss of the captain’s father.  The family friend painted a picture of the departed elaborating on what he had contributed to White Bear Lake hockey as a team manager, the community as a whole, and more importantly as a loving father and husband. 

Next there was a moment of silence.  The rink was overflow seating as student and parents alike stood with one hand over their hearts and the other holding teddy bears anticipating the first goal of the season.  The anthem played and the starting lineup was announced and the captain was introduced to hearty applause. 

The plan was for him to start the game, but because he wasn’t cleared to play with mononucleosis he’d just skate a single shift.  And what a shift it was. 

Hockey columnist John Buccigross once explained why he loved this game the most simply stating, “Hockey has the biggest heart in the room.”  It’s true, to see a hockey community come together has more in common with military families than any other sport.  It’s different, and it’s special.  And this night would be no different. 

The building was jam-packed.  It was as if just by attending in some small way allowed people to stand together and show their support for the captain and his family.  To see him standing on the line waiting to be introduced, everyone’s thoughts and prayers were focused on him.    

You couldn’t script what happened next.  On the first shift of the game a puck was chipped out of the zone creating a two on one.  The captain waited with stick raised for the pass to come across.  When it did he put it in the back of the net with the full force of every person in attendance.  Teddy bears flooded the ice.  His mother was embraced in the crowd.  There wasn’t a dry eye in the house.  When they announced the captain had scored the goal you would have thought the roof was going to blow off the building.  A teammate could be seen skating onto the ice to retrieve the puck for his friend who had gone through so much. To see video footage of the goal and bear toss click here.

The captain wouldn’t take another shift in the game.  He’d stay on the bench cheering on his teammates to a 6-0 victory.  One shift.  Twenty four seconds of ice time.  One goal, the game winning goal and a few hundred teddy bears to clean up. 

While that storm cloud likely won’t be all the way gone for some time, on this Saturday night it opened wide enough to let some light shine on a family that needed it, and for one puck to slip through.  It opened wide enough for a father and former team manager to see it all, and to write a familiar name on the score sheet one last time.