of the guy in front. When it came to my turn, the guy ahead of me had set a pretty good pace, so I continued on. Not wanting to wimp out among this new bunch of guys, I took a little longer turn in the lead than others had. I really gutted it out. The young guy behind me cruised up alongside on his lightweight racer and said, “Pops, that fucking mountain bike you’re on shouldn’t be going that fast!” I said, “You’re kiddin’ me; nobody told me.” I didn’t know the difference, but I came to learn that there are bike snobs who check out your bike before even looking at the rider. With their Christmas gift, my family provided me with a bike most of them drool over!
Between Jim McCrossin’s training program and my extra effort with the bike club, I felt like I had just been through two months of boot camp. I went to my final training camp in fantastic condition.
The primary objective of officials’ camp is to have some fun playing hockey against one another, refresh our knowledge of the rules as well as any new directions we are asked to implement, and aboveall, leave camp healthy for the start of the season. While I aced Dave Smith’s medical and fitness tests on the first day of camp, I didn’t realize that boot camp wasn’t quite over yet. We were transported from Toronto to the Blue Mountain resort in Collingwood, Ontario. I was returning home, in a sense, as I played my first year of junior hockey with the Collingwood Blues of the OHA Central Junior B league as a 16-year-old.
Camp was moving along nicely, I felt good on my skates, my team was in first place going into the championship game, and I had been contributing. On the next-to-last day of camp, we played two games and sat through two administrative classroom sessions. During the latter, your body tends to tighten up from sitting. The agenda called for a “secret” late-afternoon field trip. We didn’t know what we would be doing or where we were going. The only instruction was to wear long pants, a long-sleeved shirt, and bring hiking boots. There was speculation that we might take a nice hike through the woods or into the hills along the shores of beautiful Georgian Bay. During our lunch break, beer was purchased so that each guy could have a couple of cold ones on the bus ride. It was a beautiful, hot, sunny day, and it sure seemed like a good idea at the time.
We boarded the yellow school buses, downed a couple of beers, and enjoyed the noise and merriment on the bus. We drove for some time in the direction of Owen Sound, and someone with some knowledge of the area exclaimed, “Holy shit, I think they’re taking us to the military training base in Meaford!” Our visions of a leisurely hike evaporated as the bus pulled up in front of Land Force Central Area Training Centre Meaford, which conducts year-round courses for regular personnel in the Canadian Forces, and a master drill sergeant herded us grunts off the bus and started yelling at us to move it.
We were divided according to our hockey teams on the parade grounds behind the centre, and the ranking officer addressed our“shabby group” of “recruits” in a tone that left no doubt as to who was in charge. He spelled out the rules we would play by for the duration of our time at the camp. We were told we would be put through the same training course that the troops go through before heading off to Afghanistan, and that some of the drill sergeants were battle-hardened soldiers who had recently returned from multiple tours in that country.
“This is a very dangerous facility, and we don’t want any of you to get injured and not be able to start your season,” he said, “unless your name is Kerry Fraser!”
He continued: “We also realize that some of you might be nursing injuries from your training camp or from previous game-related injuries and pre-existing conditions. I want you to advise my master drill sergeants, positioned behind me, of anything you might have that
Between Jim McCrossin’s training program and my extra effort with the bike club, I felt like I had just been through two months of boot camp. I went to my final training camp in fantastic condition.
The primary objective of officials’ camp is to have some fun playing hockey against one another, refresh our knowledge of the rules as well as any new directions we are asked to implement, and aboveall, leave camp healthy for the start of the season. While I aced Dave Smith’s medical and fitness tests on the first day of camp, I didn’t realize that boot camp wasn’t quite over yet. We were transported from Toronto to the Blue Mountain resort in Collingwood, Ontario. I was returning home, in a sense, as I played my first year of junior hockey with the Collingwood Blues of the OHA Central Junior B league as a 16-year-old.
Camp was moving along nicely, I felt good on my skates, my team was in first place going into the championship game, and I had been contributing. On the next-to-last day of camp, we played two games and sat through two administrative classroom sessions. During the latter, your body tends to tighten up from sitting. The agenda called for a “secret” late-afternoon field trip. We didn’t know what we would be doing or where we were going. The only instruction was to wear long pants, a long-sleeved shirt, and bring hiking boots. There was speculation that we might take a nice hike through the woods or into the hills along the shores of beautiful Georgian Bay. During our lunch break, beer was purchased so that each guy could have a couple of cold ones on the bus ride. It was a beautiful, hot, sunny day, and it sure seemed like a good idea at the time.
We boarded the yellow school buses, downed a couple of beers, and enjoyed the noise and merriment on the bus. We drove for some time in the direction of Owen Sound, and someone with some knowledge of the area exclaimed, “Holy shit, I think they’re taking us to the military training base in Meaford!” Our visions of a leisurely hike evaporated as the bus pulled up in front of Land Force Central Area Training Centre Meaford, which conducts year-round courses for regular personnel in the Canadian Forces, and a master drill sergeant herded us grunts off the bus and started yelling at us to move it.
We were divided according to our hockey teams on the parade grounds behind the centre, and the ranking officer addressed our“shabby group” of “recruits” in a tone that left no doubt as to who was in charge. He spelled out the rules we would play by for the duration of our time at the camp. We were told we would be put through the same training course that the troops go through before heading off to Afghanistan, and that some of the drill sergeants were battle-hardened soldiers who had recently returned from multiple tours in that country.
“This is a very dangerous facility, and we don’t want any of you to get injured and not be able to start your season,” he said, “unless your name is Kerry Fraser!”
He continued: “We also realize that some of you might be nursing injuries from your training camp or from previous game-related injuries and pre-existing conditions. I want you to advise my master drill sergeants, positioned behind me, of anything you might have that
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