On April 5th, we posted a story on our website about how it's never too late to start playing hockey, citing the welcoming and friendly community as the main reason that there's always a place for you to join in.

One of our members, George Pon of the Edmonton Golden Eagles, read our story and it resonated with him in a big way, as a player in a 65+ league.

A teammate of his, Reggie Morris (86 years old), had written a poem about the great game of hockey and the things we all experience while enjoying the sport, and we thought we'd share.

Thanks, Reggie and George!

The dressing room

Where all is bared

And many a story told.

A lifetime of work

Is happily shared

From the memories of the old.

Camaraderie and innocent fun

As each in his turn is the butt of a joke,

Never meant to be mean to any one,

It’s just a childish poke.

For all enjoy,

Turning from men into boys,

Playing the game we love to play

And it gives us pride ‘cause we know inside

That we’re part of a bigger team today.

Pads are on and too, the skates

And larger men step forth.

It’s kind of nice

To grace the ice

With fellows who’ll stay the course.

Well, the teams are chosen

The goalies stand guard

In their small front yards

And defy you to beat their best.

And every one tries

But the goalies pride

Lays your best shot to rest.

I can’t name them all,

We are all so alike,

Our time together is great.

We’ve joined the ranks

Of the seniors with thanks

That we’re still not too old to skate.

The game ends

With a chase for the puck

And one last rush to the net if you can.

But our time is over and it’s time for the shower

And we leave as we began.

The laughter and fun

Has brought out the sun

In the lives of a sundown crew

A McDonalds coffee and maybe a bun

But we still get a laugh or two.

Then we go separate ways

And spend our days

Like any other retired old men.

But we know in our hearts

That here’s where it starts

For the rink will beckon again.

For there are many more games to be played.

And I pray for us all, it may be just gall,

That we’re granted the time to enjoy

The last trails that we travel

On this earthly orb

And again turn from a man to a boy.