Sunday, December 24, 2006
It's time for a hockey update! Unlike my league in New York, which consists of 1-2 games a week, followed by a visit to a local tavern for beer and wings, here the teams have real practices, and few games.
I have been practicing three nights a week (one with a strong top-league team, and two with a second tier team, ODTÜ). ODTÜ, sponsored by the university, is in its first year of existence, and it shows. In the practices, few have full equipment, so we run practices in sweats, but we make up for it in fun and comraderie. The players are mostly undergraduate students - all very Turkish, except for the half with ponytails and beards that make me think I've stepped back into the 60's. Most speak some English, and they sacrifice something to get to the rink to play. It wasn't too hard for me to decide to try and play for ODTÜ; they needed some experienced players, and since with my work, family, and trying to experience Turkey would make it difficult to try and keep up with the top players in the country (doesn't that sound impressive) in the "superleague". Also, as I'll mention later, if you're not one of the best on your team, you get little or no ice time during the games.
The first time the team borrowed enough equipment for a full-contact practice, pairs of skaters squared off and kept ramming into each other, laughing, like little kids.
After a month of practicing (and watching the team come together and improve quite a bit), I was told that I would need a permit to play in the games. Since there are only 10 games in the season, I knew I should get my permit soon, and so attempted to make my way through the "ice hockey bureaucracy" that is just a further extension of Turkish bureaucracy.
My first step was to fill out forms (with such important information as my mother's maiden name; I also felt a little silly listing my last team as Ale House II - our sponsor in New York), and submit copies of my passport and residence papers in person to the Turkish Ice Hockey Federation (another Soviet bloc-feeling building, with cigarette smoke everywhere - even the athletes smoke heavily). Gokturk, my coach, took me and helped me through this process. These forms were sent to USAHOCKEY (the governing entity of amateur hockey in the US). It was advised that if I knew someone at USAHOCKEY I should call them to speed up the process. Yeah, well, um... I sent an email anyway, and was pleasantly surpised to get a response that they'd send it right back.
Next, the Turkish Ice Hockey Federation had to send on my player's permit to the International Hockey Federation (based in Switzerland or somewhere). While waiting for that, I was instructed to get three pictures of myself, a doctor's note saying I was physically able to play (my school doctor looked at me and signed it and stamped it twice), and more copies of my passport.
When the IHF finally returned their acceptance, I had to travel back to the Turkish Ice Hockey Federation (with Ferhat, my team captain, in a borrowed car - we traveled through the old part of Ankara - Ulus, squeezing down narrow streets filled with more pedestrians than vehicles, and only got lost twice - we found the place after a taxi driver told us to follow a dolmus). I picked up my letter from the IHF, as well as a Turkish IHF form that approved me. Was that it? Well, no. We needed to bring the forms to another part of the city, to the amateur sports authority.
On the way down the stairs, I read the letter from the IHF - it said that I had to get the final approval by January 18th, 2006! Someone had messed up. Should we go back? No, don't point it out, and hopefully no one will notice. The Turkish IHF coverletter explains it all, anyways.
As we walked back to the car (we actually had found a parking spot close by), Ferhat excused himself and dashed across the road into a little shop. He was out in two minutes, carrying something small that he said we'd need.
The building we needed to find was next to a large sports arena, and parking was hard to find as there was a professional soccer game going on (at 2 pm?). The European-style chants rang out from over the edge of the open-air stadium as we walked across the parking lot to the sports authority. Several vendors had set up large grills, selling cooked foods (from meat to chestnuts). The groups of policemen stood around looking bored. Ferhat pulled me aside and pulled out the small tube of glue he had bought. "We need to glue your pictures on the forms," he said, pulling out the carefully typed copies he had produced since our last meeting. He pulled scissors out of his satchel, trimmed my pictures, and glued two onto forms, and paperclipped the third. Then we were ready for...
The chubby, red-dyed haired woman sitting behind the counter! She made us wait while she stacked forms up on her desk (there was a TUB of forms with photos behind her!), and then she said we needed a copy of my residence paper too, she said. Ok, we could manage that, just had to go out of the office and find a copy machine in the building. That wasn't too hard, and we were back (now there was a man being helped with about 10 applications for some woman's team, so we had a wait). Then, finally, she's looking through and - the IHF letter is in English. No, she said, this won't do. She needed to be able to read it. Well, that's what the cover letter from the Turkish Ice Hockey Federation was for - it said I was officially cleared to play. No, she said, we needed it translated.
Ferhat went out to talk on his phone, while I fretted. Of course the IHF isn't going to send something in Turkish. I asked (well, I didn't ask, but someone who could speak Turkish did) if we could translate it there (pen or typewriter). No, she said, you need to have it officially translated - there are services you go to that translate and stamp their seal to make it "official." Are you kidding me? I was about to lose it when Ferhat came back and motioned me up the stairs. Ah, that's more like it. Go to chubby redhead's superior. This was another woman, watching a BBC comedy in her office, who asked how I was in broken English, looked through my paperwork, and said she'd take care of it.
The next day Ferhat text-messaged me. I was offically a member of ODTÜ ice hockey.
My first game was last night - against a team sponsored by the traffic police training school. Before the game, Ferhat handed out candybars - for quick energy. The regular locker rooms were under construction, so we were placed in a stone-floored room - not very good for your skates. I found a cardboard box and we placed little pieces of cardboard down to form a path out the door.
Ötcan, our goalie, had been given a new, wraparound style cup, and was having fun trying to put it on. For five minutes these players laughed and joked like little kids. Fans came in and snapped pictures, and Red Bull (energy drink) was passed around. Then Gokturk came in, and everyone listened intently as he used his clipboard to give us last-minute instructions.
Once onto the ice, I began hearing the booing. The police team had about 150 fans - cadets, really, in full length wool gray coats and hats with brims, and a group from the drummers from their marching band. They all sat in one section and would keep making noise (from whistles to songs to howls) the entire game. ODTÜ was represented by about 50 fans. Both groups stood the entire game.
After warmups, we headed back to the locker room (they did the ice again, and between all periods). This may be amateur hockey, but they take it seriously.
Our game wasn't much to talk about - we got beaten very badly by a superior team, 11-3. Their players were bigger, faster, and they had a passing system that utilized their defensemen (which is where their best players played) very well. They also liked to hit - even after you got rid of the puck, you had to expect someone would come crashing into you. After years of not playing hockey, and then joining a no-check league, it was a little different to end up on the ice more than once. Also, no one talks back to the referee (I started to on a suspect call, and was scolded by the ref that no one talks to him! No one!).
I am one of our stronger players (now playing a very steady, defensive-minded defense), and played more than half of the game. That's not because we don't have enough players. It's because the coach keeps the best players out there. He basically rotated three of us as defense (and we had exactly three lines of offense, but some players only got three shifts the entire game).
After the game, the ODTÜ skated to the boards infront of the police fans/cadets and applauded the fans (their players did the same to us). Then we went and applauded as a group to our fans (still standing, still cheering). Then down to the locker room and cardboard squares.
After the game, as I tried to find a taxi (the police vans were blocking the road, waiting for their players and fans), Gokhan, my coach, came out and said we should share a cab. We talked about the game on the way home, and even though Turkish music was on the taxi's radio, and the scenery was decidedly not upstate New York, I thought about how it felt to play again. Once in the locker room (that distinct smell that hockey equipment retains is truly global), or on the ice, hockey is just hockey; that's why I went through all the trouble to be able to play here, and it seems a small sacrifice to be able to play a game I love.
Our next game isn't until January 20th. I'll keep you posted.
I have been practicing three nights a week (one with a strong top-league team, and two with a second tier team, ODTÜ). ODTÜ, sponsored by the university, is in its first year of existence, and it shows. In the practices, few have full equipment, so we run practices in sweats, but we make up for it in fun and comraderie. The players are mostly undergraduate students - all very Turkish, except for the half with ponytails and beards that make me think I've stepped back into the 60's. Most speak some English, and they sacrifice something to get to the rink to play. It wasn't too hard for me to decide to try and play for ODTÜ; they needed some experienced players, and since with my work, family, and trying to experience Turkey would make it difficult to try and keep up with the top players in the country (doesn't that sound impressive) in the "superleague". Also, as I'll mention later, if you're not one of the best on your team, you get little or no ice time during the games.
The first time the team borrowed enough equipment for a full-contact practice, pairs of skaters squared off and kept ramming into each other, laughing, like little kids.
After a month of practicing (and watching the team come together and improve quite a bit), I was told that I would need a permit to play in the games. Since there are only 10 games in the season, I knew I should get my permit soon, and so attempted to make my way through the "ice hockey bureaucracy" that is just a further extension of Turkish bureaucracy.
My first step was to fill out forms (with such important information as my mother's maiden name; I also felt a little silly listing my last team as Ale House II - our sponsor in New York), and submit copies of my passport and residence papers in person to the Turkish Ice Hockey Federation (another Soviet bloc-feeling building, with cigarette smoke everywhere - even the athletes smoke heavily). Gokturk, my coach, took me and helped me through this process. These forms were sent to USAHOCKEY (the governing entity of amateur hockey in the US). It was advised that if I knew someone at USAHOCKEY I should call them to speed up the process. Yeah, well, um... I sent an email anyway, and was pleasantly surpised to get a response that they'd send it right back.
Next, the Turkish Ice Hockey Federation had to send on my player's permit to the International Hockey Federation (based in Switzerland or somewhere). While waiting for that, I was instructed to get three pictures of myself, a doctor's note saying I was physically able to play (my school doctor looked at me and signed it and stamped it twice), and more copies of my passport.
When the IHF finally returned their acceptance, I had to travel back to the Turkish Ice Hockey Federation (with Ferhat, my team captain, in a borrowed car - we traveled through the old part of Ankara - Ulus, squeezing down narrow streets filled with more pedestrians than vehicles, and only got lost twice - we found the place after a taxi driver told us to follow a dolmus). I picked up my letter from the IHF, as well as a Turkish IHF form that approved me. Was that it? Well, no. We needed to bring the forms to another part of the city, to the amateur sports authority.
On the way down the stairs, I read the letter from the IHF - it said that I had to get the final approval by January 18th, 2006! Someone had messed up. Should we go back? No, don't point it out, and hopefully no one will notice. The Turkish IHF coverletter explains it all, anyways.
As we walked back to the car (we actually had found a parking spot close by), Ferhat excused himself and dashed across the road into a little shop. He was out in two minutes, carrying something small that he said we'd need.
The building we needed to find was next to a large sports arena, and parking was hard to find as there was a professional soccer game going on (at 2 pm?). The European-style chants rang out from over the edge of the open-air stadium as we walked across the parking lot to the sports authority. Several vendors had set up large grills, selling cooked foods (from meat to chestnuts). The groups of policemen stood around looking bored. Ferhat pulled me aside and pulled out the small tube of glue he had bought. "We need to glue your pictures on the forms," he said, pulling out the carefully typed copies he had produced since our last meeting. He pulled scissors out of his satchel, trimmed my pictures, and glued two onto forms, and paperclipped the third. Then we were ready for...
The chubby, red-dyed haired woman sitting behind the counter! She made us wait while she stacked forms up on her desk (there was a TUB of forms with photos behind her!), and then she said we needed a copy of my residence paper too, she said. Ok, we could manage that, just had to go out of the office and find a copy machine in the building. That wasn't too hard, and we were back (now there was a man being helped with about 10 applications for some woman's team, so we had a wait). Then, finally, she's looking through and - the IHF letter is in English. No, she said, this won't do. She needed to be able to read it. Well, that's what the cover letter from the Turkish Ice Hockey Federation was for - it said I was officially cleared to play. No, she said, we needed it translated.
Ferhat went out to talk on his phone, while I fretted. Of course the IHF isn't going to send something in Turkish. I asked (well, I didn't ask, but someone who could speak Turkish did) if we could translate it there (pen or typewriter). No, she said, you need to have it officially translated - there are services you go to that translate and stamp their seal to make it "official." Are you kidding me? I was about to lose it when Ferhat came back and motioned me up the stairs. Ah, that's more like it. Go to chubby redhead's superior. This was another woman, watching a BBC comedy in her office, who asked how I was in broken English, looked through my paperwork, and said she'd take care of it.
The next day Ferhat text-messaged me. I was offically a member of ODTÜ ice hockey.
My first game was last night - against a team sponsored by the traffic police training school. Before the game, Ferhat handed out candybars - for quick energy. The regular locker rooms were under construction, so we were placed in a stone-floored room - not very good for your skates. I found a cardboard box and we placed little pieces of cardboard down to form a path out the door.
Ötcan, our goalie, had been given a new, wraparound style cup, and was having fun trying to put it on. For five minutes these players laughed and joked like little kids. Fans came in and snapped pictures, and Red Bull (energy drink) was passed around. Then Gokturk came in, and everyone listened intently as he used his clipboard to give us last-minute instructions.
Once onto the ice, I began hearing the booing. The police team had about 150 fans - cadets, really, in full length wool gray coats and hats with brims, and a group from the drummers from their marching band. They all sat in one section and would keep making noise (from whistles to songs to howls) the entire game. ODTÜ was represented by about 50 fans. Both groups stood the entire game.
After warmups, we headed back to the locker room (they did the ice again, and between all periods). This may be amateur hockey, but they take it seriously.
Our game wasn't much to talk about - we got beaten very badly by a superior team, 11-3. Their players were bigger, faster, and they had a passing system that utilized their defensemen (which is where their best players played) very well. They also liked to hit - even after you got rid of the puck, you had to expect someone would come crashing into you. After years of not playing hockey, and then joining a no-check league, it was a little different to end up on the ice more than once. Also, no one talks back to the referee (I started to on a suspect call, and was scolded by the ref that no one talks to him! No one!).
I am one of our stronger players (now playing a very steady, defensive-minded defense), and played more than half of the game. That's not because we don't have enough players. It's because the coach keeps the best players out there. He basically rotated three of us as defense (and we had exactly three lines of offense, but some players only got three shifts the entire game).
After the game, the ODTÜ skated to the boards infront of the police fans/cadets and applauded the fans (their players did the same to us). Then we went and applauded as a group to our fans (still standing, still cheering). Then down to the locker room and cardboard squares.
After the game, as I tried to find a taxi (the police vans were blocking the road, waiting for their players and fans), Gokhan, my coach, came out and said we should share a cab. We talked about the game on the way home, and even though Turkish music was on the taxi's radio, and the scenery was decidedly not upstate New York, I thought about how it felt to play again. Once in the locker room (that distinct smell that hockey equipment retains is truly global), or on the ice, hockey is just hockey; that's why I went through all the trouble to be able to play here, and it seems a small sacrifice to be able to play a game I love.
Our next game isn't until January 20th. I'll keep you posted.
# posted by Michael Strich @ 7:27 AM 
