Alyssa Bormes - The Catechism of Hockey

Dont let the title of this book fool you. Its purpose is a most serious onethe communication of the timeless truths of our Catholic Faith using images that are compelling to the man or woman of today. Such methods have been with us since the very beginning, ever since Truth made flesh picked up the mustard seed and unveiled to his listeners the power of the grain of wheat. It is my hope and my prayer that many souls will come into contact with this greatest of teachers, Jesus Christ, through the use, study and enjoyment of The Catechism of Hockey.

The Most Reverend
JOHN C. NIENSTEDT
Archbishop of Saint Paul and Minneapolis

The Catechism of Hockey offers an insightful and unique way of helping readers to better understand their faith. As a bishop and a hockey player, I am grateful for this contribution which I pray will be an effective tool in helping people to grow in a deeper appreciation for the Catholic faith by viewing it through the lens of the game of hockey.

Life is hockey? Maybe.The path to greatness is the same for both the NHL and your soul and this book will lead you there.

This book is enjoyable and should be an inspiration to those involved in the game of hockey. Herbie would have been humbled by bringing hockey into the realm of spirituality.

Nihil obstat: Rev. George Welzbacher, Censor librorum , Archdiocese of Saint Paul and Minneapolis

Imprimatur: Most Rev. John C. Nienstedt, Archbishop of the Archdiocese of Saint Paul and Minneapolis

To my beloved parents,
the late William A. Bormes and Karol Bormes Parsons,
who gave me a home,
and
to my beloved spiritual father,
His Excellency, the late Bishop Paul Dudley,
who brought me home.

CONTENTS

FOREWORD

By Dale Ahlquist

There is nothing that the new generation pursues more eagerly than this sort of sport and games; and there is nothing that is full of more elaborate restrictions and conditions. But when the same youth attacks the larger problems of life, he has to-day a tendency to do it only with the largest and vaguest theories of liberty, or rather of anarchy. In many cases it is hard to say that he has any philosophy except the philosophy of doing as he likes. Yet the very amusements that he likes most might warn him that the test which breaks down even in little things will be yet more brittle in great ones. He will apply his anarchism to love but not to lawn tennis. Lawn tennis is one network of rules as close as the net itself; and far closer than any of those old Christian nets that were cast by the fishers of men. If there are ten commandments of God there are considerably more than ten commandments of golf. G . K . C HESTERTON

Columbia, October, 1924

This is a right wing book. Of course, its also a left wing book. And a center book. And dont forget the two defensemen and the goalie. The whole team is represented in these pages. Even the referee. And the commissioner. You will think about them all in a new way, even while you think about them in the same way.

What you are holding in your hand is an amazing teaching tool, even though it probably will not help you become a better hockey player. (If that is what you thought you were going to get from this book, well, someone just skated around you. But read it anyway. The game is not over.)

When I met Alyssa Bormes for the first time, she immediately started telling me about this great idea she had called The Catechism of Hockey. What sounded at first like simply an amusing analogy quickly became a jaw-dropping eternal object lesson. And so I sat there listening to her, open-mouthed, because my jaw had dropped.

You should write a book, I finally said.

Thats exactly what I am going to do, she grinned, one of those grins that hinted that she had already figured out she was going to write a book even before I brilliantly suggested it.

I cant wait to read it, I added, scoring another original line.

That was about six years ago. So I did have to wait. And I had to remind her a few times about her great idea. In the meantime, I had the pleasure of watching her in action as a teacher, a public speaker, a counselor, a youth leader, and even at times a bookseller. But always a storyteller. Which made me remind her again about her great idea and the book she was going to write. Then I gave her an extra incentive. I told her I would publish it.

So she dug in and set to work. When I read the first draft, I was surprised. I already knew it was going to be about more than hockey. It turned out to be about football and basketball, too.

But it is really about the Catholic Church. That was still the biggest surprise, even though I knew it was coming. And thats the part that will continue to surprise you, even when you know its coming. You will be surprised by new insights and appreciations. You will be surprised at how incredibly well the metaphor keeps working.

Alyssa has taken subjects that everybody talks about all the time and combined them with subjects that nobody ever wants to talk about. The combination works perfectly. In a world where sports are taken more seriously than religion, and religion is treated more frivolously than a game, she has managed to make a connection between the two that is both serious and fun, bringing back the proper perspective toward each without misrepresenting either. She has found a way to explain the most difficult things to understand about the Catholic Church. She has defended some of the most difficult things to defend. And she has done it by writing about hockey.

Lace up your skates.

INTRODUCTION

The other word for January is cold. It was another January morning. The sun had managed to show its face for the first time in weeks, and while this did not translate into actual heat, it at least issued an invitation to go outside and take a walk. The brightness was indeed beautiful. The snow seemed to be littered with sparkling diamonds, the air so still and silent that each step sounded particularly crisp . There were other familiar sounds of winter. The sh-sh-sh of frost being scraped off a windshield. And something wonderfully recognizable to anyone who grew up in the upper Midwest: short, quick, choppy, scraping footsteps. Then the sleek slicing of blades on the ice, followed by the footsteps again. Then another sound that wasnt quite right. Wood slappingsomething. I walked on, knowing what I would see. Only one skater, I guessed, and when I arrived at the frozen pond, I saw I was right. A young boy with a funny stocking cap, alone on the ice. The slapping sounds made sense now. He wasnt hitting a rubber puck with his stick. It was a crushed soda can. He wound up and shot it into the goal, a space marked off by two twigs sticking out of two clumps of snow. Although the boy appeared to be alone, he was in fact surrounded by several imaginary defenders, and he weaved between them as he took his shots.