Notching 100 ice arenas is just over the blue line

Some people collect matchbooks; others keep a list of birds they have seen. But as a hockey parent, I keep count of the arenas in which I have inhaled Zamboni fumes.

For years, my ambition has been to make it into the Century Club before I die -- 100 ice arenas skated in or cursed in while there was ice on the floor and hockey in the air. I have collected an impressive string of arenas -- 80 of them, from Albert Lea Arena to the Xcel Energy Center, Biff Adams to Ken Yackel (two of Ramsey County's freezing meat lockers), and from the Bloomington Ice Garden to the Parade Ice Garden (in Minneapolis) and from Blake to Drake (at St. Paul Academy).

I had hoped to make it to the Century Club before now, but there has been a drought of hockey players on the family roster for a few years, and I haven't been inside a new arena in too long. Fortunately, the drought is now at an end, and there are two Mites wearing protectors over their reproductive parts although, thankfully, they remain unaware of the purpose of an organ so precious that it must be guarded by a modern contraption labeled the "Shock Doctor."

I wish I had thought of calling my cup that in high school.

Mites -- kids 9 and under -- are not on the traveling circuit, which is how hockey sucks you in: During the cute years, when they can't do a hockey stop and enjoy being at the bottom of a dog pile of fallen skaters, the laughs are close to home. It's only when hockey gets expensive and inconvenient that you must drive for hours to watch your kids get pole-axed by the little darlings from another town. Your kids may get creamed, but yes! New arena!

No. 81!

I am sure this is worth it, but I can't remember why, right now. As I have said, I've been out of the game for a while.

But my Mites don't have to skate more than 5 miles from home this winter. Being Minnesota, this means we'll be in striking range of about 20 rinks, not counting outdoor ice. But you don't reach 100 by circulating, over and over again, around your home rinks. You can't make it into the Century Club by going back and forth from Charles Schulz to Rube Gustafson (two more Ramsey County rinks in St. Paul, these named for the "Peanuts" cartoonist and a legendary coach at St. Paul Johnson).

So my dream of making it to the Century Club as a hockey dad may be fading. It's easy for refs and coaches to make 100, but not many parents see that many arenas. And I doubt that anyone -- other than a refrigeration repairman -- gets every arena in the state, the number now about 175.

But I still have a shot. If my Mites keep playing, I could notch 20 more rinks by the time they hit high school. But here's a new problem: Some of the arenas on my life list are already disappearing.

Like the old Minneapolis Auditorium, where the city schools used to play and which had plush theater seats. It came down to make way for the new Minneapolis Convention Center, which is iceless. And Golden Valley Arena is gone, replaced by the Breck School Anderson Arena, which I have not yet seen. When my hockey pals and I hit driving age, we sometimes made summer midnight road trips from St. Paul out to Golden Valley to try the golden western ice and make a pit stop at White Castle on the way home for a bagful of 2 a.m. gut bombs. Man, that was living.

Before we had wheels, we had few options. There were no self-respecting parents in those days who would tie a kid's skates for him, let alone drive him 20 miles to Braemar Arena (Edina) or Wakota Arena (South St. Paul). About the only ice within our reach during the warm months was Aldrich Arena in Maplewood. From where we lived, on St. Paul's West End, we could drag our gear bags and our sticks onto a bus on W. 7th Street and take it through downtown and out the East Side and along White Bear Avenue to the end of the line. From there, we had to walk about a mile, the strap of our bags biting our shoulders.

So maybe I won't hit 100.

It has sure been fun trying.