What Gay Hockey Means to Me

By Chuck McKain

Hockey was a constant for me throughout most of my childhood and teenage years. I started playing in the second grade and it quickly became my sport of choice. I was skating three of four times a week, playing two games most weekends, and drilling skills at home everyday. When I look back on my childhood, hockey is tied to many happy memories of good friends, learning new skills, long trips to games with my family, and my dad taking me to McDonalds after particularly good games. However, hockey is also tied with a general sense of anxiety about being “good enough”, “strong enough” and “tough enough”. I rarely was the best player on my teams in terms of overall skill. Instead, I earned my spot on the ice by being relentless in digging pucks out of the corners and winning what one coach called “one-on-one battles”. Playing this type of game necessitated putting on a mask of fearlessness every time I stepped on the ice because any hesitation probably meant that I would lose the puck to another player.

As I grew older, a disconnect started to grow between the role I assumed on the ice and the way I actually felt in the locker room. In fifth grade, another teammate started to call me “queer.” I did not really know what this meant at first (and in hindsight, I do not think he did either), but I knew that it was meant as insult. As this teasing started to get to me, my parents (my father in particular), attempted to give me advice to prevent it in the future. Such advice mostly boiled down to two things: don’t talk too much in the locker room and if you do, make sure to modulate the pitch of your voice so that it is not too high. Gradually, I began to fear getting picked on the locker room. I started to hide a part of myself whenever I arrived at the rink.

As a kid growing up attending Catholic school in a small town in central Pennsylvania, I did not have any true exposure to gay role models or a gay community. I do not remember any explicit discrimination or homophobia in my family or from my teachers, but homosexuality was not talked about in any real sense. I knew what it was, but it was never something I thought I would experience. Looking back, I can recall several vague feelings of being “different” from other boys but I believe my lack of real exposure to a gay community prevented me from truly understanding my sexuality.

The general anxiety in the locker room, coupled with my lack of self-understanding, started to become crippling in my first two years of high school hockey. My high school coaches were much louder than the patient coaches I had grown up playing under and were much harsher in their criticism of mistakes. In addition to off-ice anxiety, I became hesitant on the ice and my playing suffered. I wound up quitting after my sophomore year and not looking back.

It was around the time that I quit playing hockey that I started to truly realize I was gay. Coming out was an extremely long process. I kept my sexuality a secret from everyone but a few close friends until my senior year of college. I did pick up a hockey stick a few times to play intramural floor hockey with my fraternity brothers, but despite their support and praise, I still felt extremely nervous before our pick-up games. Even after officially coming out to all my friends and fraternity brothers in my senior year of college, I thought that hockey was a part of my former life and was not something that was compatible with my newly assumed identity as a gay man.

I had heard about the MGHA shortly after moving to Madison, but with a hectic work schedule that included lots of travelling, I never really researched it or thought about playing. My friends and colleagues Justin Sukup and Molly Costello mentioned that they played in the league one of our work trips and we started talking about my past hockey experience. Still, it took almost a year of nudging from Justin before I actually signed up to play.

I remember being asked before my first practice if I had played before. I answered truthfully, but it almost felt like I was talking about someone else. After all, I had not skated in almost nine years.

Although I did not realize it at the time, I first experienced all the great things about our league culture in my first practice. My nerves and anxiety seemed to disappear with every stride, and I quickly felt a joy of just being able to play hockey that I had not experienced since I was a child. As the season progressed, Sunday night hockey quickly became a highlight of my week. I made many great friends and quickly surprised myself with the self-understanding I gained with each game.

When I began writing this essay, it was difficult to express what gay hockey meant to me after my first year playing. I think it can be best summed up in one particular moment. In our final game of the season, as I prepared to take a face-off, the Lady Gaga song “Telephone” began to play. As cliché as it sounds, I could write a separate essay about my love for Lady Gaga and how her music helped me understand myself as a gay man when I was in college. I did my own quick version of the dance from the music video and then jumped right in to take the face-off just as I would have when I was younger. Gay hockey has helped me reconcile two parts of my personality, two parts that I previously thought were incompatible, and achieve a new level of self-acceptance. Like my coach had said many years ago, hockey for me has been about winning one-on-one battles. Gay hockey helped me win a one-on-
one battle with myself. I used to consider myself a gay man who used to play hockey.

Now I am a proud gay man who loves to play hockey.

What Gay Hockey Means to Me

By Kelli Martino

What gay hockey means to me: family, friends, and being a part of team greater than the sum of its parts. Madison gay hockey is an integral part of Madison’s identity through my eyes.

As any Madison transplant knows, moving to a new location where you don’t know anyone can be a bit intimidating. With my traditional family a thousand miles away, my closest friends several hours away, and a new cohort of coworkers to meet, I felt very alone on day one. A week after moving, I was in contact with the league and putting down a deposit for the season.

After going to new player orientation and seeing so many people there, my excitement continued to grow. Some of the returning players helped with taping sticks and figuring out the gear situation, which was much appreciated. Finally it was time to hit the ice! I’ve played organized sports pretty much my entire life, but I quickly found MGHA is different. It’s about more than just the sport. This wonderful group of people works so hard to welcome and include everyone. Quickly after moving I had found a family of friends. I was also fortunate enough to snag an awesome mentor who helped to make sure that I not only was figuring out a new life on skates, but getting settled into Madison.

Throughout the season it was rewarding to see other players learn and develop their game. Playing the MGHA way was a solid reminder that it’s not about you. Setting up others to grow and succeed proves that sportsmanship goes a lot farther  Overall, I’m grateful for

Overall, I’m grateful for family that gay hockey has created. Not only is it the best sport on the planet, but also it’s with the best group of people you could ask for. The league was a great first impression of Madison as a whole and has helped make it my home.

Logan Kirwin

Team: Mighty Teals

What Gay Hockey Means to Me

By Logan Kirwin

The evening after the first new player clinic I went to IHOP and ate 2 entrees, then went home and watched six hours o hockey games on YouTube. This was my first hockey season, despite first pulling on skates at age 3. I’ve played competitive sports since age 5, and every team is a little different. Every season has its own challenges.

This year, while learning a new sport was a challenge; my biggest struggle was mostly off-ice, confronting my gender identity. The inclusive atmosphere cultivated from the word go in the MGHA and the people I became friends with through the season made coming out to my teammates and later the rest of my friends and family a far simpler experience than it could have otherwise been.

Moving to the Midwest after growing up in Massachusetts was a bit of a culture shift, even with the understanding that Madison is quite liberal in comparison to the rest of the state. Gender role expectations played a little heavier into everyday interactions, even within the queer community. I found myself dreading otherwise enticing work opportunities because I’d have to wear feminine business clothing, rather than my day-to-day jeans and a hoodie. I’d grown accustomed to the groaning of friends in college about formal clothing, so it came as a surprise when many of my coworkers sounded like they actually enjoyed putting on dresses and makeup. It became clear to me pretty quickly that something else was going on for me, that it wasn’t just being gay and not liking to dress up that was bothering me.

Playing sports growing up meant that I constantly defined myself as an athlete. Being an athlete meant I got to express myself on the court or field, whatever the designated playing surface was that day. It also meant that I got to wear sweats as my peers were experimenting with miniskirts and tight shirts because I was always coming from or going to sports practice. Upon leaving college and moving to

Madison, I lost that label for a while. I tried a few different sports and activities; soccer, karate, yoga, Crossfit, marathon training, but nothing stuck. I started playing softball with Badgerland last summer, which got me connected with a second softball league and soon I was playing softball 3 times a week and started being able to call myself an athlete again. Getting into the MGHA was another step back in the direction of feeling comfortable and confident in my skin again. Starting to play in the MGHA was like coming home, where home is a semi-resurfaced sheet of ice and a rowdy crew in the locker room.

My identity as an athlete had a huge impact on my internal dialogue around gender. Much of the sports I had played prior to the MGHA were highly gendered, and even coed sports had rigid rules about how many girls had to be on the field at any given time. I was terrified that by coming out, I would lose everything I had worked hard to gain back over the last year. The relaxed coed play of the MGHA gave me the space to contemplate what transitioning while maintaining my identity as an athlete would look like.

A lot of the MGHA essays talk about finding a community, and they all use the phrase LGBT. I’ve been a part of several gay communities, but never one as gender identity inclusive as the MGHA. From shining a light on “hey some of your teammates might be trans” at the new player orientation, to making sure everyone on the team knew what pronouns their teammates preferred, I found reason to hope that being true to my gender identity wasn’t going to turn me away from the new found friendships and inklings of community.

Even with an extended internal dialogue and the experience of seeing happy trans and nonbinary hockey players, it still took me 4 months into the season to say the words “I’m trans” out loud to another person. From there, it was like a Band-Aid was ripped off, and each positive affirming reaction made me want to tell another person, such that 4 months after that first admission I’ve come out at work, to my 400+ Facebook friends and started hormones. I’m fairly certain I never would have made it here without the MGHA.

There’s one final anecdote that set me on the path of writing this as my MGHA story. The weekend I decided to come out to my teammates, I had gone to the twin cities to see Minnesota play Wisconsin and while sitting in my hotel room Sunday morning, I hastily typed out a coming out email to the team. I spent an hour deciding what to title it, another 30 minutes deciding whether I was ready to send it, and at least a shower-length regretting sending it before reading any of the responses. At my MGHA game that night, after a day of being buoyed by positive responses, I scored my first goal of the season.