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My Mother, the hockey player
Sunday, February 21, 1999 By Bob Batz Jr., Post-Gazette Staff Writer
Jan Martello is one tough mother.
She's got 18 stitches in her swollen gums, less the four loose ones that are hanging down her throat, and a just-as-painful pulled right hamstring.
But the only ice she seeks this morning is the regulation 200-by-85 feet of it on the rink.
There is no way she's going to miss hockey.
"I'm hurtin', so stay away from me," she warns some of the others arriving at the Iceoplex at Southpointe near Canonsburg.
They don't look too tough.
But they are starting to look like hockey players, now that they're wearing some of the gear and brandishing sticks.
Except maybe for Amy Rush, while she's applying her stick of lip conditioner.
"Why is mine so curvy?" one of the suiting-uppers asks about a new blade.
"I wasn't sure if I'd be shooting left or right," says another, Janie Weaver, as she buckles on her brand-new black Jofa helmet.
Carla Jeke struggles to squeeze on a helmet that barely fits. "So don't kill me out there, guys."
Only, there are no guys.
All these players are women.
And most of them, like Martello, actually have children.
The Mothers of Hockey.
Anyone who's ever been involved in ice hockey knows that it's one of the toughest positions to play - HM, or hockey mom.
Jeke's son, Travis, is only 5, but she lives the drill: getting up too early on frigid mornings, driving to distant frigid rinks, watching game after practice after game, going hoarse from yelling (including helping out the referees), then hauling home her pooped player and his much brawnier bag of the equipment that she helps him strap and snap on and off.
"I've done this to so many kids it's pathetic," she says, while tightening the laces of her hockey skates. "Just not to myself."
She and other women got their chance starting this past fall, thanks to Joanne DeFazio.
DeFazio is Iceoplex's director of hockey, which means she's in charge of all hockey programs there. She's also a hockey mom, so she can empathize with other HMs' travails and needs.
Last winter, a hockey dad mentioned to her that, when he was growing up in Canada, a group of "mothers of hockey" had enjoyed banding together to learn to play the national obsession.
At that same time, DeFazio was taking one of Iceoplex's figure-skating classes, but while wearing hockey skates. "I was having so much fun at it, and it was so mentally and physically challenging, that I couldn't believe there weren't more women out there who would like to learn this."
There were. Dozens responded to her survey saying they'd be interested in giving hockey a shot.
Mothers of Hockey was born, announced on a flier that invited women to "come and give us a try" on Monday mornings.
The flier was pink.
"I was absolutely overwhelmed by the response," DeFazio says. "I didn't think there'd be that many so quickly, and who'd love it so much."
For the first class on Oct. 5, about 15 women showed. Many of those have kept coming since, with a regular attendance of about 20. So many new women keep dropping in that DeFazio is considering dividing the class, and maybe even adding a second morning.
"I'd like to see other rinks start this up," says the Peters woman, who is herself taking the class that she believes is the only women-only one in the region. "I think it could really take off."
Already, Airport Ice Arena general manager Harold Jones says he wants to start something like it at his Moon rink, perhaps linked with the University of Pittsburgh's new women's team.
At Iceoplex, under the tutelage of staffers including DeFazio's 21-year-old son, Paul, the class started at the bottom and spent the first three months just skating - not a bad idea because some of the women never had.
But by the end of January, they broke out the sticks, which were a gift from the Pittsburgh Penguins. The pro team also calls Iceoplex its practice home, and often hits the ice right after the Mothers.
Some of the players, such as Darius Kasparaitis, have been seen observing them, and perhaps wondering, Who are these women?
Well, they range from middle-aged to teen-aged. Many are mothers like Jeke, 39, who hails from South Franklin, and who wears a glittery "Hockey Mom" sweatshirt. She got into hockey so deep through Travis and her coach/player husband, Ed, that she figured she might as well play it, too.
"It really makes me appreciate the things my son can do," says the woman who already appreciates how expensive gear is, which is why she's wearing his old helmet until she buys her own.
One of the oldest Mothers, Jean Deep of Houston, actually is a grandmother, though she's only 48. She'd ice-skated just five times in her life before the class. But she can borrow gear from hockey players who are 11 and 20. "My older son thinks it's hysterical," she says. "I says, 'What are you laughing at?' He says, 'It's funny to talk to your mom about hockey.' "
Some aren't mothers. Janie Weaver, who teaches writing and literature at Westmoreland County Community College, started coming from Squirrel Hill after seeing a tiny item about the class in the Post-Gazette. The North Carolina transplant had caught hockey fever last year when the U.S. team won the gold medal in the first Olympic women's competition.
Lots of stories at that time, and books with titles like "She Shoots ... She Scores" and "Too Many Men on the Ice," explored the heightened state and prospects of women's hockey. More rumors about a possible women's league circulated around last month's NHL All-Star game. Cammi Granato, the U.S. captain at Nagano, who again made history by being the first woman to score in the Heroes of Hockey game, said that while a women's league might be an even more elusive goal, "It would be great."
Meanwhile, more female amateurs are playing a sport that they used to just watch. The new equipment on which Weaver happily spent $1,100 (and she could have spent more) includes pieces made especially for women, something more companies are offering.
There's even a hockey chick magazine called "Hipcheck." Weaver knows about that, too, since, along with several other Mothers, she sat next to the editor at the Jan. 30 Penguins game that featured a between-periods salute to "Women in Hockey."
More than 100 players attended, as well as women's officials, and the second intermission was a scrimmage between the Southpointe Rink Rats Girls and Yevet's Erie Lady Lions.
In scholastic and amateur leagues in this region, girls mostly play with the boys. But some young women compete among themselves on eight girls teams in the Pittsburgh Area Hockey League. Martello, who founded the Southpointe team in 1996, now helps coach one at Rostraver's Ice Garden - the Mon Valley Thunder. The team includes her 18-year-old daughter, Lyndsey, who also skates some Mondays with her mom.
"It's really neat to see women who are so many years older than me really getting into it," says Lyndsey, who is one of the younger hot-shots who arrive early to practice their slap shots, and who don't leave the ice until the Zamboni runs them off.
"She's a nasty player," her Mom says proudly, clarifying, "I don't mean dirty now," before launching into how the defensewoman recently got so mad at being ejected from a game that she launched her helmet across the locker room.
Females don't usually body check - certainly, this group doesn't (Martello pulled her hamstring when she hit a rut in the ice and fell, and her stitches were from gum surgery). But at least one of the hockey moms wouldn't mind if they did.
"Oh, yeah, I want the full hockey thing. I don't want wussy hockey," says 24-year-old Ruth Plonski, who looks pretty tough out there, what with the sparkling heart pendant hanging on the outside of her jersey. She drives all the way down from Tarentum, where she works in hot foods at Giant Eagle, to work out and work on her game.
Other Mothers, who are mostly milder, agree that the class is great exercise and great fun and they love it.
"There's a good camaraderie in the group - a lot of support," says Weaver, who has no bloodlust but does have really red cheeks after each session. "I like the skill and the feeling. It feels good to be on the ice, and it feels good to move that fast."
"It really does firm the body quickly," says Lisa Tingle, a HM from Peters. She "never pictured" herself doing anything like this, but "all I want to do now is skate."
DeFazio says she's amazed at how committed they are, and describes their progress as "phenomenal." From week to week, you can clearly see how much they - including DeFazio - improve.
Deep says you can clearly hear it when they do hockey stops: "At first we were all thumping into the boards. Now we hear that scraping. I'm like, 'Wow, I can do this!' "
While they seriously practice the drills - stickhandling, passing, power starts - they also are quick to laugh at their own mistakes and at whatever else strikes them as funny, like when Paul, introducing them to holding sticks, deadpans, "There's no reason ever to have your butt-end sticking out."
"We keep gabbing," says Jeke, who likes that it's for women only. "You're in your own element here."
That's one reason the class works so well, says DeFazio. She purposely made it inexpensive - just $5, less than some public skating sessions - and pay-as-you-go so participants wouldn't feel locked in. They can acquire equipment gradually, and still need only to have skates, a stick and a helmet.
She also made the time flexible - they can hit the ice at 9 a.m., but the lesson runs from 9:45 to 10:30 - knowing women's mornings are busy with jobs and getting children off to school. On days when kids are off, they're welcome to come and skate, though if you're Travis, beware of skating in Mom's way.
"WHACK!" is the sound of Jeke's perfectly executed slash on his butt, before she sweeps her stick to trip him to the ice.
They might crack on themselves, but don't make girly jokes about this group. Amy Rush, a 29-year-old counseling graduate student from Washington, hated being photographed putting on her lip conditioner. "It defeats the purpose," she says with a scowl.
Still, even under jerseys, full pads and face masks, their feminine side peeks through.
After the Penguins gave them that pile of autographed sticks, they all signed a thank-you card bought by their other instructor, Wendy Rothermund.
And after every session, they enjoy bundt cake, brownies and other goodies that DeFazio bakes for them and puts out, on a tablecloth no less, with coffee and tea.
"Oh yes, our tea and crumpets," Jeke jokes, as a group of them chill and chew and socialize.
Washington's Cindy Stark (a new-to-town physical therapist who signed up to meet new friends) starts talking about the future, when they might face each other or another team in an actual game. Someone mentions getting a sponsor, and jerseys, and Deep chimes in, "We need numbers and names."
Stark flips out an idea to name their team after a Penguin-like bird: "We should be the Puffins."
"The Puffins!" DeFazio says. "That's cute! That's darling!"
When someone asks if that's like powder puff, everybody boos, but when Stark says, "How about the Power Puffins?" the response is much more positive.
On Monday, they adopted the name "Pittsburgh Puffins" and a mascot, which Rothermund drew, that looks like it's ready to attack.
Playing is something they all seem psyched to do, though DeFazio didn't even mention it at the start, for fear of intimidating them.
But they're hockey players now - a hockey team. Pulling off the elbow pads her son once said she wouldn't get sweaty, Deep grins and says, "This is forever. As long as they have it, I'm coming."
John Beale is a Post-Gazette staff photographer. Bob Batz Jr. is a Post-Gazette staff writer and a son of a hockey mom.
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