Home ice

To me, home is the Centennial Arena, a place where my team and I have triumphantly won hockey games, like when we just managed to score with 6 seconds left giving us the win against the heavily favoured Dartmouth team, as cheers of the fans rang out from the stands. But also a place where we have endured the crushing sting of defeat, like when we lost to the Tasa Ducks by one point putting us out of the Playoffs. The Centennial is more than just a hockey rink, it is a whole community, in a way it feels like home. It's a home to the players, the fans, and the coaches. But it's also home to every skate mark left on the ice, every cheer from the stands, and every cheese curd in the poutine. My heart races every time I open those heavy front doors with my black hockey bag slumped over my shoulder, knowing that another fun ice time awaits. From the cozy penalty box where many goons have served their time, to the welcoming canteen filled with the aroma of steaming French fries dancing with the sweet scent of candy bags and chocolate bars, to the inside of the dressing room where the echoes of laughter and the snow from our skates linger long after the game has ended. The Centennial Arena is a very special place to me. It is more than just a building, it is a whole community. It houses every memorable moment, both joyful and painful. It is a welcoming and warm environment, where we celebrate our victories and learn from our defeats. The Centennial makes me feel safe and warm (even though it is a cold hockey rink) and it is truly a home.