It was 2:30 am on February 14. Another Valentine’s Day in Argentina. Honestly, I have lost count of how many we have spent here. Two, definitely. I remember the single roses gifted to us from Doc Higgins. There have been two roses, for sure. It starts to get blurry at about three.
An endless summer night had welcomed this Valentine’s Day. At 2:30am my roommate and I were finally folding back the covers of our single beds. It would be our final night in the charming room at the boutique Hotel Huentala in Mendoza, Argentina.
A warm, early morning breeze blew thru the open balcony door. On the balcony, a drenched battle worn red uniform fluttered in the wind. It was unlikely that the uniform would dry during what would be a short slumber. In four hours we were due to rise, break the fast, pack the luggage and depart. We would take a bus to the airport, a plane to Buenos Aires, and ride another bus 4 hours through Argentine farmland to a hotel in Rosario.
Once in Rosario, we would start the tournament anew. The same teams Australia, Argentina, and Germany; a different city, a different venue, and a new understanding.
It had been a long night, at the end of what felt like a long 4 Nation tournament; a tournament that had been plagued by doubt-inflicting losses. We dropped the first game to Argentina, second to Australia and third to Germany. We were playing well, statistically even with our opponents; well, in all numbers except the ones that actually mattered.
But on that endless summer Argentine night, a night that became Valentine’s morning, a 3rd place finish was salvaged in a tight, long race with the Germans.
It started in the team meeting. The last word that appeared on the screen was Persist. A word often used in our past, that seemed to persist into our present. When adversity challenged our course, we had to be willing to persist; to persist in our belief that success would be ours if we continued steadfastly upon course. On this endless summer night, that is exactly what we did. We persisted.
We were down a goal at half-time. We made even early in the second half. They scored again. We scored again. Each team exchanged goal opportunities. Both teams came up empty. We entered overtime. We had our chances; we failed to seize them. We persisted, despite the frustration of missed opportunities.
Overtime ended. No victor had claimed the game.
We entered a shoot-out. Five strokers. Germany scored first, we answered. They missed, we missed. They scored, we scored. They scored, we scored. They missed, we scored.
We won the game. We celebrated. We shook hands. We felt the relief of our persistence. The relief of victory.
We stood on the turf under the exploding rays of Argentine lightning; pleased by the fact that we were not watching our opponents receive medals from the sidelines.
The celebration ended. We meandered to the locker-room. Toyed with the cowboy hats given to us from the Mendoza Hockey Association.
Then we waited. We waited patiently for the bus. In our wait, the stadium was dismantled.
We were understandably hungry, yet giddy, after such a long, exciting game; it was 10:30 at night, and dinner would be served at a tournament banquet. Later.
The bus came. Took us to the hotel. We showered quickly, met in the lobby,and walked next door to the Sheraton Casino for a Midnight dinner.
It was an amicable affair, this Valentine’s day charade. There was good food, prizes given, and dance-offs had. A girl named Pamela represented the Estas Unidos. She shook her fanny, waved her arms, and danced herself to heroic victory over the other contestants.
We passed our time at circular wedding-like tables learning a game called hoedown. We relaxed, we laughed, and we chided with the Argentines. Exhausted glee settled into our veins.
Two hours passed. The reception ended. We returned to our rooms. We packed, stuffing our clothes into crowded suitcases.
And finally, at the 2:30am we folded back the covers, and put an end to this endless summer night.
And then we woke. A new day. A new city. A new tournament.
It was 2:30 am on February 14. Another Valentine’s Day in Argentina. Honestly, I have lost count of how many we have spent here. Two, definitely. I remember the single roses gifted to us from Doc Higgins. There have been two roses, for sure. It starts to get blurry at about three.
An endless summer night had welcomed this Valentine’s Day. At 2:30am my roommate and I were finally folding back the covers of our single beds. It would be our final night in the charming room at the boutique Hotel Huentala in Mendoza, Argentina.
A warm, early morning breeze blew thru the open balcony door. On the balcony, a drenched battle worn red uniform fluttered in the wind. It was unlikely that the uniform would dry during what would be a short slumber. In four hours we were due to rise, break the fast, pack the luggage and depart. We would take a bus to the airport, a plane to Buenos Aires, and ride another bus 4 hours through Argentine farmland to a hotel in Rosario.
Once in Rosario, we would start the tournament anew. The same teams Australia, Argentina, and Germany; a different city, a different venue, and a new understanding.
It had been a long night, at the end of what felt like a long 4 Nation tournament; a tournament that had been plagued by doubt-inflicting losses. We dropped the first game to Argentina, second to Australia and third to Germany. We were playing well, statistically even with our opponents; well, in all numbers except the ones that actually mattered.
But on that endless summer Argentine night, a night that became Valentine’s morning, a 3rd place finish was salvaged in a tight, long race with the Germans.
It started in the team meeting. The last word that appeared on the screen was Persist. A word often used in our past, that seemed to persist into our present. When adversity challenged our course, we had to be willing to persist; to persist in our belief that success would be ours if we continued steadfastly upon course. On this endless summer night, that is exactly what we did. We persisted.
We were down a goal at half-time. We made even early in the second half. They scored again. We scored again. Each team exchanged goal opportunities. Both teams came up empty. We entered overtime. We had our chances; we failed to seize them. We persisted, despite the frustration of missed opportunities.
Overtime ended. No victor had claimed the game.
We entered a shoot-out. Five strokers. Germany scored first, we answered. They missed, we missed. They scored, we scored. They scored, we scored. They missed, we scored.
We won the game. We celebrated. We shook hands. We felt the relief of our persistence. The relief of victory.
We stood on the turf under the exploding rays of Argentine lightning; pleased by the fact that we were not watching our opponents receive medals from the sidelines.
The celebration ended. We meandered to the locker-room. Toyed with the cowboy hats given to us from the Mendoza Hockey Association.
Then we waited. We waited patiently for the bus. In our wait, the stadium was dismantled.
We were understandably hungry, yet giddy, after such a long, exciting game; it was 10:30 at night, and dinner would be served at a tournament banquet. Later.
The bus came. Took us to the hotel. We showered quickly, met in the lobby,and walked next door to the Sheraton Casino for a Midnight dinner.
It was an amicable affair, this Valentine’s day charade. There was good food, prizes given, and dance-offs had. A girl named Pamela represented the Estas Unidos. She shook her fanny, waved her arms, and danced herself to heroic victory over the other contestants.
We passed our time at circular wedding-like tables learning a game called hoedown. We relaxed, we laughed, and we chided with the Argentines. Exhausted glee settled into our veins.
Two hours passed. The reception ended. We returned to our rooms. We packed, stuffing our clothes into crowded suitcases.
And finally, at the 2:30am we folded back the covers, and put an end to this endless summer night.
And then we woke. A new day. A new city. A new tournament.
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