Penalty Box

My girl Jeanna loves hockey.  Every year as the season grows closer, I see more and more notes about the forthcoming season.  When we were younger, we would go to the Indianapolis Ice games, waiting in the hallway afterwards for a glimpse of the young warriors on their way out of the rink.  Sometimes they would do autographs afterwards and people would would stand for an hour to get a puck signed.   I loved waiting in the hallway because all of the men were taller than me - even the short ones - because of those ice skates.  It was the only place I was not cognizant of my height differential -and that was a beautiful thing.

Hockey can be a rough sport, but the thing I love the best is the penalty box. It operates under the concept of forgiveness, mercy and reparation.  YOu behave badly, you go into the box and pay your time, you are released back onto the ice and restored to your former position more often than not.

There are no comments from the announcers about how you have done this a million times before.  No one listing hte littany of offences that have gotten you to the penalty box in previous games. And once the penalty is served, no one comments on how much of the game you spent there instead of scoring with your teammates.

Oh that life had such a penalty box, where you could go and pay off your time for your  minor infractions  - those not resulting in death - like high sticking and icing.

It would be so good if we could assume that people were doing the best they can and allow them to make a mistake and then get back in the game without apologizing for the same error time and time again.