Now, move the scenario inside to a frigid, usually decrepit and dimly lit hockey rink, and take a look at the parents you will find standing along the boards at the crack of dawn. Be fair warned; it is not a pretty sight (think of the bar scene in Star Wars for starters). The traditional hockey parent garb includes always a hat, which is essential for two reasons: First, it keeps the frost from completely turning your brain to mush, and secondly, and perhaps more importantly, it serves as a most effective camouflage for the bane of all hockey parents�bad hair. At 5:30 a.m., who has time for a comb?

And even Ray Bans would not be wide enough to cover the size of the bags under the eyes at this hour, and it seems everyone�s nose is running like Ratso Rizzo�s in Midnight Cowboy, and hacking like Aqualung.

Rink coffee

Permanently attached to nearly every wrist is a Styrofoam cup full of industrial strength rink coffee, which tastes like garbage, but does warm the tender fingers that have been shredded tying the extra tight knots in the laces of their disgustingly wide awake and bright-eyed young charges eager to sprint onto the ice for that very special first lap around the rink after the Zamboni clears the sheet of ice. The kids queue up for the first shot like Colorado skiers vying for the virgin trails of fresh overnight powder on the first run of the day. They are little hockey vampires, and I suspect they suck most of their energy from Mom and Dad.

They most certainly will drain all the liquidity from your bank account. Plan on spending about what it costs to splurge on a three-week luxury vacation in some Caribbean tropical paradise over the course of a single season. And while you are daydreaming about the blissful romantic interludes you might enjoy on that mythical tropical isle, you may as well forget about your love life once you enter the ranks of the hockey parent breed. If you are lucky, your equipment begins to thaw out sometime in June.

Clunker-to-be

And if your current transportation is not yet downgraded to a clunker classification, just give it a single travel season through snow and ice storms and 40 miles of bad road to out-of-the-way rinks in little towns across the pothole-infested back roads of places you never dreamed even existed�Clunkerville, here we come.

All in all, one might reasonably inquire why otherwise intelligent, thoughtful and prudent parents would willingly take on these near monastic vows of poverty and chastity simply so their kids can enjoy a game. Why, pray tell?

Because it is worth it. The sport of youth hockey requires you to be involved with your child like no other activity. You have to be there, and it takes a serious commitment on behalf of the whole family to have a successful hockey lifestyle. And make no bones about it, it is a lifestyle not for the faint of heart. From early breakfasts, through horrific scheduling, and a constantly churning washing machine, hockey demands can overwhelm The Home Team. For myself, and I expect a lot of other parents, I consider all the time and the money an investment, not just in the financial sense, but in my more cogent moments, there is a certain spirituality to consider.

Simply put, I am investing a fair chunk of my current resources and energy to create a pension of fond memories. And when I am old and gray, my thoughts of the days when my children were young and wanted to fly on the ice will sustain me and enrich me throughout the rest of my days.

A fine spin, indeed.