Bobby Robins enjoyed a 10-year career as a professional hockey player and truly defines the term “road warrior.” Robins literally fought his way through hockey’s development leagues on his way to pulling an NHL jersey over his head in 2014-2015.  As an undrafted player coming off four successful seasons of college hockey at UMass-Lowell, he began his professional career with the Binghamton Senators in 2005-2006.  Robins also honed his on-ice skills in both the United Kingdom and Austria in back-to-back seasons from 2008-2010.  Since retiring from pro hockey following the 2014-15 season, Robins has turned his attention to writing, and shares his compelling story in this expanded version of “10 Questions”.

1. Who inspired you to pursue a career in professional hockey?

My goal growing up was to play Division I college hockey. That was the prize on the distant horizon. Of course I dreamed of playing in the NHL, just like everyone else, but I had my eyes set on that college hockey dream.  Anything beyond that was a distant fairytale.

I climbed the ranks year by year and finally made it to the University of Massachusetts Lowell on a partial scholarship. During my freshman and sophomore seasons, I was just happy to be there, my dream fulfilled. My main focus was trying to get into the lineup and beyond that trying not to mess up and be taken out of the lineup. My secondary focus was to try and check people as hard as I could and win the “Hit of the Night” sticker for my helmet, which was a decal of a hammer. That little sticker made me happy. Life was a lot more simple back then.

I remember a conversation I had with my teammate, Kim Brandvold, after my junior season. I had scored 9 goals and really started developing both physically and as a hockey player. Instead of just focusing on smashing opponents, I was honing my skills of putting “smart dumps” in the corner, then smashing, then taking the puck to the net and scoring some goals.

Kim said, “You score 20 goals in this league and you’ll be in the NHL.” I saw in his eyes that he believed I could really do it. That was the first time I realized how close I really was. Everything started clicking and I understood, “I just need to double my goals and I’m in the NHL.”

I finally knew it was possible to reach the NHL. During the summer between my junior and senior seasons, I trained like a savage beast and got into the best shape of my life. I watched endless hours of film and became obsessed with learning the game of hockey.

During every workout, every sprint, every hang-clean, and every time I thought about hockey, I repeated my mantra, “I can make it to the NHL. I will make it to the NHL.” I just kept telling myself that until I believed it.

I had a breakout senior year and led the team in scoring. I didn’t double my goals, but I did tuck 13 in the back of the net, and signed an Entry Level Contract with the Ottawa Senators that summer.

I had come a long way from the freshman who showed up to the first day practice unknowingly wearing a goalie face mask and big, loose, unzipped breezers (hockey pants for you non-Wisconsin folk) with exposed thighs. And tongues out, obviously.

Aside from my “hockey style,” the biggest change was the discovery of my own belief in myself. And that’s the only thing that matters.

2. What fueled you throughout your years in the AHL and ECHL to keep pursuing your dream of one day playing in the NHL?

The one trait I possess that sometimes gets me into trouble (especially with my wife), but also serves me, is my stubbornness. It helped me to make the NHL after 8 seasons in the minor leagues. I like to think of it as “sticktoitiveness” or determination or perseverance. Once I set my intention on something, I’ll ride that thing out to Armageddon.

After my fourth pro season, I returned from Europe and didn’t have a pot to piss in. I had no job. I had no money. I had no idea what I was going to do with my life. All I did was sit around and chew tobacco, and wonder what I was going to do. It wasn’t until I had a biopsy on a white patch in my mouth that something changed deep inside of me, fundamentally and structurally.

I quit chewing tobacco cold turkey. This was the catalyst for me. Instead of sitting around and wondering, I stood up and started doing. I made a chart in a notebook and wrote down four or five options for the rest of my life. One was to go play in Belfast; another was to go play in Flint. One was to quit and get a real job. The last column of the chart said, “Fight your way to the NHL.”

While I was playing in Europe during my third and fourth pro seasons, I always had this tiny ping in my chest. It was regret and resentment. It was knowing that I had given up on my dream. Worse yet, it was Fear that made me give up. It was a fear of fighting.

I watched all the guys who were in the AHL during my first season. McLeod, Carcillo, Clarkson. They were all fighting and doing it right, and now they were all in the NHL. I was broke and in the middle of nowhere. Ping! I knew in my heart that I didn’t do it right. I gave it 95 percent of me. But that last 5 percent was a hole filled with intuition, with knowing, that I never became the complete version of me as a hockey player. It was filled with fear.

I didn’t fight and that is what was missing from my game. A coach early in my career told me, “If you want to play in the AHL or NHL, you’re going to have to be a guy who fights 20, 25 times a year.” I didn’t believe him. I hated him for saying it; I hated myself for fearing it. I hated myself worse for leaving to go play in Europe where there was no fighting.

Once I quit chewing, I saw myself as I truly was. I was scared and in desperate need of redemption. I knew exactly how to get it. Under the “Fight my way to the NHL” column on the chart I made, I had pros and cons. Pros: live the life of my dreams, get a house, get a car, provide for my family. Cons: risk of serious injury or death.

At that point in my life, I was dead already. I had nothing to lose. So I committed to it with the truest personal oath and promise. Nothing was going to stop me.

3. What did you enjoy most about your playing career in Europe?

When I left North America after my second pro season to go play for the Belfast Giants, I was in desperate need of a new start. I needed to find the fun again. Hockey should be fun. It has to be, at least me for me it does. But at this point in my life and development, I was knee-deep in fear, anxiety, and addiction. I was still rattled by the whole fighting thing, and didn’t want any part of it. I just wanted to be gone.

I hopped on a plane and got picked up at the Belfast airport by Ricky, the assistant equipment manager. I don’t know if it was because of the long plane ride, lack of sleep, or thick Northern Irish accent, but I couldn’t understand a word he was saying. He kept talking and I kept leaning my ear closer and focusing as hard as I could. I kept asking him to repeat himself and finally confessed, “I’m so sorry, I’m having a hard time understanding what you are saying.”

I don’t remember the rest of the ride, but I’m sure he slowed his speech down and dialed back his Ulster twang. He brought me to my apartment, right in the heart of Belfast. Ricky is the embodiment of courage, sacrifice, and will. He is a beautiful man.

I met my roommate, Dave Phillips. He had just as thick an English Yorkshire accent with his own version of twang, the streety Hull variety. I couldn’t understand a word either of these guys were saying. I just stood there with my luggage in my hands, and a glazed look in my eyes. I felt like I was in the movie, Snatch. But after a few pints of the Belfast Black, we were all speaking the same language.

We chased trophies, glory, girls, and Guinness that year in Belfast. It stands out as one of the most memorable years of my life. I’ll always hold Belfast close to my heart as a home away from home.

I must have sowed all my wild oats, because I came home and met my wife up in the north woods of Wisconsin that summer. She came with me the next season to play for HK Acroni Jesenice in the Austrian League. We lived up in the Julian Alps on a ski resort in Slovenia.

The coach didn’t play me too much that year. I guess I didn’t fit the mold for that league. I kept getting three- and four-game suspensions for clean hits I had thrown. I would just vaporize dudes with open-ice hits, and they would lie there on the ice for ten minutes. And then I’d be suspended for a couple weeks. That was my season in a nutshell.

At that point, I was happy enough to be up in the Alps, in love and going on adventures to castles in Ljubljana or Lake Bled with my gal. After the season, I figured my hockey career was over. Little did I know, it had only just begun. Five years later I would pull that NHL sweater over my head.

4. Who was your favorite NHL team and player growing up?

I grew up playing hockey for the Marinette-Menominee Chiefs. Marinette is on the Wisconsin side and Menominee on the Upper Michigan side. The organization has since changed their name because of the racial sensitivity issues involving the Native population. Fair enough, I understand completely. But I always had such a great sense of pride wearing that logo of the Warrior Chief on my chest. I felt a great sense of power emanating from it. I felt his spirit move through me.

I felt that same feeling with the Detroit Red Wings logo. I used to draw that sucker all over my notebooks in school. Any chance I got to do an art project, you could bet I’d be drawing the winged wheel.

Here’s a fun fact about me: I got to be in all the special art classes when I was in grade school. So instead of sitting through some boring lesson of state capitals, I got to hang with all of the “art kids” in a special classroom and work on projects. But I always knew I was the least talented of the “art kids”. Somehow I was just good enough to squeak my way into the special classes, and into their secret world of creating things for the sake of creation.

I really got into wood burning at one point. You have this magic wand that plugs into the wall and on the tip is a piece of metal that gets really hot. When you touch it on wood, it burns it, turning it brown and creating a trench in the wood. I was in fourth grade when I got into this medium. I still have a coaster with two crossed hockey sticks burnt in the wood and the words ICE HOCKEY written around the perimeter.

Out of the blue, I was struck with inspiration and a vision from the sacred muse. I would make a massive wood burning of the Red Wings logo on a giant piece of plywood. I traced the Red Wings logo onto a transparent piece of projector paper. Remember projectors? I’m talking about the ones where you crank the handle and then you can write on the clear plastic sheet with a marker. And then this image gets projected onto the wall. Old school overhead projector, you with me?

I put the sheet onto the projector and shot the image at the giant piece of plywood leaning on the wall. Then I meticulously traced the logo with pencil onto the plywood. Now comes the fun part. I fired up my wood-burning wand and got to work.

I hit every single line and grain of wood with precision and perfection. With smoke curling up from the plywood and into a cloud of passion above my head, I unleashed lightning bolts of fury. I completed my masterpiece three weeks later.

I stepped back to view my creation. The other art kids and the art teacher were intrigued. They oohed and ahhed. They applauded. Some looked on with envy and spite, those sensitive artists.

I just stood there in disbelief: no one else saw it. These were artsy folk, they didn’t watch sports. They didn’t even know. But I knew. I must have had the logo backward when I projected it onto the plywood. The Red Wing was pointing the wrong way, facing toward the left.

I went back to the normal classroom and I doodled slick Red Wings logos all over my notebooks and thought about Steve Yzerman. That’s all I thought about in those days: the Red Wings, Stevie Y, and NHLPA Hockey ’93 on Super Nintendo.

5. How and why did fighting become a vital part of shaping your style of play?

After my stint in Europe, I decided that I was going to learn how to fight and make it all the way to the NHL. I finally became a complete hockey player. Fighting was the last piece of the puzzle for me reach the NHL.

I had the aggression and the bodychecking. That stuff came naturally to me, ever since bantam when bodychecking became legal. There is a fine art to bodychecking, just as there is a fine art to hockey fighting. It’s something about the timing.

It’s like how Walter Gretzky told Wayne to “Go where the puck is going to be, not where it is.” There are parallels to be drawn when it comes to bodychecking. There are a lot of guys who go a million miles an hour and try their hardest for the big hit, but then come up short. Or they bounce off like a pinball. Or miss altogether.

For me, it was about connecting with multiple body parts at once. I tried to make contact with my shoulder and my hips at the same time. I’d try and twist into a check, and get as much centrifugal force as I could.

Early in my career when I would really blow someone up and get jumped, I’d fight and always do ok. I knew I could handle myself, but it never felt natural. It was a heightened state of panic and punches. Instinct told me to take it to the ground and have it be done as soon as possible.

Instinct also told me to say “no” if someone asked me to fight. I figured I’d fight if I had to. That’s probably the way it should be, but with this mentality I’d only fight a handful of times per season. And worse, somewhere deep in the back of my head, way in there nestled in the psyche, there was the fear.

It wasn’t until later in my career after hundreds of fisticuffs that I would experience a heightened state of calm during some fights. I’d be holding onto a guy, grappling, and taking deep yogic breaths. Time slows down to a crawl, and I’m in that moment, literally inside of the fight. In this state there are no thoughts, no fear, or panic. Hockey fighting became a practice for me. Some frozen form of martial art.

But sometimes it’s chaotic and exhausting. You never know how the fight presents itself. During these frantic fights, it’s best to just black out and go with the flow. You know, hope for the best. But then there are those rare occasions when the fight happens, and it’s perfectly calm in there. 

You’re in that vortex and it’s just you and that other dude. You’re in the pocket, and there’s no one to save you, except maybe some linesmen if you’re lucky. But mostly, this is all on you. You’re in the fight, now let’s see how you do. It’s times like this when my brain says, “OK, you’re in a fight now, Bobby.” And I just hold on for bit and breathe. I focus on the breath and get as much air into my body as I can. And then the dance starts. And like all dances, at some point they end.

You brush yourself off, check your knuckles, give respect to your opponent, and you live to fight another day. That’s how I existed for five years. I prepared every single game for the fight. That’s the fight game. You better be ready.

I worked with Coach Doug Smith, the true-life inspiration behind the book and movie, Goon. I owe so much of my development as a hockey fighter to him. I used to panic and spin wildly. I used to get gassed and lose my balance. But just like any skill, the more you work at it, the better you get.

In the fight game, the best way to improve is to fight a lot. I knew this going into it. If I was going to make it to the NHL, I’d have to become a really good fighter. It was a combination of fighting a hell of a lot (maybe too much?) and working with a good coach that allowed me to keep improving year after year.

All the while I worked on my fight game, I worked even harder on my actual hockey game. I worked on improving everything. Skating, puck control, shooting, hockey sense, you name it. I was a constant work-in-progress. But it was the fighting that opened up space for me on the ice.

I knew the direction that the NHL was heading, and the exact player that I was becoming was what the new NHL enforcer would look like. So I kept grinding away in the minors, taking daily steps to become that player. I focused on playing really good, hard-nosed hockey. And when it came time to throw bones, I’d give em hell.

When I was playing in Bakersfield after I returned from Europe, my agent told me, “The type of player you are is coming into vogue in the NHL.” I was still five years away from making that a reality. But every season, that prediction become more and more true, and I got closer and closer.

Finally I became the player I was always meant to be. I became a dangerous forechecker. I could change the momentum of the game at any moment with a massive check. I could make plays and gather pucks off the wall. I could be an offensive threat. I was vocal leader and led by example. I could be accountable in the defensive zone. I’d do anything for the team.

Most importantly, I got the confidence to be a vocal leader. The confidence to go and smash someone through the glass or to crash the net hard. I could get in there and go to work—muck and grind—fearlessly. And if anyone had anything to say about it, ok, prove it. “You wanna go?”
 

6. What have you enjoyed most about being retired thus far?

This has been an interesting transition period from pro hockey player into something. The biggest thing that I’ve enjoyed so far is the amount of time and energy that I’m able to invest in my family and raising my two-year-old daughter. I can’t imagine being away from her. I’ve seen what’s important to me, and it’s my family. Being present and in the moment with them is what matters now. Every day is exciting when I watch my daughter grow and develop into a creature with a giant personality. A fiery one at that, just like her old man. 

I’ve also enjoyed the time to sit back and take a breath. I’m not worrying about upcoming training camp, or games, or fights, or body-fat tests. I’m just sitting here and learning what it feels like to actually be me. Me underneath all that equipment. Me underneath that persona who lived on that ice surface.

So who am I now? I’ve defined my life so much by what I did, and now I’m having to take a real good look in the mirror and define my life by who I am. I would be lying if I told you that sometimes I don’t look in that mirror and shadowbox, throwing quick 1-2-3-uppercut combinations. I can still see myself in that uniform and going to battle. 

But that’s not how I feel any more. The fight is over. I’m looking for inner peace now. I’m looking to come to grips with the most difficult year of my life. I’m looking to move on from it. I seek balance now. And all things calm. I’m meditating and doing yoga. 

Don’t worry, I haven’t gone full-blown hippie quite yet (or have I??). I know the most important thing, aside from my family, is exploring inner self and higher self. Finding out what makes me tick. What makes me feel most alive. For so many years, it was hockey. 

Now I’m starting over from scratch. I’ve definitely viewed this moment as scary, but these days I’m looking at it with excitement and gratitude. I get to start a new life. I get to exist, and be passionate about whatever I’m truly passionate about. That’s all I can really ask for. 

7. Do you aspire to work in the business side of hockey in the future?

The business side of hockey never really interested me much. For this next chapter, I’m going inward and going deep. I’m exploring my art and writing now. The Hockey Player was a big piece of me, but it was never the entire part.

I always knew that the artistic side of me was waiting in there, just hoping for a shift. Well, here is the opportunity. The shift happened. So I either have to get a real job now, or I become an artist and capture things that mysteriously pop out of my soul.

If I’m going to sit behind a desk, I’d rather do it here in the woods and plug into the creative consciousness, extracting sentences that will somehow make a difference. Even if that difference is only for me, I’m ok with that. I’m interested in the process. I’m becoming a creator now. When I was out there on the ice I was a destroyer. I guess it all balances out, this funny thing called life.

8. Having read some of the touching articles from your blog, where did your love for writing come from?

I’ve been writing ever since I can remember. When I was nine, I got a poem published in the local paper called “Stop the War.” I wrote it to an American soldier in Iraq for a school project. I still have my fingers crossed with that poem.

I was always writing. There were many poetry contests when I was a kid. In my teen years, there were a lot of lyrics to punk rock songs about teenage angst, love and loss; then essays and philosophical rants in my late teen and early twenties.

When I went to school at Umass Lowell, I majored in English Writing. That’s where I found out that I really love writing and that I have a gift. I was the hockey player jock guy in the writing classes with all the creative kids. I never quite felt like I fit in, but at the same time felt like it was somehow a perfect fit.

The class that really got me going was Personal Reflective Writing with Dr. Roberts, who was so instrumental in encouraging me to explore my writing. It was during his class that I found My Voice. I would write some insane stuff for whatever the weekly assignment was. And sure enough, he would read my essay to the entire class. I felt this weird feeling of embarrassment combined with exhilaration. It felt strange to put your heart and soul out there on the chopping block, but I liked the feeling.

I like everything about writing. I like the process of it all. It’s a lot like hockey actually. There were times on the ice when everything slowed down and I experienced the flow state, the zone. Everything clicked into place perfectly and I moved so elegantly and smooth out there, or at least felt like I was.

It was effortless. You play hockey to attain those states. And that’s usually when you have the game of your life. There’s something magical about experiencing that flow state. I tried to get there every practice and every game. It didn’t happen a lot but when it did, it was impossible to forget.

It’s the same with writing. You sit down and start moving your fingers on the keyboard, and it doesn’t even feel like you sitting there doing the work. You’re in it, and flowing. I feel like I’m tuning into a frequency outside of myself and the words are moving through me.

And when I get to experience that feeling, I’m grateful. When I go back and read something that flowed through me, it brings me joy—knowing that it appeared out of thin air, and that I helped it on its journey into existence.

9. If you could give young players aspiring to turn pro one piece of advice, what would it be?

Here’s what I would tell the rookie version of me. Look around you wherever you are, whether it is at a training camp, a practice, or a workout. You see all these incredible athletes. Remember that you are an incredible athlete too. Keep telling yourself that.

You’re here for a reason. You have a special gift. But everyone here has that same gift. What is going to make you get your name called instead of that other guy?

The answer is belief. Believe with every single molecule of your being. Believe and truly know, in your heart and in your brain that you are the one guy who is going to make it. Look around at this sea of athletes; you are the one guy who is going to get there.

If you’re way down there in the minors feeling buried, know and believe that this is only a test of your resilience and determination. If you get the shit kicked out of you, know and believe that you learned a valuable lesson to keep that jersey jab going because the best defense is a good offense.

If you played four shifts in the first period and then sat there on the bench and watched the clock slowly tick down to zero, it’s not because the coach is an asshole. It’s to give you time to think about the mistake you made that got you on the bench, so you don’t do it again. Take the time to visualize the amazing play you will make next time.

It’s all happening to help you grow and get to where you need to be. If you look at your world with this lens, things will make so much more sense to you. Think about how crazy this business is in the first place. We get paid to play hockey. While all of our friends from school or back home are living in the real world and going to jobs they don’t like, you get to lace up the skates and play a game.

So why you? Why are you the one who made it here? Because you’re it. You’re the one who is going to make it. Hold that belief close to your heart and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

Everything you experience from this point on is going to serve in your development to help you get there. Every hardship, every bad coach, every negative influencer, everything!, it’s all to serve your growth as a hockey player and as a person. It will get you to the level you need to be at to accomplish your goal.

Oh, and stretch, foam roll, and ice baths daily.
 

10. In our last “10 Questions” segment, Kyle MacKinnon said you were the most fun teammate he has ever played with throughout his career.  Why do you think he singled you out and how fun are you really?

I appreciate the good words from Kyle. He was my roommate one year. Actually, there were five of us living in the house. Three P-Bruins, two girlfriends, and a cat. Technically, six. It was an interesting family.

I just try to be myself and not worry too much about what other people think of me. I am just trying to be me. Here I am. I’m the Savage. This is what I do. This is what I say. And I say and do whatever I’m feeling at the time.

Most of the time I’m feeling happy. And I am mindful of the times when I’m not. I’m always trying to shoot out good vibes whenever I can. I’m always trying to spread love, smiles, and laughs.

I guess I’m a pretty fun dude! My daughter thinks so. Most of the time. Except when I have to give her a five minute major penalty for throwing scrambled eggs across the kitchen, and she gives me that look as I escort her to the penalty box.

I think that having fun and being fun are two in the same. Whatever you are doing, you might as well make it awesome. Take a step back and look at the big picture of things. We’re here and have the opportunity to experience this great mystery of life. Why not enjoy it while we have the opportunity to?
 

11. What do you consider your “greatest hockey moment?”

I’m not sure if this is my greatest hockey moment, but it’s one that sticks out in my mind. Obviously making the NHL is at the top of the list, but key moments leading up to that point, are the most significant to me. 

It was my first full season with the Providence Bruins. I had signed an AHL contract, and as far as I was concerned, had already made it. Two years before this I was about to quit hockey and live a life of regret.

So at 28 years of age, I decided that I would fight my way to the NHL. That was really the only logical thing for me to do at that point. I started in the East Coast Hockey League and fought everyone. I fought and fought and after two years of that, I finally got called up to the Providence Bruins of the American Hockey League. 

I signed the one-year AHL contract with Providence, but this happened to be the NHL lockout year. All of the AHL rosters got flooded with the young players from the NHL. Basically the AHL was stacked with talent, and everyone was a little worried.

More NHL players meant fewer roster spots. It’s the trickle-down effect. There were a ton of guys at training camp, and a lot of the players were playing the “numbers game”. They were talking about the number of roster spots available, and the number of forwards, and the number of dollars that guy makes, and who was on the team last year, and who would be on the team this year. 

I’m no mathematician, but the equations never worked out. There were always way too many guys for the number of roster spots open. I knew that this was a trap, and that I would never play the numbers game. I set my intention to make the roster and to play in the AHL. I didn’t care if there was a lockout or who was entitled to what. 

None of that mattered anyway while laying the hammer down every single night. That season I fought 41 times. I was probably overcompensating for all the lost time, but at my age, I didn’t have any time to spare. This was either happening or it wasn’t.

Once before a game, I was warming up deep in a back corridor of the Dunkin Donuts Center in Providence. I found this isolated spot way down in the belly of the building. I loved to go there alone to prepare myself for battle and reflect on the quest I was on. 

I was in the zone when a big group of people getting on the freight elevator caught my eye. I had a Ninety Pound Wuss album blaring in my earphones and I looked up, politely nodding to the group of people. Oh man, that’s Ray Bourque. I noticed him in the group and realized that it was his family. 

I kept warming up but sensed someone approaching. I took the earphones out, and it was Ray. His family waited by the elevator, as he walked up to me and said, “You’re really doing a good job out there, Bobby. And a lot of people are noticing. Keep doing what you are doing. I really think it’s going to happen for you.” As he spoke these words, he looked deep into my soul with his piercing eyes. He shook my hand and walked away to rejoin his family by the elevator. 

Then they were gone and it was just me again in that corridor. Just me and that defining moment. I thought, “It is going to happen. It’s going to happen! F****** right it’s gonna happen!” 

Ray gifted me with undaunted belief in myself, and belief that I would make it to the NHL. He didn’t have to come over to me and say that. I will never forget that encounter with a true legend. But even more than instilling the belief, he showed me something else that still reverberates in my life today. He showed me that you can be a miracle in someone’s life just by going out of your way to say something encouraging. You never know the impact you will have on someone.

12. Describe the “most embarrassing hockey moment” throughout your career.

I’ve blocked this moment and buried it deep down into my subconscious, but I feel it bellowing from the depths. It must be released!

It was my junior year at Umass Lowell and we were playing the Maine Blackbears. Not unlike any other game against Maine, I was hunting Blackbear. I was doing what I do: running around, skating as fast as I could, and trying to smash guys through the glass. 

Earlier in my career I used a tactic known in some hockey circles as “the Robins flying ass check”. As I rampage toward my opponent, at the last split second before the bodycheck, I fling my hips so that I make contact with my granite glutes. Sometimes if I timed it just right, I would make impact with ass and shoulder, and it usually turned out to be devastating. Type this into Youtube: “Bobby Robins Monster Shift Game 5” to see an example of an ass-and-shoulder combo. 

I had been slamming into BlackBears all night, and then the moment presented itself. The BlackBear was heading up the ice out of his defensive zone. He was right in front of our bench, the puck rimming along the ice. He was looking down and trying to gather the puck with his skates. Oh boy. 

I saw him at the exact moment he saw me. He was a big dude and we both knew that something ungodly was about to happen. As I streaked toward him, my teammates on the bench swayed backward and created a receding wave of red, white, and blue jerseys. They instinctively brought their hands up and covered their faces, as they braced for the explosion.  

Nanoseconds before impact, I saw that he was going to offensive check me. Nothing is worse than going in for the hit and the next thing you are aware of is that you are on your back looking at the stadium lights. To avoid his thick shoulder that was pointed directly at the space in the middle my neck where my collarbones come together, I spun into the check and led with my ass.

The instant we made contact, I knew something was terribly wrong. I felt ripples and shockwaves move through my intestines in an instant. I back-checked and finished the shift, but knew something wasn’t right. “Oh please, oh please no,” I prayed as I made my way back to the bench. 

I sat down and tried to catch my breath. I was in a lot of pain. I felt like my pelvis had disintegrated. But I had bigger fish to fry. I didn’t know what to do. I reached my hand down between my legs and up through my breezers, performing a manual self-check. I needed to know if this was going to be a real crisis situation. 

It was.

I reached in and pulled out a handful of poo like some not-so-great ape. It was everywhere. I was frozen with fear. At this time in my hockey career, I was at my most savage. I didn’t wear anything underneath my equipment. I went completely naked. Barefoot in my skates. No spandex, no underwear, no shirt, no shorts, no nothing. 

“Arty, I s*** my pants,” was all I could muster out to the trainer as I did the modified crip walk to the locker room. The moment I got up is the moment that everyone knew what had happened, because the odor had been released upon us all like a plague of locusts. I spent the entire period in the locker room cleaning out my equipment.

I felt shame. 

13. What is your favorite sport outside of hockey that you like to play/follow?

I’m not too much of a sport watcher or follower. I’ll watch the UFC and American Ninja Warrior, but that’s about it.

These days, my speed is more like lawn darts, bocce ball, croquet, ultimate Frisbee, disc golf, tubing, volleyball, and ping pong. Most of my time is spent either with my family, reading, or writing. Not enough time in the day.

On the topic of time, thank you for taking some of yours to read through these responses.

I’m in the process of writing my book right now. It’s going to be a savage tale, that’s for sure! Join me at www.BobbyRobins.com for more stories.