The Penalty Boxes And Everything In Between

How the penalty box started and ended my career, but did not define it.
By Joe Renza
I cant remember the first time I stepped on the ice Id like to, but I was far too young.
I cant remember the first steps I took, for what its worth. I make the comparison because one
followed the other so quickly that I would venture a thought that I may have actually been on ice
skates before I was walking. My dad tells me stories of how he took me out on the ice and
would walk me around when I was too young to even talk. Its instinct to latch onto things you
experience when you are a baby. Its an age where you are told something or shown something,
and you just absorb it. You dont even have to understand it partially or completely yet like a
sponge, you just absorb. I cant relay the information or experiences of my first years on the ice,
but like a young animal that sees its mother for the first time, somewhere along the line I latched.
I entered the hockey world, and the day I leave that world is the day I leave this world.

People look at the sport hockey as some sort of foreign language they dont want to learn
because they dont understand it. Hockey is like the new food that parents put on childrens
plates, only to have them push it away because its not familiar. Its weird. Its not popular to
their taste buds. It looks funny. Hockey players can only shake their heads to the skepticism the
sport receives.and then go play it.

I have taken the ice so many times that I dont actually remember learning how to play
the sport. I dont remember who taught me. I just remember going out and doing it. My first
memory of competition is one that my mom cant hold herself back from laughing when she tells
me it. From what she tells me, I jumped on a pile of other players in a corner and received a

penalty. My mom couldnt even see my head while I was standing up in the penalty box. After
the game, the referee comes up to her and explains how I was the first three-year old he has ever
had to give a penalty to. The funny thing is, staying out of the penalty box became one of the
facets of my game that defined my career.

Schools and family life changed rapidly over the next few years of my childhood, but
hockey was the one thing that remained a constant. Taking the ice would become a stress
reliever more and more starting then. I joined my first travel team, the Bear Mountain Bears, at
the age of six. This is where everything hockey came into my memory. Every game, every
practice I remember it, and Im not kidding. My first tryout with the Bears was a memorable
one. Waiting in line to take my reps to prove I belonged in their organization, I got into a fight
with a kid named Matt. I thought he cut me in line, and I wasnt having any of that. Three
tryouts and a lot of dirty looks later, we were both placed on the A team. Matt seemed to be all
goody-goody with the coach, which became crystal clear on finding out it was his dad. Great.
The first game comes, and I find myself on Matts right wing. Its a funny thing how the ice
causes problems and then settles them. Matt and I clicked on the ice, and coincidently, we soon
clicked off the ice. He became my best friend.

That team taught me about life as much as it did about hockey. My teammates, my
coaches, and the parents of those on my team became my family. For the next few years, I grew
with the team. Its peculiar how hockey brings a type of camaraderie other sports can only
dream about having. Just hear me out at a young age, what sport demands three practices a
week, a minimum of two weekend games, and countless road trips for an eight-month period?

My hockey friends became my best friends because I was seeing them more then my friends at
home. Hockey became what I woke up for. It was all happening quickly.

The role I played on that team was simple score goals. I found myself on the first line
with two other gifted scorers, Matt and a kid named Chris. We carried the load all the way to the
championship game, where we fell 4-3 in overtime. Absolutely heart-breaking for a group of
six-year olds. I didnt cry, but I certainly remember feeling no worse than that at any point in my
life thats how important hockey had become to me. The date was March 3rd, 2000 my older
brothers eighth birthday. But what I remember from that day is the defeat at the hands of the
White Plains Plainsmen.

This started the life-lesson part of ice hockey. Life isnt always fair, and that was
something I had already learned. But sports to this point seemed like a fantasy world where
nothing could go wrong. That is the advantage of having a team that never lost games we were
good, but were reminded we were beatable. We lost to a team we should have beat a team we
had beat in the most important game of the season. What did that say about our character? We
needed to get better because hockey taught us we owed each other our absolute best effort.

The role I played on the next few Bear Mountain teams remained the same put the puck
in the net and rack up points. Matt, Chris and I stayed on the top line, leading the team to win
after win. We had yet to capture a championship, although we came close what seemed like
every year. We had all the time in the world we were still young. But Ive learned from a very

young age that things dont have to work out just because you want them to. Hockey would deal
me a similar hand.

If you dont love hockey, there is no place in the sport for you. It is easy to weed out
those who do not share the same affection for the sport as those who do. There comes a time
where a kid becomes old enough to decide what he wants to do with his free time. Those who I
played hockey with when I was in elementary school played because their parents made them. It
was their way of forcing their kids to get exercise and have them be part of a team. But once
middle school comes around, other things become more important. Life happens, and if hockey
doesnt remain something you want to do, you cant do it.

I knew Matt would get out of hockey as soon as he could. He played because his parents
wanted him to, and more importantly, because his dad was the coach. Now Matt loved the game
of hockey, but we were getting of age to enter the Peewee division, where we would start
being allowed to check and be checked. That physical aspect of the game is not something every
player sees himself being a part of. I was about to move to a whole other chapter of my hockey
career, one without my best friend. Hockey was about to become a mans game, but was I man
enough to succeed in it?

I walked into sixth grade about 46 and 80 pounds. My first game in the Peewee level
was against the Clifton Park Eagles. I was so excited to be able to hit my opponents that I skated
around the ice looking to run into anything. Granted, I was knocked down at least three times

every shift by opponents bigger and more mature than me, I was still having a ball doing it. I felt
unbreakable. Then the next game happened.

The next day, we played the Rye Mariners at our home rink. In the first period, I went
into the corner to get a puck. Knowing a defenseman was right behind me, I moved the puck
quickly. When I turned around, I found him still coming. He could not stop and I could not
brace myself. I was put into the boards squarely by the defenseman, who was half a foot taller
then me and twice the weight, if not more. It was a clean hockey hit, but the result nearly left me
with a broken shoulder. The shoulder healed in a few weeks, but my confidence was shot.

This was the first defining moment of my hockey career. I had been a goal scorer
because I used my speed to skate around and through my opponents. At a young age, they could
not hit me. It was not the way hockey was meant to be played, but was how it needed to be
played in order to teach players the fundamentals of the sport. Now I found myself in a world
where boys were maturing around me while I remained the same size. Those who used to be an
inch or two taller than me all of a sudden hit their growth spurt. And now they could hit me.
This was a problem. I was scared.

My dad has always been one of my biggest supporters. He never missed a game, as busy
as he was. He did all he could to make me mentally right again. He told me that if I ever got
hurt, he would run on the ice and take me to the hospital. It was his way of easing my mind.

It didnt work.

I played the rest of my year terrified not of being hit, but of getting hurt because of being
hit. There is no place in hockey for that, and I had to change quickly.

I did change, and the next year was arguably my best year in hockey. I recorded 88
points in 62 games, was an assistant captain, and helped lead my team to a championship we had
wanted for six years. That championship date? March 3rd, 2006 my older brothers 14th
birthday. The score? 4-3 in overtime. What a script that was. We would make a magical run at
the state tournament, a run that ended with a 3-1 defeat in the championship game. We settled
for the title of second-best team for our age group in New York. Not too shabby.

I sincerely thought all was well at this stage of my hockey career. I knew I would never
go to the NHL or be a professional player at any level, but I still wanted to be the best I could be.
I still loved the game. The next step? High school hockey.

I decided to attend Fordham Preparatory School for the next four years. The decision
was not based on hockey, but the success of their program could not be ignored. They had come
off of back-to-back CHSHL championships, including one perfect 20-0 season. I was entering a
world that demanded excellence in the classroom, as well as on the ice. While I was prepared for
the class work, the work on the ice hit me had different challenges in store.

My first year saw me placed on the JV hockey team. It was expected, since I was just
getting my feet wet in the high school world. The results were normal for me eight goals and

eight assists for 16 points in 14 games. The team went 8-6, and we fell in the first round of the
playoffs to Monsignor Farrell High School. Not a bad year for my first high school experience.

The next year brought a little more pressure to succeed. My older brother was a junior
while I was a sophomore. He had a spot on the Varsity team for a year already, and I desperately
wanted to join him. Things did not pan out. Maybe I wasnt ready, maybe I wasnt skilled
enough. But for one more year, Id be playing JV hockey.

I dominated. Seven goals and 16 assists for 23 points in 14 games. The team went 7-7,
but we missed out on the playoffs. On-ice team success had been as much a part of my career as
my performance was I was used to winning and performing. Now, only one was happening.
Oddly enough, I stopped caring about winning as much for some reason. I had my taste of glory,
and at this stage in my hockey career, I just wanted to have fun.

And then came varsity hockey.

I still had not completely gone through puberty. Heck, I had barely even entered it. No
facial hair, 53 and 100 pounds not the ideal stature of a junior in high school. From the first
practice, I never felt like my coach respected me. I was referred to as little Renza or Jonnys
brother. My status on the team reflected that. I spent all of my time on the third or fourth line
for the first time in my life. I had the skill-set to be a top-six forward, but for some reason,
nothing was coming together.

I did all I could to get some time on the top lines, but my style of play did not correspond
with what my head coach wanted. I was a playmaker, but I was still an undersized player. What
I could not accomplish in a physical sense I always made up for in my thinking. I saw the ice
like no one else. It was my strength. However, on the bottom two lines, I wasnt surrounded by
players who thought like me. I was surrounded by players who wanted to drill opponents into
the wall that was not my style of play. I was stuck.

I came back my senior year on a mission, but what I found was a new style that would
become my own. I just wouldnt realize it for some time still. My coach and I still did not see
eye-to-eye on some levels, and this resulted in my being a mainstay on the third line. Instead of
acting like a third-line role was below me, I embraced it. At this point, I had watched enough
hockey to see that everyone did not have to be a goal scorer or a playmaker to contribute.
Hockey is about defensive play as well, and I spent the year turning myself into a better player
on the defensive side of the puck. The results gave me a greater sense of satisfaction.

I scored five goals and assisted on seven more for 12 points in 14 games. However, I
anchored a third line that did not let up goals to the opponents. I was more proud of that fact.
We gave our top-six forwards well-needed rest so that they could be the goal scorers. You could
say we were the most effective line on the team. But the last game of the season left a sour taste
in my mouth. We faced off against St. Joes By-the-Sea in a win-or-go-home game. The
playoffs awaited the winner. Our coach decided he would only play the first two lines the entire
game. I sat on the bench and watched my senior year end as we fell 6-4. That was it, hockey
was over. I did not want to play in college. I had lost total interest.

I kept my promise to myself my freshman year at The University of Scranton. I did not
partake in any of the two hockey teams we had. I stayed away. I was done. My roommate even
played, and I still could not be convinced. But I was kidding myself.

I missed hockey so much by the time sophomore year had started that I was itching to get
back on the ice. I tried out and made the B team. Our A team was pretty good, so I just
treated this as a JV assignment. And I thrived for the first 25 minutes of my college career. I
had already tallied two assists in my inaugural college game before I would sustain my first
serious hockey (or life, for that matter) injury. In the second period, I went to hit my opponent,
but instead sustained a broken wrist.

I would sit out for three months while my team struggled to score goals. I came back
after Thanksgiving and grabbed my spot on the second line. I ended up with 11 points in 10
games in my shortened season. I was eager to get back at it for my junior year.

My junior year brought different challenges. The two teams folded into one, so there
were less spots available to grab. I made the team barely and started going to work right
away. We had 14 forwards on the team, and I was number 13. That translated to not even a
fourth line spot I would be a healthy scratch if I didnt change something, and fast.

I went to my coach after one practice and told him Just give me a chance. Once you put
me in, you will never take me out. The first game the team played I was in the lineup. I was on
the fourth line, but I was in the lineup. I remember my first shift. I sat the entire first period

before I finally was called upon.to kill a penalty. Penalty killers are in a world of their own.
They do the dirty work while their team is at a one-, two-, or possibly even three-man
disadvantage. It is their job to kill time when the opponent should score. Any penalty killed is
uplifting to a team, no matter what spot in the game it occurs.

I went out and I blocked a shot. I cleared the puck a few times and received cheers from
my bench. I thought that this might be something I could get used to. We immediately were
penalized again, and my coach gave me another tap on the shoulder. I blocked two more shots
on another successful penalty kill. More cheers from my bench.

A role that I never saw myself in had quickly become the best, and maybe the only, way I
could fit into this team and I loved every second of it. I became the top penalty killer for a
team that led the league in penalty minutes. My ice time rapidly increased, and I became a staple
in what would become both an effective and dangerous penalty kill. In essence, I cleaned up the
mess my team continued to make. Cleaning up a mess my team made would be something Id
have to get used to in the near future, both on and off the ice. But for now, I was no longer a
point producer my role was different now, and it was a role I was excited to keep filling for my
final season of hockey.

But that season almost didnt happen.

I was honored to be elected into the presidency of the team for my senior year. However,
this teams actions on the ice translated to its actions off the ice always in trouble. Right before

I was elected president, some of my teammates had gotten in trouble with the university. The
vice president of my college did not want to deal with the teams antics again. There was not
going to be a season. My senior year was over, just like that. My hockey career was over, just
like that. There was no extending my play like I had the option to in high school. It had dawned
on me that this was really it.

I remember talking to one of my buddies in March of 2014. He told me that if I want to

play my senior year, then I should do something about it. And so I did. I went to the vice
president and the dean of students and asked what I needed to do to get the team off of
suspension. They didnt seem to want any of what I was saying, but I must have convinced them
with my enthusiasm. That, or maybe it was one of the 100 emails I sent to them, annoying them
to let us have a chance at the season. Finally, I got that chance.

From March to September, I led a reinstatement campaign through the university on

behalf of the hockey club. I recruited players, elected officers, scheduled busses and games, and
hired coaches. This was all accomplished on virtually no budget, which made it that much
tougher for me. But the campaign worked, and 20 players would get to play hockey for the year.
More importantly for myself, I would take the ice for one last season.

The season was my weirdest yet. I moved to defense, a position I had never played
before. The team only had three defensemen, so it was more of a necessity than a choice. By the
time we played our first game in December, two months after the season should have started, I
was the top defenseman. I led all skaters in ice time, playing over half the game. I played

penalty kill, power play, even strength, everything. It was the most that had ever been asked of
me during my career.

Ironically, I was not present for a win my senior year. It didnt matter to me, however. I
recorded seven points in as many games playing both defense and offense. I was the most
extendable player on our roster, and one that was needed to fill multiple positions. It was the
most important role I have ever played.

My last game was a weird one. I knew it would definitely be my final time taking the ice
for a game where beer was not the prize. I had played for something well over 1,000 times in my
career, but this would be the last time. The C on my left chest represented what I had been
through. I had been a goal scorer, a playmaker, a penalty killer, and a benchwarmer. The C
represented the fact I still managed to lead by example through all of the ups and downs. I was
indeed a captain.

I was never one to take many penalties. It wasnt who I was. I played a clean game, and
had multiple seasons where I did not end up in the penalty box even a single time. But on my
last shift of this season, I took a meaningless hooking penalty. It was my first penalty of the year,
and the first in a long, long time. But how I started my career 16 years prior is how I finished it
in the box.

This time, fans could see my head when I was standing. I had grown quite a bit.