Walking away with my head held high… and intact.

Jake Hyman
Aug 8, 2017 · 5 min read

I was about 12-years-old when I realized I would probably need to figure out something new to say when asked, “what do you want to be when you grow up.”

The typical response always straddled along the lines of, “I want to play in the NHL.” Or, “I want to play college hockey at the University of Michigan.” But ultimately, you just hit a point where you realize you aren’t good enough — or good at all, for that matter.

Luckily, for me, that moment came at a young age. People were skating around me — or through me — and I was getting injured at at a remarkable rate. Broken legs, shoulder surgeries, and yes — concussions.

Meanwhile, I’ve seen countless others who weren’t able to give up that dream and still to this day — treat men’s league games like they’re in the fucking show. Of course, there’s nothing wrong with dreaming and having a good time. So, while I admitted to myself this wasn’t a career choice, I kept playing hockey because I loved — and still love — the game.

That included playing in high school, dealing with multiple season-ending injuries and concussions, playing a bit of competitive roller hockey in college(I know, I didn’t think it was a real thing either), and then ultimately graduating to men’s league hockey, where I had some of the most fun I’ve ever had. (If you’ve ever been to Lake Placid with some of your teammates, you know what I’m talking about.)

But while my play fluctuated — sometimes I’d feel like a solid hockey player who could contribute to any team he played for and at other times I felt lost — there was always that one constant: hits to the head.

I can’t even fucking remember my first concussion. It was probably sometime during peewee hockey. I vaguely remember getting laid out by someone bigger and badder than me, being semi-conscious on the ice, getting helped into the locker room, and then learning later my best friend and borderline-psychopath teammate Paul DeLiso ‘took care’ of the kid who had knocked me out of the game.

A couple of more took place during high school hockey, one more in a skiing accident, a few more playing touch football, and finally one walking into a wall in my friend’s apartment.

You could say I’m accident prone — there’s no doubt about that. But unfortunately, these things have accumulated and each one is getting harder and harder to get through. The last one, in December of 2016, put me in NYU Langone’s Concussion Clinic, where I underwent vigorous testing to see the state of my cognitive ability. I passed with flying fucking colors but I was warned the next concussion could change that. The skeptic in me said there’s really no way to know that so let’s keep doing what we’re doing — meaning, let’s keep playing hockey.

For those who don’t know, men’s league is minimal contact. Outside of a few accidents here and there, or some angry scrums, there’s not much to worry about when it comes to head trauma.

But it does happen because it’s hockey.

It’s the nature of the beast, it’s a contact sport, it’s what happens. We all know that and accept that risk every time we lace up the skates and step out onto the ice. Again, the risk is minimal but it’s definitely a lot higher, say, than when you’re walking through your friend’s apartment.

Late last month, a study published in The Journal of the American Medical Association found that out of 111 deceased NFL players’ brains studied, 110 of them were found to have chronic traumatic encephalopathy, or C.T.E. According to the New York Times (FAKE NEWS!!!), “C.T.E. causes myriad symptoms, including memory loss, confusion, depression and dementia. The problems can arise years after the blows to the head have stopped.”

While I was already aware that repeated concussions could cause problems later down the road, one portion of this study stood out. A particular player’s brain, Tyler Sash, formerly of the New York Giants, showed signs of CTE. Sash was only 27 when he was found dead of an accidental overdose from pain medication in September 2015. Twenty-fucking-seven.

While he had only spent a few years in the NFL, Sash had been playing football for 16 years of his life. The study author found in regards to Sash, “ Even though he was only 27, he played 16 years of football, and we’re finding over and over that it’s the duration of exposure to football that gives you a high risk for C.T.E. Certainly, 16 years is a high exposure.”

Let me say — I’ve experienced no signs of CTE. Sure, I have slight memory loss from time to time and can be thoroughly confused by the direction of the Knicks front office. But no, no real signs of CTE and like I said before, my cognitive functioning is pretty solid, despite what my girlfriend may tell you.

All jokes aside — this shit scares me. I’m sorry, it does. Call me what you want but I don’t want to end up like one of those 111 football players. I don’t want to be grappling with depression and dementia at 40 when I should be teaching my kid how to catch a pop fly, and yes, maybe play hockey.

And that’s what it comes down to. One day, I plan on having kids, a wife, a family, more than one stupid fucking cat that I already have now. I want all of that but I want to be present — physically and mentally. I want to be awake. I want to be able to enjoy it.

So that’s why I’m writing this piece today. I’m walking away from hockey — for good.

A few months ago I began dating a beautiful angel by the name of Nancy. I have no idea what she sees in me but I know what I see in her: a loving soul, a kind heart, and an ability to make you feel like everything is going to be O.K. But most importantly, I see a future.

I see someone worth remembering every morning when I wake up next to her. I don’t want her feeding me when I’m in my forties, because my brain is completely destroyed and I have no control over my motor skills. I want her feeding me because I’m drunk off my ass after a night out at the bar and I refuse to use a fork.

Heck, I want to be the one carrying her up the driveway when her motor skills are impaired, because she had way too much to drink that night. Fuck, I want to carry the whole world on my back for her.

So, I’m doing this for her (let me be clear: she never asked me to do this), I’m doing it for my family, I’m doing it for my friends, I’m doing it for my teammates, I’m doing it for Nate, and yes, I’m doing it for me.

Some people have asked me, why is this a hard choice, you’re only playing in men’s league. Fair point, but this sport has been a major part of my life for over 20 years. Waking up at four in the morning, having my dad drive Paul and I to games on Saturdays, going through the ups and downs of a dramatic high school season, sweating my ass off in summer roller hockey, and now, enjoying a cold one while skating with some of the finest people in the world. These are valuable life experiences I wouldn’t trade for anything.

But, I want to remember them.

Jake Hyman

Written by

Writer/Producer with CBS News. Assistant producer with Westwood One Sports. Contributor for Heavy.