One whiff of a hockey rink brings back a multitude of memories. Not the cushy atmosphere in the stands of a modern facility so much as the poignant mixture of ground up icy soot from so many steely blades scraping into the black walking surface which the skaters move along once they've laced up. There is more: the fumes from the Zamboni; the faint hint of cheap popcorn; some sweaty gear; and the remnants of so many loogies gone by.
The Four Rinks in Burnaby was a breakthrough for Lower Mainland "rink rats" like my brother and me. In the 1970's there were never enough ice-times available to satisfy the baby boomers who clamoured for their share, but this massive facility suddenly doubled the rinks in town.
The mainstay of our pick-up hockey was called "Casual Ice:" an hour where we could drop-in, pay a small fee and play our brains out with whoever else showed up that day.
When the hour was up, my brother and I would move the nets for the staff in exchange for a little leeway on exiting the surface in a timely manner. The driver didn't mind us skating around for an extra three or four minutes as long as we helped him out a bit, and stayed off the freshly cleaned surface area.
When we pushed our luck too far he would signal us to leave and, wanting to maintain the cordial relationship, we would comply -- generally.
I followed my older brother's lead on one occasion and did one last loop before leaving the surface for the day. He timed it tight, exiting just a short distance in front of the massive ice cleaning machine as it drove along the boards finishing its first full lap. He slipped through the gate gracefully, but as I hopped behind him, just a metre or two in front of the Zamboni, I didn't have the presence of mind to make sure my hockey stick was turned the right way. With the stick straddled crossways, it hit either side of the gate, bouncing me back on to the ice, flat on the seat of my pants.
It takes longer to read this next part than it did for it to happen...
Looking up, all I could see was the deafening machine bearing down on me like a runaway steam-roller. Fearing for my life, I scrambled to stand, but like a cat caught nibbling in a meat locker, my legs were moving, but the slippery surface held me in place. There was no time.
I could see the terrified eyes of the driver -- we both knew that this would end badly, quickly. He had hit the brakes but inertia pushed on. I was nose-to-nose with the front of the machine, and was about to resign myself to demise when a powerful fist clenched my jersey and picked me right up off the ice and over the boards to safety. The blade of my skates bumped the edge of the Zamboni, and I heard the sharp crack of my hockey stick as it gave way to the bone-crushing monster.
I looked up at the calm smirking face of my older brother, who quipped: "We mustn't bring the little boy home in little pieces now, must we?" In a rare gesture of affection he faintly smiled, patted me on the head and walked off.
Commerce can also be a heart-stopping sport at times. The crushing machinery of millions of people investing thousands of dollars reminds us that we are all small and vulnerable in the face of momentum swings we have so little control over.
While we can't plan our investment strategies around the deadly effects of unknowable events like terror attacks, political decisions, or natural disasters, we can hedge our risks. Some investments tend to increase in value during a crisis while others fall. This is sometimes referred to as the negative correlation of stocks and bonds.
Safe-haven investments like investment grade or government bonds are the boring stay-at-home cousins of the more volatile stock market. They are the ballast in your balanced fund. During weeks like this one, they are good to have around.
Oddly, their inherent risk is a sort of happiness quotient. (A Dementor's worst nightmare is your happiest thought!) When markets start singing: "Happy Days are Here Again," bonds will take a fall.
Since nobody can predict with precision when this will be, we mix our assets in a way that suits us best and carry on.
Mark Ryan is an advisor in Prince George with RBC Wealth Management, Dominion Securities (member CIPF) and can be reached at [email protected].
