Sometime during the 1970s, Northland Hockey Company signed some of the best players in the game of hockey to wear their new helmets. If you are a hockey buff, you'll know that plastic helmets were a brand new idea in the 1970s and you only wore one if you were a sissy. Not Stan Mikita of the Chicago Blackhawks. He was one of the greatest players to lace 'em up. He was a goal scoring tough guy. Old-time hockey as they call it. Stan Mikita's contract with Northland was probably a good idea at the time. But then again, Stan Mikita didn't have to live through my fifth grade year.

The rap went like this:

"Uns-uns-uns, um, word, yeah, what, what, his head bobs from side to side, ohh it's fucking funny."

This is the most memorable reference I have ever heard about the size of my head. It was really a stupid insult but in fifth grade, kids will laugh at anything that is remotely amusing. It's like the "doorknob" game or playing kickball with the slow kids: it enticed my friends and made them quiver with excitement because they knew that no matter what happened, they would/could/and should win. From the moment this rap was recorded (and yes, I mean actually laid down on tape), I was known as "Big-Head" and there was nothing I could do about it.

I have been ice-skating since I could walk, and by "skate," I mean play hockey. And by "play hockey," I mean stopping hard rubber pucks with a couple of inches of plastic, foam, wood, and metal from going into a 4' X 6' iron goal. Many students of the game will tell you that the goalie is the most important position in hockey. They also follow that statement by explaining that the goalie is always the craziest person on the ice. Stopping solid, frozen, Czech rubber launched at speeds upwards of 80 mph is about as much fun as taking a Wiffleball bat to the groin repeatedly. I loved it from the moment I tried it.

In the same year that the "Ian Has a Big Head Rap" went certified double platinum at Charlotte Central School, the most notorious hand-me-down present ever arrived at the beginning of the hockey season. I received, in the fall, my brother's old Stan Mikita Northland Pro signature hockey helmet. The helmet made me look like a cross between the robot from "The Mighty Morphin Power Rangers" and a human water tower. It was a white bulbous combination of aerodynamics and beauty that added a good four inches to the radius of my already large head. The helmet was the only real piece of hard evidence that would make my nickname last a lifetime. It was just a matter of time before someone witnessed this "large-golf-ball-strapped-to-his-shoulders" contraption. On one horrible, no-good, very bad day, it happened. I was seen with the helmet on. To quote the rap, my friends announced, "it's fucking funny." I was done for. On top of the great humiliation I was feeling, my team was worse than mediocre and the only thing we could do well was ogle the figure skaters who practiced after us. That winter was murder.

As word of my sputnik-inspired helmet spread through Mr. Cronin's class, the playground became a battlefield. I couldn't go more than five feet towards the blacktop basketball court without someone yelling, "We get Big-Head -- if we lose the ball, we can just use his head." Or my other favorite, "Quick, somebody pop it so we can see him fly away." Someone actually had the stones to ask if hockey companies had enough plastic to make a helmet big enough. For one entire year, I weathered the barrage of name-calling, anatomical references, and the occasional "Big-Head" chant. Then, in sixth grade, I was miraculously free. Someone or something took my place as the butt of all that was funny. Thank god.

The following hockey season was the start of the rest of my life. The mediocre team from the year before ended this next season with an astonishing record of 95-5-5. We didn't lose a game in the state of Vermont and two of our loses came at the hands of a hot New Haven team in the New England Championships in which we placed fourth. I attribute our success to one moment halfway through the season: my parents bought me a new helmet for Christmas. I was ecstatic. Now I could leave all of the pain and anger behind. The evidence was now going to be stripped from the police vault. By mid-January, I was officially pardoned by the Brash-Indigenous-Gargantuan Head-Etc.-Amateur-Doctors association of America. They graciously removed my "Big-Head" title and plaque. No helmet, no proof. I was free: physically and mentally.

To this day, I look up whenever someone even utters the words "big" and "head" in the same sentence. If the complete phrase is mentioned, I freeze, look around to see if anyone has noticed the sweat on my (huge) forehead, and then attack the closest person with a vengeance that should go away with a couple more years of therapy. In the back of my mind I know this episode in my life happened for one reason: to make me a stronger person, capable of taking as much shit as necessary. These days, my friend Ash says that I should receive the gold star for being the best sport. I like that idea.

If it weren't for the harshness of children being uncomfortable with themselves, I would not have learned to take abuse the way that I do (and these days it is mostly self-inflicted). And I never would have known how much Stan Mikita has given to game of hockey. He will always be my favorite Chicago Blackhawk and his signature helmet will always be my most prized piece of huge, huge, plastic.


Stan Mikita: Chicago Blackhawks Hockey Team, 1958-59 to 1979-80

Inducted into Hockey's Hall of Fame (1983)
Won the Stanley Cup in 1960-1961
NHL First Team All-Star (1962-1964, 1966-1968)
NHL Second Team All-Star (1965, 1970)
Won Art Ross Trophy (1964-1968)
Won Lady Byng Trophy (1967, 1968)
Won Hart Trophy (1967, 1968)
Won Lester Patrick Trophy (1976)
First player to win Art Ross, Lady Byng, and Hart trophy in the same year
9 NHL All-Star appearances