The Slap Shot

Shinny Shots: Bob’s Frozen Time Machine

Bob adjusted the settings on his trusty Sony A200 camera, framing the lone skater gliding across the outdoor rink. The overcast sky provided a natural filter, softening the winter light and making the ice shimmer like frosted glass. The rhythmic scrape of skates and the echoing "thwack" of a slap shot transported him back to his childhood.

As a kid, Bob had spent countless winter afternoons playing shinny hockey with his friends. The local rink wasn’t much—just a frozen patch of community park surrounded by chain-link fencing—but to Bob, it had been his own little NHL arena. He remembered tugging on his worn-out skates, the blades often in desperate need of sharpening, and rushing to join the neighborhood kids.

Bob had a reputation for his slap shot. It wasn’t always accurate, but when his stick connected with the puck, it sounded like a gunshot. The kids would laugh and tease him, claiming he’d knock the puck into the next town. He’d grin and respond, “Better watch your heads, then!”

Fast forward to today: Bob stood behind the lens, snapping photos of the skater practicing alone. He admired the precision and speed, marveling at how the sport remained a timeless tradition. He felt the cold bite of winter air against his cheeks and couldn’t help but reminisce about the thrill of chasing the puck, the camaraderie, and the inevitable snowball fights after a game.

Bob smiled, lowering the camera for a moment. He realized that his photography had become a new kind of slap shot. Each press of the shutter captured a moment of energy and emotion, freezing it in time like the frozen rink of his childhood.

He took a final shot of the skater mid-stride, the puck sliding ahead like it had a mind of its own. As the sound of his camera’s shutter echoed in the crisp air, Bob promised himself he’d return to the rink soon—not just with his camera, but maybe with his skates too.