Bob Gets One Goal Shot (The Money Shot)

Bob went to the rink with one simple job: photograph the game, stay out of the way, and try not to get hit by a puck. Classic Bob assignment.

The game was fast, loud, and full of moments that disappear if you blink. Skates carving the ice, sticks clapping, parents pressed against the glass like it was Game 7. Bob worked the boards like a beat reporter, eyes up, camera ready, waiting for the moment.

Because every reporter knows this truth:
you don’t need every moment — you need the money shot.

I posted a photo from an old newspaper

And then it happened.

A rush toward the net. The goalie dropped. Pads flared wide. The puck slid through traffic. Bob tracked it, finger half-pressed on the shutter, heart racing faster than his auto focus. Click.

One goal shot.

Just one.

But that’s how it works for reporters at a game. You might stand there for two periods with nothing headline-worthy, and then—bang—the play unfolds right in front of you. If you’re ready, you get the shot that tells the whole story. If you’re not, you go home with excuses.

Bob got it.

The goalie stretched, the net opened, the puck crossed the line, and the crowd behind the glass leaned in all at once. Ref watching. Players crashing the crease. Chaos, effort, and outcome all locked into one frame.

Bob didn’t need ten goal photos. He didn’t need to spray and pray. He needed one clean image that says: this is hockey.

That’s the reporter mindset. That’s the money shot.

Bob checked the back of the camera. Quiet nod. Professional moment. No celebration. (Okay—maybe a very small internal fist pump.)

Street photography taught Bob this long ago:
You don’t measure success by how many photos you take.
You measure it by whether you were ready when the moment arrived.

Bob packed up his camera, cold hands, warm grin, knowing he did the job.

One goal.
One frame.
One money shot.

That’s a good night at the rink.