Cam Tait Previews Thanksgiving Weekend at Rogers Place
Written by: Cam Tait
They begin arriving in steady streams Saturday afternoon, lugging not just suitcases but the cherished parcels of pumpkin pie, cranberry sauce, and Tupperware soldiers filled with Monday’s feast. But, in a nod to tradition as sacred as grace itself, Mom and Dad packed last the hockey sticks and the dented old tennis balls — because Thanksgiving, like turkey and mashed potatoes, is incomplete without the annual street hockey game. Out tumble cousins and neighbours’ kids, stick blades clattering on pavement, the first shouts echoing like hymns of autumn. Soon, the quiet cul-de-sac is transformed into a theatre of imagination where every shot is framed as the overtime dagger in Game 7 of the Stanley Cup Finals. The air is cool, crisp, and bracing, but the laughter — stitched together with rivalry, belonging, and the old magic of kinship — warms the afternoon more than any autumn sun.
The afternoon wanes, effortlessly. And the echoes of slapshots off garage doors, of makeshift goaltenders sprawling heroically on driveways, give way to another sound, softer but no less grand: the calling of family to the table. The game fades, though its merriment lingers, and sneakers are swapped for slippers, sticks leaned against fences as though tomorrow’s skirmish is only postponed.
And then the matinee match: Saturday afternoon at Rogers Place, the Moose Jaw Warriors bring their 3-2-1 record west, a team that has outscored opponents 24-20 in the young WHL season yet carry the burden of a sputtering power play clicking at only 16.7 percent. On paper, they’re balanced, gritty, and capable of hanging around games — but that special-teams deficiency could haunt them under the bright lights.
For the Oil Kings, the ledger reads 5-2 record – a mere single point out of first place, a mark perhaps more modest than they envisioned after training camp. Wednesday night’s trip into Medicine Hat left its sting: a 5-2 loss where the Tigers pounced with early strikes, capitalized on turnovers, and forced Edmonton to chase. It was the kind of night that gnaws at a coaching staff, reminding everyone in the dressing room how thin the margin is in this league when discipline or attention wavers.
Still — optimism. Miroslav Holinka has been the steady hand offensively, collecting five points, while the penalty kill hums along at 88.2 percent, a backbone the Oil Kings can safely lean on. Then there are the numbers, the kind hockey people love to circle in red pen: Edmonton averages 32 shots a game, while Moose Jaw surrenders nearly 34. That’s a crack in the Warriors’ armour, and Rogers Place offers the perfect stage for the Oil Kings to pry it wide open.
Saturday isn’t merely another date on the calendar. It’s a test of rebound, resolve, and the ability to turn a mid-week stumble into weekend redemption. The question is, will the Oil Kings seize the hammer?
These two days before the grand feast are a holiday in their own right — a gentle pause in autumn’s cool breath, when cousins renew rivalries on cracked driveways, grocery bags crowd the counters, and pies whisper their cinnamon secrets. It’s a time for late-night talks, scattered leaves underfoot, and laughter floating across the yard. Thanksgiving, then, is not only the dinner itself but the tender waiting, the gathering, the anticipation stitched into memory.
Thanksgiving Monday, inside, the dining room glows — a great altar to fellowship. Turkey, ham, and potatoes steam like promises fulfilled, while salads, corn, and pies punctuate the abundance. Conversation rises and falls like a symphony, with laughter and the steady clinking of cutlery. It is here, after the rivalries of the cul-de-sac, that the true victory is found: generations gathered, stories shared, and blessings multiplied. For in the weaving of play and feast, we find Thanksgiving’s enduring truth — joy is best when shared, and family is the scoreboard.
Yet, another Thanksgiving tradition — it may not boast the dignified polish of an elegant dining room, replete with crystal stemware and silver polished to blinding brilliance, but it possesses something infinitely greater, something that underscores the very marrow of what the holiday is meant to be. It is junior hockey, in its proudest grassroots form, a ritual that weds spectacle with generosity: the rhythmic clatter of macaroni and cheese boxes wielded as improvised noisemakers at Rogers Place — loud, unrefined, joyful — and then, in the quiet after the final horn, those same boxes carried not home – but to Edmonton’s Food Bank, where they transform from a sound of passion into a gesture of sustenance. It is, in its essence, a metaphor for this game we so cherish: an unruly collision of noise and fury that resolves, in the end, into nourishment and community.
The Edmonton Oil Kings, in their third annual Thanksgiving food drive, invite their citizens — for Oil King fans are citizens of a proud hockey republic — to bring pasta, non-perishables, or those unmistakable mac-and-cheese boxes to Monday’s game against the Lethbridge Hurricanes. The puck drops at noon, the battle itself promising the traditional ferocity of a divisional clash. But the larger victory will be measured not on the scoreboard but in the collective weight of donated boxes, tins, and bags; each one destined for the tables of families who might otherwise sit before an empty plate.
And when the game is done, when fans depart the arena and make their way home for turkey, stuffing, and laughter, and, most of all, family – they will do so knowing that their cheers and their contributions reverberate beyond the confines of the rink. For that is the true heart of Thanksgiving: the reminder that our abundance finds its noblest purpose when shared.
