Patrick Marleau

I was three years old when my dad, Denis, took me to skate at the local rink in Aneroid for the first time. He said I got halfway around the rink, turned around and headed back to him, handing him the chair he’d given me for balance. “I don’t want this,” was all I said, and then I turned and went back out on the ice.  

I fell in love with being out there at a young age. Hockey has always brought me a happiness I can’t put into words. It’s the smell of the rink, the laughs with my teammates, the competition, the thrill of victory, and yes, even the sorrow of defeat that fuels the fire to go out and try again. I was lucky to find my passion when I did, from that very first lap. 

Soon, I was skating each and every chance I got. Sometimes, that was on the dugout of our family’s farm. There was a watering hole that the cattle used to drink from, and in the winter it would freeze. So, we would make a hole for the cows to get what they needed, and the rest would be frozen and waiting for my brother and I to play our own version of an NHL game. I idolized Mario Lemieux growing up, so I would pretend to be him winning Stanley Cups for the Penguins. Right there, during those brutal Saskatchewan winters, my dream was born. I’d come home in tears with frozen feet, and my mom would slowly warm me back up. Those core memories, all centered on hockey and family, make up so much of who I am. They are still the most important things in my life today. 

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