The FMC is a tournament for the strong, the voluptuous, and the brave. A trial faced by those in the prime of their lives. FMC players may be young, but they have a lot on their hands besides ball hockey. Some of them work hard and bring home the bacon, others tackle serious subjects at the nation's finest scholarly institutions, and there is a guy who does gymnastics and folk dancing. No one has it easy, but there is one particular individual who has overcome considerable hardship to be with the tournament this year, and every year previous. This young man is truly exceptional. He stands up when everyone else sits down (except when urinating when it is vice versa). This is a man who has fought the toughest battle of them all, he has fought death itself.

This man wears the number five. This man is Alec Macdonald.

When I speak of death, I not refer to a person that Alec may have lost at one point or another. Rather, I mean a part of his own life that was stolen from him years ago. Some of you have known Alec for only a short time, while certain others have known him since he was eight years old. Alec has a secret, however, that no one knows but me; it's the secret that I intend to share with you now.

Before he played ball hockey, Alec was involved in a different sport. His father, who played ice hockey his whole life, encouraged his young son to do likewise. Every Saturday morning, Mr. Macdonald Sr. would drop off his son at Iroquois Park, believing that he was leaving his son to play the sport that he once played himself, and was passionate about. But little did he know, as soon as he left the parking lot, Alec reached into his hockey bag full of his mom's old clothes and makeup, pulled our his trusty roller skates, and made his way to a little place he called heaven, a place that everyone else called 'Wheelies'.

Every Saturday the same Wheelies employee gawked as he accepted the entrance fee from Alec, whose favourite outfit was a neon tie-dyed t-shirt that said, "Girls Roll!", tight black leggings, and a thick white studded belt with a happy face buckle. To complete the daring ensemble, his face was thickly coated in purple lipstick, eye shadow, penciled on whiskers, and glitter. No one questioned Alec as he tied his laces on the bench (double knotted, of course!). No parent questioned what he was doing as he began his stretches in the far corner of the roller rink. Nor did a single child dare to ask him if he was a lonely clown, a deranged homosexual, or just a mixed up kid in a mixed up world, as he glided merrily around the rink. No, no one would say a thing. This was his turf. This was where Alec Macdonald belonged.

There is more to the story, though. You see, Alec wasn't just there to dance like no one was watching. He yearned for something more than the feel of wheels on hardwood floor. He yearned to hold hands with a boy - a boy who understood why he did what he did, and who wanted to know all of his secrets. He eagerly awaited that time when the DJ cleared the floor, with the girls on one side and the boys on the other, to play Snowball. Standing impatiently on the girls' side, Alec would wait, and wait, and wait... but none of the boys ever asked him to dance. Despite recurring failure, he kept his hopes up; all week during school he daydreamed about the one boy who would take his hand gently, and hold it tightly as they glided around in circles. And then more circles. Love circles.

Then, as chance would have it, as he skated up to Wheelies one Saturday he found that it was no more. The harsh realities of the adult world had come crashing down on this lonely gay cat/clown hybrid cross dresser, and he was at a loss for what to do. Eventually, he put it all behind him. The times were changing, and Alec had to accept this and move on with the rest of the world.

Now, you may be wondering why I would bring up this dark time in Alec's life as we approach the final FMC tournament. “What does Alec's disturbing childhood have to do with anything?”, you ask. Well, the saying goes that old habits die hard, and with Alec there is no exception. Losing in the FMC puts a great emotional strain on the guy, you see. You may have noticed that Alec always shows up to the FMC after party late, or not at all. His excuse varies from year to year. It might be that he took a nap, or that he was compiling all of the tournament statistics – whatever he claims, it is all lies. When everyone else has left Willow Park and all is quiet, Alec throws on that tie-dye t-shirt, the leggings, the happy belt, the roller blades, and the makeup, and he stands at the far end of the lacrosse box, waiting. Waiting for his knight in shining armour to take his hand and go for a little skate around the court. To tell secrets. To fall in love. To end the heart ache of loss.

So this year when Alec inevitably finishes third in FMC V, and he is standing alone in the lacrosse box, where will you be? Will you be partying it up with the boys, or will you be the one – the one who sets Alec's heart free?

I'll be partying with the boys, because I think that other option is pretty gay.

Submitted by: Anonymous