No Tourney Too Far
by Ben von Jagow

What we’re apt to remember, years from now, may not be much.
Memory is tricky like that.
It may cling to a drill in practice, the flimsy architecture
of an old rink, or something yelled from the bench.
It might preserve helmets and gloves, the time Drew hit a stick
into the stands, or the way Fergie could taunt an entire team
with only a shift in his voice.
But most likely it will cling to those moments off the ice.
Those dressing room moments. Rooster’s dad telling him to
get the fuck in gear. Rooster winking, putting his pants back on,
his dad leaving the rink.
Running—really running—down a long hotel hallway in socked feet.
Or something from that bus. Fifteen hours reduced
to a single fleeting feeling,
of anticipation, of boredom, of anguish and serenity,
losing and winning, meshed into one.

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Ben von Jagow is the author of Goalie. His work has appeared in Canadian Literature, Prairie Fire,
Queen’s Quarterly, The Antigonish Review, The Fiddlehead, The Stockholm Review of Literature, and The Literary Review of Canada, among other publications. For more of Ben’s work, visit benvj.com.

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Hannah Macready: Thanks for chatting with me, Ben. Readers of EVENT might already know your poetry—we published “Summer of ’21”  and “My Mother” in EVENT 52/3. And your photography has appeared on our covers, too. Your debut collection, Goalie, is out now with Guernica Editions. I wanted to start by asking: What made now the right time to write this book?

Ben von Jagow: Thanks for having me. I wanted to write Goalie while sports were still very much a part of my life. Goalie is a chronological story that follows a hockey career. When I wrote the first part of that book, I pulled from memory—moments, sights, and sounds that had stuck with me all these years. 

The second part, though, was written in real time. I’d return home from a game or a road trip and feel this swell of emotions, which I’d pour onto the page. The final section of Goalie wrestles with retirement, and though I’m still playing—and plan to do so for at least a little longer—there’s certainly a light at the end of the tunnel. Stepping away from sport will break me in ways I can’t yet begin to fathom. I tried to tap into exactly those feelings while writing that final section.  

HM: This collection is very much about hockey, but it’s also about growing up, moving away, coming back. Did you always know the poems would circle back to the rink, or did that focus emerge over time?

BVJ: It wasn’t planned, no, but in a way, it was inevitable. When something plays such an integral role in shaping who you are as a person, I don’t think it ever quite disappears. The rink, like family, core memories, and the man in the mirror, will always be there. 

HM: One of the things I love about Goalie is how specific it is—not just to hockey, but to bus rides, basements, old posters, creased maps. You write with such detail. Are you someone who journals, or are these memories you’ve been carrying for a while?

BVJ: First of all, thank you. Second, yes, I write nearly every day of my life. On the first day of every month, I create a Word document titled with the month and the year— i.e. June 2025. At the end of the month, I retire the document and open a new one. 

While drafting Goalie, if I wanted to revisit something specific—a big game or the budding stages of a romance, for instance—I’d pull up the corresponding document to see what I had written. Sometimes it was very little, in which case I cursed myself for not writing more. Other times, there were notes far more detailed than my memory could’ve offered. In both cases, I was reminded of just how important it is to keep a record. Something that feels small and inconsequential today could turn out to be the crux of a future poem or story. 

That being said, a lot of what I wrote about, especially in those early poems, stemmed from memory. I can still see those posters, that map, the white plastic blade of a ministick softening over a stovetop flame—it’s all there. I don’t think you always get to choose which memories stick around and which disappear. You play the hand you’re dealt and you play it to the best of your abilities. That’s your duty as a writer. 

HM: You mention pulling poems from memory, which suggests you grew up playing hockey. But I came across something interesting—you currently play a different sport. Can you tell me how your experiences on the football field helped shape a book that’s largely framed through hockey?  

BVJ: Like many Canadians, I grew up playing hockey. It meant everything to me, and then, around the time I turned sixteen, I fell in love with a different sport. I tried juggling both for a while, but, like having both a partner and a mistress, the arrangement was destined to fail. That simile makes me sound shallow and sleazy when in reality, the decision burdened me beyond belief. I was plagued with two loves. And, not unlike the typical sleazeball, I chose what was new and shiny. I cast my skates to the garage, and decided to pour my everything into football. 

Fortunately for me, the decision paid off. I currently make my living catching passes and scoring touchdowns in foreign lands. Over the past nine years, I’ve played professional American football in nine different countries and, as I write this, I’m living and playing in Vienna, Austria. Happily ever after. 

Except… 

Hardly a day goes by where I don’t think about hockey. Football might be my true love, but hockey will forever be my first love. And much like first loves, it played a critical role in shaping who I am as a person and who I am as a lover (of sports). The way I approach adversity on the field, the way I handle failure, success, and big moments, all of that was cultivated in the rink. Hockey shaped who I am as an athlete, and since I no longer have the chance to lace up my skates and play, I settled for the next best thing: I wrote. 

Goalie was easy to begin. Like I said, I had access to this enormous well of memories. I’d twist a metaphorical handle, and poems would flood out. But about halfway through, I hit a snag. The well dried out. 

As previously mentioned, Goalie is a chronological story, and, as also mentioned, I stopped playing hockey at sixteen. I wrestled with my approach for a short while before realizing the answer was right in front of me. 

Football. 

On the surface, the two sports might seem different, but a lot of what was important to me back then—the bus rides, the big plays, the boys—is still important to me now. I play football because I love the sport, sure, but I also do it for the camaraderie, the highs and lows, and the chance to become a better version of myself—all of which you’ll find in the rink.  

So, it wasn’t as difficult as one might think. I knew—and still know—the technical aspects of hockey inside and out. Those didn’t give me much trouble. And the emotional side of the sport, well, I tap into that every time I show up to the field. Despite leaving hockey at sixteen, I didn’t really need to fabricate anything in Goalie. It was all right in front of me—under my nose, in my memory, or beating in my heart.  

HM: You’re also a photographer, and some of your photos have appeared on our covers. Do you find that photography and poetry pull from the same creative place for you? Or do they serve different parts of your brain?

BVJ: Different parts, definitely. One of the first photographs you published of mine was called Nordkjosbotn, which featured the northern lights. In 2020, I spent a winter in northern Norway working as an Arctic guide. That’s where I learned that some sights and experiences are beyond even the greatest of writers. Trying to capture the aurora borealis with words, for instance, is a losing task if there ever was one. A camera is by far the more effective tool. That being said, my first inclination is, and always will be, to write. 

HM: Some of these poems read like tightly framed snapshots, while others are more narrative and expansive. How do you know when a moment or memory wants to become a poem—and not a photo, or even a short story?

That’s a great question, one I’m not entirely sure I have an answer to. I know I love to write in all forms—poems, stories, essays—and I also love to capture moments with my camera. Having to choose between these creative outlets might seem overwhelming, perhaps. But I’m also a believer that the subject will select the art form best suited to tell the story. 

The aurora borealis, for instance—that story could only be told through a lens. Same goes for my most recent cover photo, Creatures in the Flames. An adventure with friends, on the other hand, one full of critical dialogue and a ton of moving parts—there, I would typically gravitate towards prose. 

And poetry? I’m tempted to say poetry is more internal and emotional, but that simply isn’t true. At least not for me. Because I’ve written poems—or tried to—about everything under the sun. 

So, no, I don’t have a clean answer. But I will say this: having to choose between multiple forms when telling a story—that’s a good problem to have. 

HM: You’ve written a book about hockey, but you’ve also written a book about art, memory, love, failure, and time. What would you say to a reader who’s never laced up skates? What might they find here?

BVJ: You’re exactly right. You don’t need to have played hockey to appreciate this collection. In fact, as a reader, I’m often drawn to subjects with which I have no prior connection whatsoever. There’s something special about stepping into an unfamiliar world and letting the author guide you through it. 

If you like hockey, I think you’ll enjoy this book. But if you aren’t familiar with the sport, I believe you’ll be drawn to it for the same reasons. Because within the pages of Goalie, you’ll find a little world. One that, as James Carson, editor of Queen’s Quarterly put it, “has both nothing and everything to do with hockey.” 

HM: Finally, what’s next for you? Any new projects on the go, or things you’re excited to explore next?

BVJ: I’ve just finished a collection of essays, which I’m starting to submit to publishers. I’ve also got a poetry collection and the beginnings of a novel clamouring for my attention. On the athletic side, I was selected in December to play for the Canadian National Men’s Football Team, so I’m excited for that opportunity to represent my country. Being able to pursue both of my passions has been a tremendous gift, and I’m looking forward to seeing where the rest of the journey takes me. 

Thank you again for the thoughtful questions and giving me the opportunity to share a bit about my work and the creative process. It’s always a pleasure connecting with you, Shashi, Raoul, and everyone from the team at EVENT. 

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Hannah Macready lives in Vancouver, BC.