You’ve got your skates, your pads, and your stick. But what if the ice melts? Grab your Speedo, take a deep breath, and mask that game face with a snorkel-it’s time to dive in and play some underwater hockey.

Using three-pound lead pucks, twelve-inch wooden sticks, masks, ear guards and fins, two teams of six sink to the bottom of an eight foot deep, 75-foot-long pool and ferociously slap the metal discs towards their opponents’ ten foot wide goal. While anyone who’s ever played or witnessed a water polo match can attest to the athleticism and strength needed for the sport, submerging it is unthinkable. Add the fact that you can’t communicate, can’t breathe, and are skimming passes across ceramic tiles, and the difficulties border on lunacy.

Yet underwater hockey, also known as Octopush, has surfaced in 32 countries. In Canada alone 20 cities support leagues, and in Ontario, you’ll find gladiators of the liquid rink in Brampton, Guelph, Hamilton, London, Ottawa, Sault Ste. Marie and Waterloo.

Invented in 1954 by four British divers seeking an off-season training regimen, it quickly flowed to Australia, France, New Zealand and South Africa, which soon boast the strongest underwater hockey scenes. The buoy was passed to North America via Norm Liebeck, an Australian scuba instructor, who brought the sport to Vancouver in 1962. Nearly 2,000 swimmers participate on this end of the pond, with numbers still growing. As for legitimization, World Championships have been held every two years in Sheffield, England since 1980. In August 2006, 48 teams competed in six categories, with the elite divisions (and the title of world champions) being seized on the women’s side by the Australians, and on the men’s side by the New Zealanders.

Two fifteen-minute halves make up an underwater hockey match, with teams distinguished by the colour of their stick. Substitutions occur readily, much like the game’s icy counterpart. The medium does impose major changes, specifically on the penalty side, as referees decked in the usual vertical striped flipper garb, can move the opposing team back ten feet due to “screening” an individual with their bodies. Refs will eject players for dangerous passes, as a three pound lead puck to the head is no fun, especially under seven feet of chlorinated aqua.

For spectators following from the dry sidelines, the athletes are a blurry heap of contortions swimming in circles, their florescent snorkel tips peeking up like periscopes, quickly and quietly. But cameras display the action underwater on a JumboTron screen. Leaked bubbles encircle the action, as competitors move in a silent rhythm of dives and rises. The players are in combat with their opponents, their environment, and themselves. Communication is completely visual, and the complication of needing air makes knowing your position in relation to your teammate the most pertinent defensive tactic.

The result of all this is a ballet against resistance, a watery weave of willpower and human resolve in the name of sport. Underwater hockey might sink the Zamboni, but its appeal has plenty to float on.

For more information on Canadian underwater hockey teams, check out www.cuga.org/uwh.html.