Two Rituals After a Hockey Goal: What They Say About the Game
Two things happen after every goal in hockey, so routine that we barely notice them anymore. First comes the moment of release—the embrace, the helmet grab, the brief pile of bodies near the crease. Then comes the line. Skates circle back toward the centre, gloves come up, and each player gets a tap on the way past. Emotion, then order—joy, then structure.
They look like one celebration, but they aren’t. They come from different places, and they tell you something important about the game.
The After-Goal Hug Is the Newest of the Hockey Traditions
The hug is the newer of the two, though even that is relative. Early professional hockey left little room for outward emotion. Goals were acknowledged with a nod, maybe a raised stick, often nothing at all. The game was rough, travel was brutal, and stoicism wasn’t just a virtue—it was survival. You saved your energy. You didn’t linger.
As the sport professionalized and systems tightened, goals became harder to earn. By the middle of the 20th century, scoring wasn’t a lone act of brilliance so much as the final reward for a chain of small, grinding successes: a blocked shot, a won battle, a good change. The embrace followed naturally. It wasn’t so much showmanship, but shared relief. You didn’t hug to celebrate yourself. You hugged because you were tired, and for a second, the weight came off.
By the 1980s, the hug was no longer unusual. Teams like the New York Islanders and Edmonton Oilers, built on chemistry as much as talent, made visible joy acceptable. Not excessive. Not theatrical. But real. Hockey found a way to allow emotion without letting it spill outward toward the opponent. The celebration stayed inside the room, even when it happened on the ice.
The Glove Tap After a Goal Is Older in Spirit
The glove tap, though, is older in spirit, if not in exact form. Long before players skated by each other and tapped gloves, they tapped sticks. Benches rattled after big plays. Sticks drummed the boards after blocked shots, smart clears, or long shifts that ended without disaster. These weren’t celebrations. They were acknowledgements. A way of saying: I saw that. It mattered.
As equipment changed and the game sped up, the ritual adapted. Gloves replaced sticks. The bench tap became a skate-by tap on the way to the faceoff. It was faster, cleaner, and suited to hockey’s preference for understated communication. Everyone got one. Not just the scorer. Not just the assist. Everyone.
That’s the key difference between the two moments after a goal. The hug is emotional and selective. It happens in a cluster, usually among the players most directly involved. The glove tap is procedural and democratic. Every skater on the ice is acknowledged, whether they touched the puck or not.
The Hug and the Glove Tap Reflect the Culture of Hockey Success
Together, the hockey hug and the glove tap reflect how hockey thinks about success.
The game has always resisted the idea that a goal belongs to one person. Even its language works against that notion. You don’t “make” a goal. You “get” one. It’s something earned collectively, even if finished individually. The hug recognizes the moment. The glove tap reinforces the idea.
And there’s an unspoken rule attached to both rituals. You can celebrate, but only inwardly. Joy is allowed. Excess is not. Skip the glove tap, and people notice. It reads as a failure to understand the job.
Hockey’s post-goal rituals endure because they strike a balance the sport has always cared about: emotion without ego, recognition without spectacle. They are brief releases, followed by a return to work.