The Hockey Game Heard ‘Round the Classroom: When iPads Took Over English Class
The fluorescent lights hummed, casting their usual sterile glow over the rows of desks. My English teacher, Mrs. Abernathy – usually a beacon of enthusiasm for Shakespearean sonnets or the nuances of argumentative essays – stood frozen at the front of the room. Her gaze swept across the class, not with its usual sharp focus, but with a weary, almost defeated look. It wasn’t the blank stares of disinterest she often battled; it was the subtle tilt of heads, the downward glances, the barely concealed cords snaking out from under textbooks, and the faint, unmistakable chirp of a hockey puck echoing from multiple directions. The Stanley Cup playoffs had invaded our classroom via iPad, and Mrs. Abernathy? She’d finally had enough.
“It’s over,” she announced, her voice quiet but cutting through the low murmur like a knife. She didn’t yell. She didn’t threaten. She simply stated it with a profound finality that made even the most dedicated hockey fan in the back row look up, guilt flickering across their face. “Put them away. All of them. Off the desks, out of sight. Now.”
The collective sigh was audible. Bookmarks were hastily saved, streams were paused (or frantically minimized), and iPads disappeared into bags with a series of soft thuds. The sudden silence felt heavier than usual. We all knew why she’d snapped. It wasn’t just that day; it had been building for weeks.
The Problem Wasn’t Just Hockey – It Was Disengagement
The iPads were supposed to be learning tools – gateways to research databases, collaborative writing platforms, and digital libraries. And sometimes, they were. But more often lately, they’d become windows to anything but English class. Hockey was just the most visible, unifying culprit. It was playoff season, after all. Games were scheduled inconveniently during school hours, and the temptation to have a tiny screen broadcasting the action tucked discreetly beside your copy of To Kill a Mockingbird proved irresistible for many.
But Mrs. Abernathy’s exhaustion went deeper than just hockey. It was the constant battle:
1. The Phantom Scrollers: Students pretending to take notes while actually scrolling through social media feeds.
2. The Subtle Gamers: Heads bent low, fingers tapping furiously on silent screens during group discussions.
3. The Multitasking Myth: The pervasive belief that one could genuinely absorb the thematic complexities of Macbeth while simultaneously checking the score of the Leafs game.
4. The Broken Connection: Her standing at the front, pouring energy into a lesson about symbolism or thesis statements, only to see eyes glazed over, focused on a tiny rectangle of light instead of the human connection and shared learning happening right in front of them.
The breaking point wasn’t just the hockey itself; it was the cumulative effect of feeling ignored, of her expertise and effort being sidelined for digital distractions. The iPads, meant to enhance learning, had become significant barriers to it.
The Day Everything Changed (For the Better)
That simple declaration – “It’s over” – marked a turning point. It wasn’t a punishment born of anger, but a necessary reset born of exhaustion and a fierce desire to teach effectively.
The Great Digital Detox: For the next week, iPads were banned from desk surfaces unless explicitly instructed for a specific, timed task (like a quick research check). They stayed in bags otherwise.
Old School, New Focus: Suddenly, we were back to paper handouts, physical novels, group discussions where everyone actually looked at each other, and whiteboard brainstorming sessions. The tactile nature of it felt surprisingly refreshing.
Reigniting Engagement: Mrs. Abernathy didn’t just take the tech away; she doubled down on making her lessons inherently more engaging. More discussions where we had to talk, not just listen. More movement. More connecting the material to our lives and interests – including, surprisingly, hockey.
The Hockey Lesson That Actually Worked
A few days into the “iPad hiatus,” Mrs. Abernathy surprised us. “Alright,” she said, a hint of her old spark returning. “I know the playoffs are on. I get it. The passion, the rivalry, the sheer drama of it. Let’s talk about it.”
She put up a clip from a famous, heated hockey game – not just the goals, but the commentary, the player interviews, the fan reactions. Then came the assignment:
Analyze the Commentary: Identify persuasive techniques (ethos, pathos, logos) used by the announcers. How did they build excitement or bias?
Dissect an Interview: Look at a post-game player interview. What rhetorical strategies did they use? How did they handle victory or defeat linguistically?
Write a Persuasive Piece: Argue why hockey is or is not the most dramatic sport, using specific examples of language, narrative, and conflict resolution seen in real games.
The energy in the room shifted palpably. Suddenly, hockey wasn’t a forbidden distraction; it was the textbook. We were analyzing the language of sport, the narratives built around athletes, the persuasive power of commentary – all core English skills. Students who were usually quiet were suddenly passionately debating the use of hyperbole by certain announcers. It was relevant, it was engaging, and crucially, it was directed learning. The iPads came out briefly for research and drafting, but with a clear, focused purpose. There were no rogue streams; we were too busy dissecting the ones Mrs. Abernathy provided.
The Lasting Shift: Technology as a Tool, Not a Toy
Mrs. Abernathy’s moment of being “tired” wasn’t the end of technology in her class. It was the beginning of a much healthier relationship with it. The lesson we learned, far more profound than any grammar rule, was about intentionality and respect.
Respect for the Teacher’s Time & Effort: Coming prepared and engaged shows respect for the work she puts into creating lessons.
Respect for the Learning Environment: The classroom is a shared space for focused exploration, not a personal entertainment hub.
Respect for the Technology’s Purpose: An iPad is an incredibly powerful tool, but like any tool, it needs to be used appropriately for the task at hand. Using a hammer to watch TV doesn’t make sense; using an iPad meant for learning to secretly stream hockey during an analysis of poetic meter is equally nonsensical.
The hockey playoffs eventually ended. The iPads slowly returned to desks, but with a new understanding. We still used them for research, writing, and projects. But the constant, furtive checking of scores or social feeds? That largely vanished. Mrs. Abernathy had reclaimed our attention not by becoming a tech-hating disciplinarian, but by reminding us why we were there in the first place – to connect, to think critically, to engage with ideas and language. And sometimes, that meant looking up from the screen, closing the game, and realizing the most compelling drama was happening right there in the classroom, waiting to be explored. Her exhaustion that day wasn’t weakness; it was the catalyst for a far more vibrant and respectful learning experience. The iPads stayed, but they finally knew their place.
Please indicate: Thinking In Educating » The Hockey Game Heard ‘Round the Classroom: When iPads Took Over English Class