Suits, Tradition, and the Rink

Garrett Milan and Carter Shinkaruk photographed by Laney Martin

Hockey has always understood the role of the suit.

Long before warmups and tape jobs, players arrive in tailored jackets, pressed trousers, and polished shoes. It is a quiet ritual. A moment of composure before impact. The suit is not about vanity. It is about respect. For the game, for the room, and for the work ahead.

When we fit the Rock Lobsters, that tradition guided everything.

Fittings were unhurried. Measurements taken with intention. Posture observed, not corrected. These are athletes whose bodies tell stories. Years of repetition, strain, recovery. The goal was never to disguise that. The goal was to honor it. Jackets shaped to shoulders built through seasons. Trousers cut to move, not restrict. Clothing that meets the body where it is.

For veterans like Carter Shinkaruk and Garrett Milan, the suit is already familiar territory. It mirrors the way they approach the game. Prepared. Composed. Aware of detail. Wearing a suit before puck drop is a mental shift. You arrive as a professional before you become a competitor.

That mindset matters.

In a city like Athens, where craft and culture overlap, the suit becomes another language. One spoken quietly. You feel it in the way a jacket settles across the back. In the confidence that comes from knowing nothing is fighting you. Everything is aligned.

Hockey is violent by nature. Preparation is not. The suit exists in that space between chaos and control. It slows the moment before impact. It reminds players who they are before they step into who they must become.

For the Rock Lobsters, this tradition fits naturally. A team built on discipline, veterans, and structure understands the value of arrival. The suit is not separate from the game. It is part of it.

Just like the chessboard at center ice, it speaks to foresight. To be patient. To the understanding that how you enter a room often determines how you leave it.