Saturday, December 29, 2007


Hey gang!

How’s it hangin?

Saint Nick leave you a treat or two? I got mine. Nice!

Not much to write this week cuz I’m spending some time right now getting sauced with the honey. Got the fire going in the fireplace, the in-laws or out for a while and the snow is crispy. Most days I’d say “Oh, just for a rink in the back yard!” But not today.


Got some other stuff on my mind.

But I read some legal shit recently that made it sound like Chuck Norris is going after people using his good name.


You’d think he’d appreciate the free advertising, ehh? When you think about it, he should be probably paying us to wear his name on our jerseys, right?

“Norris’ Nightmares”. What a team! Those kids are the best damn hockey players you ever did see. They’ve got it all and more heart then you’d think possible from a bunch of hard-asses.

I’d hate to have to change their name because “Carlos” thinks he’s getting a bad rep.

In event he comes after us awe struck Chuck Norris wanna-bees, do any of you guys have an idea for a new name?

Let me know if ya come up with any good ideas. I just may need one.

Captain Morgan’s calling for another round so I gotta run.

But have yourselves one heck of Great New Year! Spend a little time walking with wood, ehh!

See ya then in 2008.

Jasper Wheats - your favorite little lopsided puck buddy.

Sunday, December 23, 2007


A very Merry Christmas to all my fool puck buddies out there!

Hope that all of you have been good this year and are getting what ya want for Christmas.

Yup and I ain’t going to use some politically correct phrase to greet ya. Its “Christmas“, dab nab it. I’m a Christian by belief and that says that I’m celebrating the birth of Christ at this time of year and you can greet me any old dang way you want but I’m going to use the word “Christmas” when I greet you.

I’ve been writing this hockey humor now for a year and I have no intentions of stopping at this point. I do intend to spread the word a bit more in the coming year and will be posting last year’s blogs on You can probably find me there if you do a search while in myspace and look for either my user name “Hockey Bob” or my email “walkingwithwood”. At some point in time I also intend to develop a website - but not yet cuz I need a bit more free time in order to get started. If anybody wants to help me for free then just shoot me an email. OK?

Last night I watched a hockey game on TV. It was the Sharks versus the Ducks on Fox’s sports network in the Bay Area (San Francisco, CA) and the Ducks again pounded the Sharks on their own ice. I don’t really care, I’m an LA Kings fan anyway (FOOL!), but it was ice hockey and for it to be televised I was quite pleased. It made for an enjoyable evening to hang out with the honey. But shiiish, it was the third televised game between these two competitors in this week before Christmas. By now they must really hate each other, ehh?

While watching and at a point where I was really just listening I heard the announcers mention that Sher-Wood had announced it is going to stop producing their premium wooden hockey sticks. They came back a few minutes later and said that their support staff had determined that only seventeen (17) NHLr’s are currently using wooden sticks.

Blymie! My whole realm of existence is based on wooden hockey sticks. As Jasper Wheats my tag line is “walking with wood” and this news just can’t be true. How many times have I praised the good wood of Sher-wood hockey sticks, ehh? You guys know that I love these beautiful and deadly weapons of our trade. Right? I’ve always had a preference to use a Paul Coffee signature model P.M.P. 5030 droit (right to you English speaking folks). Damn! What is the world coming too?

My first thought last night was that the whole world is just going too green. Hence the title of this blog. It just might be the case when you dig deep enough. I remember back when we were all trying to be so ecological and at that early time it meant using things from the earth that were replenishable. That meant using things from plants and animals and not using things that required petroleum products. Trees can be planted and will grow, right? And cows will give birth to calves and calves will grow. So products made from these were good for us because someday we would run out of oil. Now you guys all know that plastics are made from petroleum products right? Doubt me? Then look it up.

But somewhere along the way green changed its meaning to using products that didn’t use replenishable forests. The tree huggers won, ehh? So instead we now have all of these plastic’s and other oil based wastes going into landfills where it will take ten million years or so to break down and revert back into a natural substance. I don’t think that that is so smart - but then I ain’t no rocket scientist am I? I’m just a little lopsided hockey player that likes to walk with wood. I like to use Sher-Woods and they make those out of wood, ehh. Replenishable. My first hockey helmet was made of leather, not plastic. It was an ugly little wrap around with a spider web top. All leather. I don’t know if it protected me so well, but it fit over a woolen knit stocking cap just fine. And then there’s that stocking cap - wool, not knit synthetics. Replenishable from sheep. And my first good skates were all leather uppers and soles from Bauers. Of course they had a small bit of plastic or glass reinforced resin armor between the inners and outers. You’d take those home and soak’em in hot water and then put them on for the day while they dried up and shrunk to a perfect fit around each foot. Then you’d wax them up with a good saddle soap - again made of replenishable animal fat. Of course I always wished that I could afford a good pair of Tac’s back then. They were made of kangaroo skin leather - again replenishable. By the time I could afford those light weight babies they made it illegal to use kangaroo. Some do-gooder came up with that “swell idea” not realizing that kangaroos are like rodents in Australia and they’ve got way too many of them.

Is Sher-Wood getting on the green parade?

So this morning I decide to google this issue with Sher-Wood.

I come a cross an interesting article by Sean Gordon, the Quebec Bureau Chief of the Toronto Star that was published November 5, 2007. Ok, so it’s old news now - almost two months old, ehh. But so what. I don’t get the Toronto Star delivered here to the cabin. It’s news to me.

Here’s the skinny.

Sherbrook Woodcraft was started up in 1949. The name has now been shortened to Sher-Wood which we are all familiar with and their always popular hockey sticks. Last year they made one million wooden hockey sticks and three-hundred and fifty thousand composite sticks.

So you can see there is still one hell of a market for wooden sticks.

What they are going to do is stop making their signature premium sticks at their factory in Quebec. Leopold Drolet the owner and earlier designer of the Sher-Woods that Guy LaFleur used has stated that it is “no longer possible to make a profit mass producing wooden sticks with Quebec timber”.

Well what the fuck are we going to do?

They will be made elsewhere. China, India, Timbuktoo. Shit I don’t know!

Drolet himself said that he doesn’t use a composite or aluminum shaft stick He won’t play with anything except a 5030. Well what the heck is he doing. About forty folks are going to lose their job at his plant. And that’s about half of them. Nice Christmas present, ehh?

After reading that statement I got up out my comfy recliner, walked barefooted over into the icy mud room and grabbed one of my 5030’s. Not broken yet, its an old Bellows 23 signature model feather-lite. And it felt good in my bare hands. I can still read the price tag: $24.60 USD. I preferred the Paul Coffee version but they must not have had any in stock when I bought this one. Shit, Drolet, raise the price. Here you’ve got one of the greatest sticks in the world and you could be selling it for a few more bucks, ehh. What’s a good composite cost - $80 - $150? You got some room in there to raise your prices.

This is what LaFleur had to say, “The P.M.P. 5030 was the best stick in the world.” And then he said something about gaining ten to twenty miles an hour on your shot with a composite. But what good is that if ya miss the net by fifty feet? The hero, LaFleur, knows what he’s talking about, ehh. Didn’t he score almost 620 goals in his career? I do believe that he also said something about “crap” and questioning what kind of parent can afford a $200 stick for a kid that shows an interest in the sport and is just starting out.

Well, who are these seventeen NHL players that are still using wooden sticks? I want to know. I know of one that is and he’s using Sher-Woods. That’s Jason Spezza of the Ottawa Senators. Yeah the dude is walking with wood, ehh! And you should be too!

That’s it for now.

Jasper here until next year.

Merry Christmas and I hope ya get some wood for the new year.

Saturday, December 15, 2007


Hey you guys, here’s a Happy Good Holiday to you!

It’s been a fair week so far for me. Been back home for most of it instead of being on the road. The company Christmas Party is tonight, so I’ve got that going for me, which is nice. Me and the honey will get dolled up and have some fun. She bought me some nice dress slacks and had them tailored so that my short leg doesn’t have a damn pile of fabric hangin on my boot. It helps to look spiffed up for these things ya know. She’ll look stunning as usual - damn I love that lady!

So being in town I got a chance to coach a couple of games with my Norris’s Nightmares. Jingles and Bronzy have been doing wonders with them. They looked tight and are two games out of first place in their division. They split the games with the Red Dogs over in Wateca. The Red Dogs have got that hotter then shit girl goalie. She’s got that glove hand that every guy is looking for around midnight if ya know what I mean - fast. Tanker bullnosed through the slot for a couple of goals in the second game knocking her on her keister both times. Just a tiny bit of fisticuffs erupted as would be expected. But the bitch is tough, and takes her teeth out when she plays. She knows what she’s up against every night. Our defense finally looks like their working as team-mates now when they’re out on the ice. Seem to know where each other is at or at least where they’re supposed to be at. It looked good. I was real pleased. These guys have really been working hard and I gotta say that they’re walking with wood right now.

I also managed to hook up for a game with the Outlaws last night. Woody moved out of state earlier in the season so I played as him. He’s my drunken twin to most folks who have ever seen us together, ’cept his short legs are both the same length. I don’t have his skills either, but who cares - nobody gives a rats ass. It was fun. We went over to Maggy’s and closed the place like old times. Nothin like chugging brewskies and having the barmaid bringin ya free shooters, ehh. I hadn’t hung out with these guys for a while so It was the tits of a good time.

Maggy’s parking lot is gravel and this time of year ya can’t see much of it due to the snow. Stinky comes over and plows it out for her and gets free lunches a couple a times a week for helping out. So anyway ya gotta kinda watch your step out there cuz one step ya take might be on some packed ice or re-melt with a bit of a slip and the next ya might hit exposed gravel grabbin your foot fo a nose dive. It’s a little dicey.

We call it a night inside but Jingles and Bronzy continue some small talk as we head towards my truck. I pull my gear out the cab to throw into the bed when out of the dark Tidwilly and the Wanker boys jump me. Oh shit! What a mess that was. Jingles just about ripped Tidwilly apart. He picked him up at one point and threw him completely over the hood of my truck. The dude just has an Irish mean streak that comes out sometimes and when he’s pumped there’s some unbelievable strength lurking beneath that mellow nature of his. Bronzy, too, don’t believe I ever seen him fight with such vigor. Me, I slipped on the packed snow at the first blow but by the time I was up, Jingles was on Tidwilly. So I squared off with one of the Wanker boys, I can’t tell em apart. They’re both just no good sons of a bitches. We took our blows but I truly believe we pretty much pounded the shit outta them before the sheriff deputies showed up.

Deputy Skolyan took charge of the situation and had dictated cuffing us all. Man was I pumped! After a few minutes while he was on the radio we sat in crusiers waiting to get hauled in. Then he came over to the car that me and my brothers were in and said “Un-cuff the Wheats’. Jasper, you, and your brothers, head-on on home now. Don’t get in anymore shit. These dirt bags that ya whooped on have got some recent warrants against them. I ‘spect that they’ll do thirty days or so. Gonna be Christmas Toads back at our little county lockup. Now git outta here.”

I looked over at Jingles and he had one of his shit eattin grins on and was looking at his bloody knuckles and then I looked over at Bronzy. The dude looked like he was on speed or something. His eyes were so dilated - I realized he was just as torqued as me.

I said, “Hey, sleep ain’t gonna come easy tonight. What say we go down to Denny’s for Grand Slams?”

Jingles smirks, “I think we just had one, but that suits me just fine, Jasper. Lets roll.”

Over to Denny’s we get our chow and like Jingles likes to say “The thousand assorted jellies.” Damn it’s good to be hangin out with my brothers.

Jingles is eight years younger then me. He was born in early January and I like to think that he is one of the best late Christmas presents I ever got. I had been the only boy in the family until he came along - shit having five sisters up until then. I remember how proud I was of him when I was just a kid. I remember the first Christmas present that I bought for him. Cost me a whole dime. It was a blue plastic bear, about five or six inches long. I thought it was just the coolest thing to give your baby brother. Yup, you ain’t real smart when you’re just a kid yet. But he was special to me. Seems as though in fourth or fifth grade I took him with me on the last day of school for show-and-tell. Damn, using your brother as a show-and-tell piece. Crazy, ehh?

We jabbered about all the old time shit while we ate our breakfasts. I told em that watchin Jingles throw Tidwilly reminded me of the time when Bronzy was snooping around under the Christmas tree as a kid and it pissed me off so much that I picked him up and took him outside and threw him into junipers in the front yard.

Bronzy responds, “Yeah, Jasp, you’d go a little crazy now and then didn’t ya?”

Jingles joins the chew on me and says “Shit, remember when I was your jinx whenever you were working on your car. I remember you throwing me around a bit too.”

“Fuck you, you guys. Nobody knew it back then, that I had a blood sugar problem that would make me damn cantankerous if I didn’t eat with regularity. That’s what most of the problem was. I’ve come to figure out that that’s why I’d get so angry about having to wait to eat dinner after Dad got home from work.”

Bronzy about spews his Tabasco’d eggs, “Nine o’clock?”

“Yeah, nine o’clock, Jasper! You still got that clock that Lori and Jim gave you for Christmas that year that only has nine’s on it? Shit, you always were screaming at Mom, “When are we gonna eat, nine o‘clock?“”

“Damn right I still have it. Keep it in my office at home along side some other treasured stuff. I replace the battery in it every year or so and never had any problem telling what time it is with it.” And I jab back, “Ya still got those Nuclear Briefs that I made for you that one Christmas?”

We had made Christmas lists back then and he had written "Nuclear Briefs" on his list. So I made him some. Bought a jock strap and spray painted it gold and threaded an electrical cord into the waist elastic. Made a semi-professional label for a box and wrapped it all up for him. It was hilarious.

“Did anybody ever take a picture of you wearing it? I’d love to post that on a website.”

“Eat shit Jasper. I have no idea what happened to that thing. I figure that one of these years Ry-Ry will surprise me with a new pair.”

We carried on for some time talking about the old days.

Family is something great and I gotta tell ya (not tryin to be all mushy and shit) ya gotta cherish every single moment. Like country singer, Kenny Chesny‘s song “Don’t Blink.” It all goes so fast and every moment can create a hell of a memory for ya. Hang on to them. Tell the stories later and you’ll be walking with wood in the eyes of your future kids or grandkids.

I think back at Christmas’s when I was a kid and the few gifts that I got. We weren’t rich and there sure were a bunch of us in the family. As I recall these items mentioned next were my main gifts in any particular year.

A model airplane, Navy Trainer, made of thin webbed plastic with a rubber band driven prop. Dad could make it fly further then I could. Guess it was because of his height - the plane had more altitude to start with. Me, I’d just wind the rubber band as tight as I could to help it out. Broke the rubber band a few times. Took forever after breaking this gift for me to figure out how to fix things.

An orangish-yellow sweatshirt that had either Daniel Boone or Davy Crockett on it. I’ve never had a yellow sweatshirt since then but wear grays, blues, blacks and whites all the times now days.

An eighty power Gilbert reflecting telescope. Still like looking at the sky at night and all sorts of other heavenly bodies.

Mark Twain’s book “Tom Sawyer”. Probably this tale has had more influence on me then much else. Am I not a little Tom Sawyer or Huck Finn myself, ehh? Could I become the new Mark Twain?

‘Course I got to pick out a new hockey stick one year and we know where that took me.

Oh yeah, those past holidays of gift giving and receiving were great times. Are the physical gifts more lasting then the emotional ones? Nah I don’t thinks so.

What kinda memories of your past holidays can you dig up?

Like I mentioned earlier, I want all of you to have a great Christmas. There’s no point in moping about over bad times. Make your own good times. Have a blast! You just gotta skate hard and walk with wood.

Don’t be a Christmas Toad, ehh.

Now I got some knuckle bumps to heal and some sleep to catch up on before tonight’s company party. So I’ll see ya later.

Saturday, December 8, 2007


Hey, you guys. Sorry I missed ya last week. Just have been ’streamly busy with my real job. I’ve had to travel a quite a bit recently and then had problems with the company vehicle that really clobbered the old gumption to tell ya a new story here. Besides work, Christmas is fast approaching and the season makes my mind wonder a bit. Start thinking about the old days, ehh, and holiday hockey out on the pond again. Those were the times! You guys can relate to that?

But I’ve also been really tied up in an old rag knot with a new endeavor. I’ll be teaching a university class this spring and have to do a lot prep shit for that too. With all that’s going on I sure hope that someday I’ll have sacked away enough money that the honey and me can afford to quit milkin the cows, if ya know what I mean.

So here goes this week’s trip into my world. Hang on, cuz I sure hope ya got an appetite for some excitement and dad-burn foolishness.

HASH - you’re familiar with the word, ehh? Yah. A shortened version of the word hashish that Webster says is “unadulterated resin from the flowering tops of the female hemp plant that is smoked, chewed or drunk for its intoxicating effect.”

Oh yeah!

Put it simply it’s the illegal drug that the youth of world toked up in bongs and hash pipes long before all this chemical crap got invented that kids are getting fucked up on nowadays. Yup, it’s the flowering sap from pot plants. A smelly, brownish, little turd looking substance that’ll get ya high.

Experience says it works. But my drugs of choice these days only include the caffeine in my coffee or cola pops, alcohol in my beerskies (or during this Holiday Season a little Irish Cream and Kahlua), prescription meds that the doc gives me to let me live to a ripe ass age, and ibuprofen for all my ding-dang aches and pains.

But in the day I wasn’t no panty-waist. I did the shit. Makes me wonder, though, thinking back a few years that how much I enjoyed the morphine after they replaced my hip. Just surprised that I didn’t end up a geezed out street druggy instead of the upstanding old fart that I am today.

But back to HASH, ehh. Like pot, it gives ya the munchies. Now the munchies are something we can probably talk about. You guys really know what I mean here, ehh? I mean come on, you’ve seen that Jack in the Box commercial where the dude is trying to figure out what to order and he’s talking to the bobble head Jack on the dash of his van … “Yeahhhh….. That’sss what I wasss thinkinnnn.” Sure for shit when ya got the munchies ya just gotta eat. That’s it! Flat as a pancake and time to scarf.

Well, I’ll be damned if I don’t wake up with the munchies every morning. Don’t you?

Its been that way since I was a fool kid not even tall enough to look over the kitchen table. I can remember a time when I was just a little tike and Mom had fixed chili for dinner. I wouldn’t eat it. She kept me sitting at the table until bedtime and then had me sit with that cold bowl of chili in front of me in the morning too. I wouldn’t eat it - no way - no how. I didn’t like chili and I sure for shit didn’t like anything with tomatoes in it back then. Sure I was starving big time. Munchies galore.

Being a bit pissed off while I was sitting there, I poured all the salt from the shaker into the sugar bowl and later on when Mom finally relented and let me have a bowl of Cheerios I plumb forgot. Egads - that was the biggest waste of breakfast cereal that ever happened in my lifetime I’m sure.

Breakfast is the stuff of life. Cures that morning munchy and leaves ya set for the day, ehh. A good breakfast and ya can be walking with wood all day long.

When I was a kid, cold cereal was definitely the standard. Cheerios first then I moved on to Wheaties. General Mills products - good stuff from a good company. They sponsored my Babe Ruth baseball team (wished it had been my hockey team, ehh). Now that’s a story. Had that big G on my uniform. Wanted to be a catcher but the coach’s son played that position. Fat chance for that opportunity. I must have really sucked anyway cuz I only got to play in one game and that was for the opposing team on an account they didn’t have enough guys show up. A real ego booster - that was - Babe Ruth Baseball. Huh?

It was always a real treat if we got sugar coated cereals when I was kid. But occasionally we would get some Frosted Flakes, Sugar Pops, AlphaBits or Sugar Smacks. Mmmmm mmmmm mmmm! I sure loved those sweet morning bowls filled to the brim with milk.

My school buddy, Girbin, just loved those Sugar Smacks and the old sugar bear that they used in the advertisements. We’d get nuts-o after school eating a bowl or two together.

Coulda been a sugar fiend I guess too, if not a morphine addict. Maybe most of us were. Some of us still are. Gotta have our fix.

Mom was pretty strict about that sugar consumption though. Or at least with me anyway. Around the time Jingles and Bronzy were around she musta lightened up a bit. Damn, they ate Cap’n Crunch. Is it still around? I don’t know. Turned the milk yellow in the bowl and I think it was 40 to 60 percent sugar. Each of em used to eat a whole box for breakfast. You didn’t have to add more milk - just add more cereal. Poor Mom, I’m sure she had to deal with the sugar high that these little junkies took off on.

I still wake up with the munchies every day and I still occasionally fix myself a bowl of cold cereal to remedy that need. ‘Cept now days I start with about a third of a bowl of crisp rice (all generic no name brands any more), a sliced up half a banana, a third a bowl of wheat bran, a couple of table spoons of raisins, and then topping out the bowl with some sugar coated corn flakes. All that scrunched down to make room for that good old 2% milk. Good stuff, Maynard! You’re set for the day after a munchy buster like that.

Now up here in the North Woods that kind a breakfast won’t suit ya too well durin the late fall and winter. Ya don’t want to be puttin too much cold shit in your body so early in the day. Ya need something a little more substantial. Something warm and I ain’t talkin about no damn oatmeal or Malt-O-Meal slop.

Ya need to add some eggs and such to your meal. Now Denny’s, I can vouch for, makes a damn fine breakfast. The Original Grand Slam will suit me just right. Ya get some eggs, pancakes, and choice of meat. Me, I usually go “all bacon and eggs over medium with coffee and a glass of milk with the meal“. Now this meal works great for a morning breakfast, as I figure, my family that hangs out in the city got together again this morning and probably sat down to eight or so orders of Grand Slams this morning. But it also works for filling your gut after a good game of late night hockey and then closing the bar. Done that enough times for sure!

But then there’s my other choice from Denny’s or any other reputable greasy spoon and that’s “bacon and eggs over medium with hash browns, toast and coffee with milk with the meal”. Now Denny’s has a little one up-manship here over others in that they’ll offer their “a thousand assortments of jellies” for your toast (if ya like the three flavors that they’re serving that day - that is). Ya can’t beat it, ehh?

Munchies, uh huh! I sure had them this morning again. I got up pretty early and the honey allows me to make my own breakfast and mess. Its one of the few things that I’ve been able to carry over into marriage from my years of bachelorhood besides hockey.

But it was too damned cold in the cabin to think about cereal. I figured that I’d fire up the stove and make myself something warm, tasty and filling. I checked out the refrigerator and saw that we had eggs. That’s good. Now there might be some leftover red potatoes from the roast beef earlier this week. Yup. That’s good. Now for the meat I see we’ve got some ham, roast beef and meat loaf leftovers, and a bag of salad bacon bits. Hmmm? Looks like the meat loaf and I’ll make some hash.


Yup. You guys, it’s the same word - just a different meaning. Now hash as from hashish we know now is a drug, ehh? I don’t know where it gets that “ish” on the end of the word but its probably like Turkish, or English, or Berkleyish; but more then likely it comes from Mendocinoish. I mean cuz like the best shit comes from there, ehh!

But hash for the kitchen fixin, now that’s something else! Again, Webster, my good bud, says “to chop, as in to small pieces; chopped meat mixed with potatoes and browned”. Yeah that’s the stuff!

So, I’m makin some hash you guys. The meatloaf was the heal end out of the pan stuffed into a baggy. I just crumbled that all up while it was still in the baggy. Fired up a large skillet with a mess a olive oil in it. Diced an already cooked red potato and started browning those pups. Dumped in the crumbled meat loaf, diced up a quarter of a bell pepper, kept the fire going and started stirring and flipping. Added a couple of heaping tablespoons of those bacon bits and shook a shit load of black pepper over the top. Smells damn good! Normally I add onions but the meatloaf already had enough in it for my tastes. While this was browning to perfection I got the heat under an egg pan and fried up a couple over medium. All finished I slop the hash on a platter size plate and set the eggs over the top - all to be chopped and mixed up together for a fine morning feast with a little salt and a glass of moo.

Now I use a plastic spatula for flippin the hash in the pan. When the honey makes this or similar dishes like fried potatoes she uses a little wooden thingy. Not quite a wooden spoon and not quite a wooden spatula. I personally hate the thing, but she likes it. After I sort of did my post cooking cleanup I noticed some unusual utensils on the counter that I’d never seen before. The honey must a got them when I was outta town or something. They look like white porcelain but are melamine, whatever the fuck that is, and were made in Thailand if ya can believe that. I had to ask her later where she got them and said she said at the grocery store. I didn’t believe her. They look like they came from a sci-fi store. The first one that I saw kind of looked like a fat tonged table fork with only two tongs. But not really functional as a fork - too fat. What it really looks like is a miniature electronic probe/jabbing gizmo that an alien might have used in Star Trek, Star Wars, or other sci-fi flick. She said its for poking things. I told her, I got the tool for poking things and it sure don’t look like that. This damn thing evens rings when ya tap it, like I said fine porcelain, uh huh. Scary! Now the other utensil looks kind of like a wide blade skinning knife but again that melamine shit. Must be a set or something. Before I talked to her about them I thought, well maybe its new silverware, but if the first one is the fork then this one could be the knife or spoon. Neither too functional. Too flat for a spoon - wouldn’t hold a bit of cereal, and too dull for a knife. She said its for spreading stuff for like icing on a cake. I don’t know though. Could be alien instruments if ya ask me. I’ll have to watch her for a while, ehh.

I’m going to tell ya - hash is a damn good pre-game meal. Ya just wanta make sure that ya scarf it down a couple hours ahead a lacing em up though, cuz it can sit pretty heavy and also cause ya to burp up them peppers and onions. I used to fix it with lard instead of the olive oil like I use now. Moves through ya quite quick that way with the lard and makes ya light for the game if ya know what I mean.

Hash is good fixins for camping too. I fix it for the guys when we go fishin and shit. Makes for a one pot meal that ya can have for breakfast or dinner alike.

I’ve been fixin it for years now, I made it with every kind of meat ya can think of: chicken, fillet mignon, pork chops, ham, steak, hamburger, elk, trout, bacon, leftover sloppy-joe, sausage, turkey dark meat. Its really a “leftover dream meal”.

So here’s the word from Jasper here, ya wanta push a little poop through the shoot and energy up for your pond hockey game tonight in the subzero weather then fix yourself a big old batch of HASH. You’ll be walking with wood like the big boys do!

Keep your sticks down and skate hard!

Sunday, December 2, 2007


To my dedicated readers - I apologize for not posting a new Jasper Wheats tale for your entertainment this week. I had some travel problems this weekend and some duties for future opportunities to take care of.

I actually started something about half an hour ago and then my laptop hiccupped and the whole of what I had written just diappeared into the nether world.

The idea still dwells in a wrinkle of my brain so given that I end up having both the time and the energy I'll get you something fresh before the end of the week.

Bobby (those of you at that's "Hockey Bob")

Sunday, November 25, 2007


Apres Thanksgiving

Jasper here - just sittin around the fire, the honey and me, enjoying the end of a fine four day weekend. Our Thanksgiving was great, stuffed myself like a durn fool and crashed out way to early for a man of my young age. One of my nephews on my honey’s side of the family had us over where his wife and her mom put together one heck of a nice meal. Turkey, ham, spuds, dressing, beans, dinner rolls, pies and cookies with ice cream and wine. Could a had brews but no one else was drinkin them so I stuck with the beverage of the evening.

I collected a mess a deadfall during the summer - ya know just a random assortment of hardwoods and pines - and split it up for the winter nights. Feels purty good to have the heat from the fireplace warming your soul. Sure brings back so many great memories of sittin around the campfire, drinkin brews and shootin the shit on all those fishing trips with buds before I met my honey. Course her and me have done our share of some damn fine enjoyable camping together too. Just really like sitting by the fire as ya let it burn down to just coals before crashing and looking up at the stars and wondering about the immensity of our universe.

Speaking of that, have any of ya seen that new comet that exploded? I’ve spotted it twice so far. From my local at about 9:00 pm its maybe 10 to 15 degrees north and 5 to 10 degrees east of my zenith (that means directly overhead for you dim wits out there). It’s looks like a small circular cloudy spot fairly near a yellowish star. I read somewhere that after it exploded it became larger then our sun making it the largest celestial body in our solar system. Of course it is so damn far away right now that you’d never know it, ehh.

Pretty cool stuff, that astronomy and sky watchin. I keep hopin that I’ll get to see a flying saucer, maybe, before I die. I just know that there is other intelligent life out there. The Good Lord didn’t just create his kind here on this planet, I figure.

I remember one time I got so caught up in star gazing around a dying campfire that I munched up a whole box of cinnamon graham crackers all by my lonesome. I’ll tell you, you guys, that is not something that ya want to do when you’re out camping away from civil facilities. Damn if I didn’t get the worst case a the shits that I can ever remember. If ya don’t believe me then you go eat a whole family size bag of teddy grahams all by yourself and see what happens.

Hey, I just wanted to say “Hi!” to all my friends over at You’re all good puck heads, ehh! Dudes and dudettes just living for the best sport in the world …. hockey. You guys have gotta just keep on skating hard and walk with wood when ya can. Ok?

Some a ya are probably still wondering about the continued activities involved with those bones that were found while hand excavating my basement, ehh. The sheriff still has it cordoned off and they braced up the end wall of the cabin like he said they would. We haven’t moved out cuz most a the work they do is during daylight hours and me and the honey are away that time a the day anyway. We’re both still having our weird-ass dreams or nightmares though. Shit, them puppies might never stop happening.

The sheriff and the county have put a pretty strong case together so far against Mr. Oscar Pederson. I guess that they’re going to try to extradite him from Argentina with the help of federal authorities. I’m wondering if they would take me on as a short little lopsided sheriff’s deputy. If they’d bring me on board to bring him back in, tear him away from that little hoochie mama down there, and hold him in the local pokie here I’d just be bejiggered with joy to do it. Shit howdy! Maybe I could get in a little side trip to cast a fly for some a those trophy browns that they got down there around Patagonia. Wouldn’t that be something, ehh, you guys?

As I know more - I’ll tell ya more. No secrets and no bull shit here, ehh.

Thanksgiving is over and that means we’re on the home stretch to Christmas. I gotta tell ya I went out and did some shopping early Friday morning. Nah, I ain’t no fool spending all day doing early Christmas shopping. Just needed some things for myself. Saw that K-Mart had flannels on sale for six bucks. Shit ya can’t beat that, ehh. So I headed over at 6:00 am and got four extra-large ones before they sold out. Already, that early in the morning, what a nut house that place was. Yup, I figure that these guys are going to shrink after washing so I’m just going to wear them as dab-gone long as I can before that happens.

I’ve been thinkin about getting the honey some perfume for Christmas but that went to hell in a hand basket since Thanksgiving night. That night her sister gave her a whole stack of women’s magazines that she’s apparently got subscriptions to and every one of them fashion mag’s has got about five or six perfume ads with them foldover scent page doo-hickies. She just tore those right out and folded each page up and put it separately into individual baggies for future use.

Shit, she’s set for the year, ehh. Now what am I going to do? You guys got any ideas?

I always try to put something together for the county’s children’s center this time a the year. Doesn’t seem to be as many parentless kids over there as there used to be but I still like to do something for them for Christmas. This year I had, what I thought, was a heck of a good idea. I’d make them sock puppets. Shit, I figured, I’ve got just whole slew of old hockey socks that I could use and the honey could help me. So, the night before last, I dug em up. I had some Ranger’s, Bruins, Golden Seals, North Stars, Blues and no-name socks. We ran em through the washer to make sure they were nice and clean. Then we started trying to put them together. Crap, some of these old socks had stirrups but that wasn’t the worst of it. Ya know ya can’t make a decent sock puppet from an open ended sock! Cripes did I feel like one stupid shit. Guess I’ll either have to give these old socks to Stinky or use em as car rags.

Another Christmas idea down the drain, ehh. I’ll have to figure something else out to give these kids.

The fire’s going down, guess I’ll have to stoke it up cuz the night's still young.

Speakin of stokin-up, shit, who lit the fire under my LA Kings last night? They went and beat the San Jose Sharks 2 to 1. Nice! Very, very nice! Its been a while coming. I’d really like to see them turn this season around and quit hanging out in the cellar. And shit, how about that goalie that Gretz picked up from Anaheim for his Coyotes. I think he’s got four wins in a row now. And the Caps are maybe turning it around too as they’ve got two wins in a row for their new interim coach.

You know, I’d just like to see some things spin in the NHL once in a while

Back to the duties of a Thanksgiving four day weekend. I put up Christmas lights today. I got sap on me up to my damn earlobes. Used to be so easy to hang them lights on the house when we lived in town. Now you can’t hardly see the cabin from the road so we light up two trees that we got out at the end of the drive. They’re kinda nice shaped and all so they look real good when I get done, but holy mackerel if them pups weren’t just coated with fresh sap for some un-natural reason. And me too for a while. Had to use turpentine to get most of it off. But like I said these trees look awfully damn nice. Its sure helps that when I had them run power for the cabin that I had them put a 100 amp pedestal out along side the drive. I’ve had to use that for all sorts a shit and it works just fine when ya got ten strings of lights on each tree, ehh.

How about you guys? Did ya have a great Thanksgiving weekend? Keep up traditions from your past? Damn I hope so.

I really wanted to get in some holiday pond hockey like the old days. Just some sweet pickup - three on three would a been fine. But it’s been so mild though so far that we haven’t had a decent freeze - nothings frozen over yet and if this global warming crap is for real then maybe nothing will ever again. Who knows, ehh?

Alrighty, enough for this week. Appreciate all of ya that read this north woods humor that’s been spiced up a bit with hockey and other tidbits of wisdom that ya can … never …. take to the bank.

Keep the snow outta your boots by staying on the shoveled path! Walk with wood and skate hard!

Saturday, November 17, 2007


Damn if my basement to be or as the honey says “your old root cellar” ain’t still all taped off by the sheriff yet.

Shit, shit, shit!

Them damn bones down there have just about taken the wind outta my sails ya know. I really wanted to get that baby closed off before the real chill of winter set in.

I did a little negotiating with the local public works department while I was outta town this week to get my hands on some used narrow box culvert that they’d dug up to be replaced with some wider shit. They’re replacing it out by Ledgewood Creek that overflowed last Fourth of July and closed off access to the northwest corner of the county for about a week. I’ll have to arrange to move and set it over here at the cabin, but I figure that it’ll work good for that secret tunnel I was tellin ya about earlier that’ll run from the barn to the basement. It’s about a hundred foot run so it’ll be ten sections and lids of that used shit. I figure that I can get Moyer to help me out with this shit - he knows most the local contractors that do underground utilities and stuff like that.

Our local county building department is kinda lenient out here and we most the time can do what we want as long as it ain’t living space that we’re messin with so this will just be pretty damn slick.

Back to them bones. The honey said that a deputy and Flagg came out on Monday and Tuesday. Didn’t chat with her much but she said that when they left they had two heavy black plastic bags of probably bones.

So, you guys, I got home around 8:30 last night from my train ride and was just bushed. Stayed up for a bit watching some TV with the honey and chatting a bit about the usual domestic stuff and then just hit a wall and excused myself to go to bed. Guess I’m damn glad that Norris’ Nightmares were playing away games this weekend over the state line and that Jingles and Bronzie are running them. I’d a died trying to keep up with the beers afterwards for shit for sure.

So I crashed hard like you guys do the net on a two on one bitch of a break. Goalies pain for your gain, ehh.

At about 3:00 am I wake up sweaty and hot and it sounds like Husongs Cantina in my head. Was that Spanish or just a garbled up midnight brain fart??? Then it comes back to me I’d been dreaming. And oh fuck! It was that same dream I had when I was outta town looking at resort property up by Duluth. The night I got thrown in jail for throwing rocks. The night the Staal brothers were in there with me cuz of their bachelor party.

It all came back to me so clear.

I’d been dreaming that I was walking up to an arena with my gear bag and sticks over my shoulder. It was a big place, I mean something big enough for an NHL game. I’m feeling a little nervous - kinda like when ya get the shits before the first couple a games a the season, ya know.

And outside the arena were all these vendors pushing carts and hawking their goods like the guys ya see downtown selling ice cream and cold treats with bells ringing and shit. ‘Cept these guys were selling stuff called Durdy Deeds. I walk by one vendor and he yells at me “Wut ya want kid? I got sum Hi-Stix, But-Ends and Cros-Chex left. Ya gonna neeeed em! Anything ya buy comes with a get outta jail free card.”

What the fuck is this ??? I’m trying to get my head on straight.

Another’s yelling “Get ya hooks right here! I got elbows, come on guys, I got elbows! Get ya hooks! Right here, right here, now!”

A vendor over to the left is hawking “Stitches, get your stitches, sutures here, you’re gonna need em! Get’m here! Going fast! Stitches!” Catches his breath and he starts again “I got knuckle bumps and black eyes, it’s all good shit guys, gettttemmm here!”

I look close at the guy and he’s got no front teeth - just a crunked out shit eatin grin with two black eyes.

The dream continues and I’m feeling really queasy as I head through the doors of the arena.

Inside the music is screaming over the loud speakers of the public address system. So loud and so strong are the bass notes that again I feel like it takes my breath away … “DURDY DEEDS DUN DURT CHEAP … DURDY DEEDS DUN DURT CHEAP …” I walk through the mezzanine with the adrenaline now coursing through my veins and look down at the ice surface below.

No glass, no fish nets for the crowd’s protection - just from the top of boards to a structure of steel framework that runs all the way across the rink - nothing but chain link fence! Yup, I think, this is gonna be old time hockey. Hockey at its rawest - inside that cage. The teams go in and they can’t come out. It’s the lions den, in the style of ancient Roman gladiators. A fight to the death; where only one man remains skating and his team (in name only - I guess) will hoard the glory as being victors of it all.

That was it again. That’s when I woke up thinking that all this noise in my head was maybe the crowd in that famous cantina down in TJ. I was sweating like crazy I tell ya and this time I could get up to take a pisseroo, cuz I’m home and not in some dab gone holding cell like the last time I had this crazy dream.

I tell the honey about the dream and she tells me, “Jasper I’ve been having crazy dreams too. Maybe this place is haunted. Damn them bones!”

Now she’s not prone to cursing so I better figure out what’s going on and get this resolved. I like this place and I sure the shit ain’t gonna let no haunt run me or the honey out a here.

After takin care of some morning chores I head over to the sheriff’s office to get the latest scoop.

First he tells me that they have identified the bones as being from one adult female and one child female possibly, too, of maybe eight to eleven years old. They think that it might be Oscar Petersen’s wife, Elizabeth but went by Bitty, and daughter, Shelly.

The sheriff said that they had a report from a couple of years back from Shelly’s teacher at the time, Annie Winslow, that Oscar had come in one day and said that they were moving and she wouldn’t be attending class anymore. The report said that Annie was quite suspicious because Oscar had acted really weird - “like a little boy dancing around trying to holding his water and he couldn’t look me in the eye. Wouldn’t say where they were moving to nor how this had come about.”

The sheriff filled me in some more. “We had done some investigating at the time - nothing too deep. Just checked at the bank and down at his office. Bank said he had asked them to transfer all of his funds to a federal bank in Argentina. And his office said that he had been working on a deal down there for about a year with lots of travel back and forth. It had come to fruition and he was transferred there to set up an office. Seemed ok at the time.”

“Well, in the last week we went back to his local office and chatted with his previous co-workers some more. Several of them said that they thought he had hooked up with a hot hoochie while he was on his trips. I won’t go into the details on that. But we quizzed some of Bitty’s friends and neighbors and none of them had ever been told that they were going to move. It was a real surprize when they just up and disappeared. Most knew that Oscar had been traveling to South America but that was about it.”

While we were chewing the shit a fax came into the sheriff’s office. He let me see it. It was from CODIS and confirmed that the bones were Bitty’s and Shelly’s.

Sheesh! Murdered bodies right there on my property. I figure that they’ll have to work up evidence and shit and then extradite Oscar’s sorry ass back up here to the back woods for a trial and all.

“But dab gone, when can ya free up my basement?” I asked.

“I’ll tell ya Wheats. We might have to continue excavating for a while now looking for additional evidence. I’ve got to get someone out there to shore up that side a your cabin ‘cuz I think were going to have to dig that whole side out and sift through it all. Still looking for a couple of slugs and the weapon and anything else. Were gonna need to interview you and your missus pretty heavy too about what ya can remember about the place at the time ya moved in. You guys might want to think about stayin with someone for a while cuz it’s gonna be messy out there at your place. Maybe through Christmas time.”

“Well ain’t that horseshit! I ain’t stayin somewhere else. It’s bad enough that I’m outta town so much as it is. The honey might want to stay with her sister for a while. She thinks the place might be haunted. You guys … get your shit done as quick as you can so we can get on with our lives, ehh.”

He says, “Yeah Jasper we will. Now you go on and skate hard ehh. And walk with a little wood if ya can.”

The man’s all heart I know - got a tough job a head a him.

Later dudes!

Wheats here. Keep your head up. Leave em dangling and work the corners. Walk with big wood and skate hard always!

Saturday, November 10, 2007


Jeepers creeps if my hairy old ass ain’t itchin right now. Makes ya wonder if the cheap toilet paper I buy is doing it’s job, ehh. Could be the scortchin hot sauce that I had on my burrito last night is burning twice ya know. Or it could be bloody hemorrhoids. Who knows? Shit, ya can’t very well bend over and take a gander at your own bung hole, ya know, to diagnose the problem.

Other then that I feel like I must be walking with wood, short legged gimp and all. That weekly routine of getting to come home for the weekend is some good shit and sure makes the whole world look a little rosier, ehh. Thank God for my sweetie!

Those guys a mine on Norris’ Nightmare have been doing well. I’ll run the bench for a game tonight - just gotta control my temper over bad calls. Hockey officials can just drive me nuts - guess that’s why we pay em. I couldn’t ever do officiating myself cuz I just end up getting to fucking biased. And I tend to cuss back when I get cussed at.

To get on with the business at hand, I’m sure that just a shit load a ya readers want to know what’s up with them bones that I figure Tidwilly dug up out a my basement excavation, ehh.

There’s some more to this that I gotta fill ya in on then.

After me and Stinky had spotted those various bones in our dirt pile, I believe I told ya that we kinda looked around for some more of them down there in the dark. We didn’t come across anything on our first examination. I called the authorities and the sheriff came out with the county coroner. We don’t have no CSI types around here and Jonathon Flagg, one of the vets in the area, has been assigned the job as coroner.

I had coached him in youth hockey bantams and midgets. Was sort of a solid kid but spoiled rotten cuz his dad was a rich-ass surgeon or something down in the cities. Didn’t stick to the game though, figure that he had too many other things on his plate. I remember that he had a nice looking older sister back then with big old perky tits. Seems as I recall that she tried to hit on me at a club picnic once - telling me she was eighteen already. Wasn’t buying that crap - jail bait is jail time. Nasty! ……. Nasty all the way to the bank!

So the sheriff and Flagg snag up that skull and the other bones and poked around a bit. Quizzed me only, cuz Stinky had split and the honey was off to the Food Fair. Didn’t mention to them that Stinky’d been helping me dig and didn’t mention that I hadn’t actually dug up the bones myself. Wasn’t about to tell them that I thought Tidwilly and the Wanker boys had actually pulled em outta the ground. Don’t need those delinky dead beats stirring up shit with me later. I wouldn’t put it past them to take pot shots at me or the honey or trying to fuck up any of my hockey buds in retribution.

They said that they’d file the legal reports and crap and would come back in couple of days to give me a copy. I signed their forms and asked em if they had any ideas.
Flagg didn’t say shit. He just had this damn pained-ass look on his face like he was armpit deep inside some cow’s uterus trying to turn a breech or something. Never could understand why anybody would want to be a vet for the farming biz.

But the sheriff scratched his balding head and asked, “Wheats, how long ya lived out here?”
I told him that I’d only bought the place a couple a years ago. The property had been Sven Petersen’s and his kid had had it sub-divided into 20 acre parcels. This one he had built the cabin on intending to live up here during the fall and winter for a hunting and ice fishing resort sorta place. I guess his job had become a bit more enticing and had actually moved on down to Argentina. He put all the parcels up for sale through an agent over in Pudnap and that’s how I’d come to own the place.

The sheriff goes, “Uh huh. Petersen, ehh? Would that be Hank or the younger one Oscar?”
I told him that it had been Oscar.

“Oscar, ehh?” He looked back at the cabin and spat some chew over that direction. “Did Oscar ever come out to sign papers or anything? Did ya get to see him back then?”

“Nah, his agent handled all the shit.”

“Alright then. Me and Flagg are heading back to town but I’ll get back with ya in couple a days.”
I told him that I’d be outta town and that I’d appreciate it if he’d hold off until next weekend. Didn’t want him dealin with the honey. Or he could call me on my cell phone to fill me in. I gave him the number.

I figured that was enough excitement for the day and headed back down to do some more digging. Regardless of the bones I wanted to get this basement done. There was still so much more to do and I want to get it closed off to the dirt before full-on winter sets in. That way I’ll be able to do the finish work through the season. Damn, its gonna be just a fine place to hang out and have some good times with the guys!

So I worked at it without Stinky’s help until around 5:00 pm. He said that he’d come by on Sunday afternoon to help out which was fine with me.

After digging and hauling dirt out for around five hours I got cleaned up and headed over to the rink for the Nightmare’s game. The guys put one away for me winning 5 to 2 over the Red River Roundheads. Nice!

After the game we went down to the pub and closed the place as usual. Must a been raining during the whole time cuz the road was a real mess when I was heading home. Sure glad it wasn’t snow yet. Wouldn’t been able to get home if it had been, figurin the way it was coming down.

Rained all night long and must of let up sometime in the morning. That is such a sweet sound in the cabin - heavy rain muffled by the log structure.

We slept in ‘til around noon and just had my first mug a coffee and some toast by the time Stinky showed. Had him come in for some coffee and to fill him in on the sheriff’s visit before we went at the digging again.

Afterwards we headed around back where the cut in was for the outside entrance to the basement.

Aw fuck!

The whole damn place was flooded. Stinky gave it a quick look and said he’d go get a gasoline powered pump that he had in the yard.

“We’ll have it emptied out in no time, Jasper.”

While he was gone I grabbed an old Sherwood and probed the depths with it. Damn if it wasn’t about four feet deep down there. It must-a really rained, ehh?

Shit! I thought I had this figured out so that the drainage would flow away from the cabin. What was the deal with this?

Then I noticed that our diggings were piled right over the gully on the west side and about six or seven acres of drainage had been diverted right into the basement. I had planned to spread this over a low area off to the north side of the drive but hadn’t done it yet.

While Stinky was gone I rigged up the snow plow on my little Ford tractor and started moving the pile and spreading the dirt over where I wanted it.

Mr. Stinky Duvall got back with the pump and we fired it up and drank some more coffee with ham and cheese sandwiches while it did its job.

Then we got back at it but what a sloppy mess that was. Every step we took sounded like someone was plunging a backed up toidy. And oh gosh was that mud heavy and all clingin to our shovels and boots. Both of us were trying to size out the far corners. Yup - that’s how far along we are. And then we close off the middle, dig the edge footings, rough in the plumbing, pour the slab and footings, and start standing the block for the walls. Yes sirree! We’ve come a long ways.

As I’m running out a wheelbarrow full of good north woods earth the wheel dug in and tipped the load sideways at the future doorway. Besides dumping the load, the side of the wheelbarrow caused the wall alongside a the entrance to cave a bit into the undercut that was caused by the runoff into the basement.

And there, just barely visible in the dimmed light was another skull almost glowing compared to the blackness of the wet dirt. I called Stinky over and we both looked at it not daring to remove it from the earthen wall.

“Jasper, that one’s a lot smaller then the first one. And I think there’s a hole that ain’t ‘sposed to be there.”

I grabbed one of our lights and moved up closer for a better examination. Shitski, shmitski!
Damn, it must be a kid’s skull and there was an extra opening that wasn’t supposed to be there, as far as I knew, anyway.

“I better call the sheriff again. You going to stick around? I guess we’re done for the day again. Ya think that‘s a damn bullet hole, ehh?”

Stinky agreed but said that he’d better scoot. Didn’t want to be around for the sheriff again - got his reasons.

Later on the sheriff and a couple of his deputies showed up with shovels, plastic bags and other paraphernalia that I’d never seen before. They put up some yellow police investigation tape and said that my basement was off limits until they can figure out what the hell was going on - looked like a crime scene now. Sort of hinted that it might have something to do with the Petersen clan.

I’m just going to have to wait to find out what the deal is with these two skulls and the assortment of bones that have been unearthed. And it looks like the basement is going to be delayed for a while.

But I’ve got hockey. Damn glad that it’s my season right now. Damn glad for my LA Kings. If ya look at today’s standings for the Pacific Division you’ll see them tied for last place with only fourteen points. Hah! But you’ll also notice that all five teams in the division only have seven wins. And between all five of them, they have lost either seven or eight games each. Anaheim’s listed in first place but has three more points then the Kings due to overtime losses only. That means that the Kings have three games in hand. To me, that’s three opportunities to pull ahead of the whole pack a losers, ehh.

That’s why, never-no-mind about the delay of the basement and the issue with the skulls and bones that were found there that I’m still a damn happy camper.

So you guys gotta hang with me ehh? Maybe you’re local skate shop will have a sale on some decent wooden Sherwoods or maybe your teams will win a couple in a row. No point in gettin all fussed up over things ya can’t control, ehh.

Just remember that ya gotta skate hard and walk with wood every chance ya get.

Sunday, November 4, 2007


Good grief, there are so many stupid shits in this world! I can’t even believe it.

You know as well as I do that we set our clocks back last night. Its never made a bit a sense to me. The cows still need to get milked at the same time regardless of whether it’s day light savings time or not. They don’t have a clue, but I’ll tell ya that if ya forget to milk them at the right time they sure for shit will let ya know. And the damn rooster will crow around the crack of dawn every ding-dang day of the year. He doesn’t give a shit if its 6:00 am or 7:00 am or even if its 6:07 am. Doesn’t matter a little bit to him, ehh.

So we’ve been instructed to reset our clocks. Yup, we’re supposed to fall back. Well dad-burn if I didn’t fall back right on my ass. How about you?

The thing that cracks me up though are the excuses that I heard this morning at the Norris’ Nightmare’s practice. I had not one but three skaters show up over fifteen minutes late and all three of them used the excuse that they forgot to reset their clocks.

Give me a fuckin break!

Damn if ya forgot to reset your clock then ya should a been here an hour early, ehh. Where’d they leave their damn noodles at? I’m sure that they’re going to be right on time to watch the Colts vs. New England game ehh. Fuckin NFL. Its hockey season now - you guys have got to get your time schedules right on track or get off the train, ehh.

I ain’t got time for these excuses. Those guys did extra blue line drills and a shit load a pushups.

Damn they pissed me off.

And ya know that tonight for the Outlaws game we’ll have the same lame ass excuses from a couple a the guys. Course it won’t be the same anymore without Woody. He’s done moved on to the East Coast somewhere. We’ll miss him dearly, both on the ice and at the bar.

Sheeesh! Anybody been watching my LA Kings? A couple of times now I’ve seen them at the top of their division. Unfortunately they lost to the Sharks last night. It was a home and home split over Friday and Saturday nights. Damn they’d be a hot team if they could get their goals against down, ehh.

How’s you guys’ teams been doing?

Then there are those Staal brothers, ehh? I’ll tell ya that its gotta be some shit when they play against each other. I’m damn glad that during real competition that both a my brothers, Jingles and Bronzy, have always been on the same team with me. Of course I’ve played against both of them in pickup and practices -- and it wasn’t always nice. Bronzy split my lower lip completely in half once and Jingles checks like a high speed bulldozer - ouch! I gotta catch those games when the Staals go head to head. It’ll be some good stuff!

Shit, you guys, I don’t have much else to write about this week.

I gotta pack pretty soon to hop the train tomorrow morning for my real job. Its some good shit - pays the bills - and the people I work with are some good folks. They come from all over the place; like Thunder Bay, Omaha, Ohio, Indiana and even San Francisco. Hope the train is on time and it doesn’t run into anything. Crap in the last month, on the tracks by the cabin, the durn train has killed three people that were probably stoned out their minds and also clobbered a couple a cars. Scares me a little bit, ehh.

Hey you guys should try to send me some emails cuz after work there ain’t much to do and I could use the external contact while out of town. Talk to the honey a couple, three times a day but not much else going on ‘cept TV and reading until I hit the sack.

So alright already. You guys gotta skate hard and walk with wood!

Jasper here until next time.

Sunday, October 28, 2007


Now here’s the shit you guys: I’ve been really working my ass off these days. And it ain’t nowhere near home - so nuts to that crap. I take a train to this damn out the way location on Mondays and then take that choo-choo right back on home on Fridays. This burg is so damn small that nothin flies into their little piss-ass airstrip ’cept crop dusters.

Prior to this little venture I hadn’t ridden a train, I think, since a first grade trip, down in North Carolina. Seems like we went out to Tanglewood Park out by Wake Forest, but don’t quote me on that ’cuz there’s been just a shit load a beers that have passed through these lips a mine since then and they say ya lose a few brain cells from every good drunk that ya go on.

But anyway, the train beats drivin if ya gotta get some work done or need to catch up on some sleep. It would only take me four hours each way if I took the truck but the train is five and half hours ’cuz of the stops and all. Trains ain’t bad, but if an aeroplane rock and rolled like the trains do - then we’d have a lot less folks flying. It ‘bout scares the hudspuckers right outta ya! But ya have a lot more room then on a plane and ya can get up and move around anytime ya want. But that’s my one real problem with this travelin. That one short leg a mine just about gets me tossed into somebody’s lap every time I get up to take a leak or get some vittles or brews. The train takes a little tilt to the left then a big tilt to right and back again. Damn if I’m not all topsy-turvey from this crazy shit and having no handrail to grab. So I just look for the soft spots for landing.

Twice now in a month, I’ve missed writing ya some bull-pucky here in this here hockey humor blog a mine on a weekly basis. Makes me feel bad but I got so much to do when I get home every weekend ya know.

When I’ve been getting back to the cabin I’ve been working on digging a basement. This ain’t no easy task - cuz this hole is under my existing cabin. You can’t get no backhoe over there to make it easy. Gotta be done by hand with a shovel and wheelbarrow if ya catch my drift.

The honey calls it “Your old root cellar.” Phooey to that! When I get done, I’ll take her down into this fine basement a mine and show her what kinda rootin I can do. Yup. No shit, she’ll be enjoyin what I got in store for her.

Anyway, my basement is going to be my sports den. It’ll have a majestic head with standard ass toilet, sink, shower plus urinal. Shit ya don’t have to worry about no lid in my place, ehh. I’m thinking a couple a big-screen HD TV’s down there connected to that old satellite dish up on the roof a the cabin. Some leather recliners, big easy chairs with hassocks, pool table, foosball, darts, you name it, I’ll have it. Course I’ll need a couple of refrigerators - one set up for a keg and another for bottles and cans. There’ll always be room for a shitload a Jingles’ home brews. No cigars or smoking, dudes, that crap gags me anymore.

I plan to decorate the heck out of it with hockey stuff. And other weird ass shit that you could just pick up and hold and look at and try to figure out what the fuck it is. Baffling, ehh?

I’m also thinking about digging a tunnel over to the barn too. Kind of a secret entrance. You’d need to know the password and the Crossed Sticks Society handshake to come on into the basement from the barn. Otherwise it’s a no-go, ehh.

You guys are gonna love it. Bring the kids over too ‘cuz I’ll keep some pop down there with microwave popcorn, chips and other goodies. Probably will have to invest in an X-Box and software or whatever the latest hot shit game thing is.

But like I said, I’ve been working on this every weekend when I get home. And I got Stinky comin over regular like to help out. I pay him a bit since he could use it and he ain’t afraid to get dirty down there in the dark under the cabin with the spiders, snakes and all. He really works hard which is greatly appreciated but crappola does he give off a foul odor.

I discovered during my trip home that I’ve got some extra help on the diggin that I hadn’t really planned on. Seems as though someone’s been gettin under the cabin at night and doing some excavating too. I got a purty good idea who’s doing it.

I’m guessing that its Tidwilly and them Wanker Boys. Them guys have never been up to no-good but if it is them, then I gotta tell ya, they sure been helping me out a lot.

Ya see, a couple a weeks ago, when I got on the train to come home, Tidwilly got on the train too. I recognized him and gave him a nod. We generally never talked to each other too much. He was bad blood and had been like that since junior high. He was gettin sent up the river with regularity for petty theft and shit like that even when we were kids. Stillwater was like a second home to him, I guess.

There’s a state pen there just outside a that town I’m working at during the week and I guess he had just gotten released. He roamed about the train at first then took the seats behind mine.

I figure that he musta been listening to me when I called home to talk to the honey. I don’t think he could really hear all that I was saying and what he did hear, I’m sure that he misinterpreted. I told her that I thought we’d save a little money if I only dug about half of the basement to finish off first. And that I could take a measure before I do any more digging.

I’m thinking that he heard the words “money” and “digging” and probably thought I said “treasure” instead of “measure“.

But pretty soon after that trip home the honey says that she was hearing some noise under the cabin at nights. She kinda wrote it off as maybe the neighbor’s bitch had got under their and was instinctively digging a winter den or something. She mentioned it but really didn’t think much of it. I continued doing my digging when I got home on weekends and didn’t really notice any dog piles down there.

Help out with coaching Norris’ Nightmare on Friday and Saturday nights still, but have mainly turned the team over to Jingles and Bronzy to run since I’m outta town so much now. So I’m pretty bushed all of the time and maybe I’m not as alert as I ought to be. Shit thinking back now, there coulda been a bear nesting down there in my basement-to-be and I’d probably wouldn’t even had noticed.

But this weekend, on Saturday, I noticed that the dirt down there was really loose and easy to dig out. It seems like it had already been dug up and tossed about. Hell, there were even a few pot holes that I about lost my footing in. Something was going on here for shit for sure. Stinky, with his infinite wisdom, commented “It ain’t no mutt doing this digging. Dogs don’t refill their holes, ya know.”

Yeah, I agree but hey its pretty easy going.

And last night down at the pub, getting a little amber Irish with the honey, in walks Tidwilly and the Wanker boys all covered with dirt just before last call. He glances over at me and gives me an evil glance. I turn back to the honey and just ignore them but it begins bugging me that they’re so damn scrounged up. I’m thinking - what the heck have they been up to?

So now its Sunday morning. Well sort of. We pounded a few too many last night. Didn’t hear a thing from under the cabin. Shit, we coulda had a dragster lightin up in the bedroom and I wouldn’t have heard it.

I’m looking out the window over the sink sipping some coffee and notice that the old dirt pile looks a bit odd. I mean it looks really odd.

Damn, I know its cold out but I’m f’n curious. So wearing just my boxers I walk on out to take a closer look. The dirt is fresh and not yet faded from drying out and just about at the top of the pile is a human skull. What the fuck, ehh? There’s a scattering of other bones laying about too.

Now I know that me and Stinky didn’t dig up no bones yesterday. Where’d they come from? It’ll be Halloween in few days - maybe its some kids’ prank, ehh? I grab one of the loose bones and head back in to show the honey.

The damn thing scares the crap out of her. Then I tell her that there are more out there on the pile. She screams and says “Get them outta my yard Jasper!” So I put my clothes on and went out to gather up them bones.

Just about then Stinky shows ups and I explain the situation to him. He figures that I ought to call the sheriff but doesn’t want to be around when he shows up. Makes sense to me - trouble can follow Stinky around pretty damn close.

We go down to the dig and crawl around a bit. There are a bunch more bones. Nuts, we didn’t dig them up. Then Stinky spots a piece of paper tacked to the bottom of the floor joists.

I yank it off the tack and scramble out of my basement to be to see what it is. Outside I don’t see anything ’cept paper. Stinky says “Jasper, flip it over.”

Flipping the sheet of paper over I can now see some scrawled handwriting.

I read it, then read it again.

It says, “Wheats, fuck you and fuck all your hockey buddies. There ain’t no treasure in your cellar and the fucking place is haunted besides. Signed: Tidwilly and my Wanker friends”

Well that about solves that. I’ll let the sheriff figure out where the bones came from originally. Hope it ain’t some Native American’s bones cuz I still got a lot of digging to do before the ground freezes up.

I’ll fill you guys in this next week if there’s more to tell.

But remember to skate hard and walk with wood.

Sunday, October 14, 2007


I hope all you guys can recall the story I wrote back in June of this year titled Hockey’s Secret Society. If your feeble brains can’t remember this shit then go read it first before you read the remainder of this week’s tale of wonder.

To give ya little recap to jog your memories - I’ll bounce your gray matter a bit inside your fool melon like an elbow to the chin, ehh.

There was a short discussion about Hobey Baker and his membership in the Ivy Club while he was at Princeton. He celebrated that fraternity onto his death when he crashed his plane and died in France during World War One. Our Outlaw’s, Pittsie, acquired through devious means, something of Hobie’s and later gave it to be stored behind the secret door of the Outlaw’s secret Crossed Stick Society.

Well, damn it you guys! I told ya back then, in that little episode of mine, to keep this classified info on the hush-hush. Nuts to ya fuckers - someone spilled the beans and the Crossed Stick Society might be in some deep do-do now.

Authorities are questioning now, besides being the first awfully damn great collegiate hockey player, whether Hobey Baker originated a couple a phrases that we now take for granted when we’re in the rink. These are “Skate hard!” and “Ya ain’t shit unless you’re walking with wood!” These same foolish folks completely accept the fact that he didn’t originate the cry of his club “Viva la Club Ivy” that were his last dying words. There is no question that he did in fact first use with regularity the famous phrase “May the wood be with you.” The folks at Lucas Flicks have paid just a tremendous amount of money to the Hobey Baker Foundation for their modified use of that phrase.

The issue at hand is that someone has claimed that they are a descendant of Hobey Baker and are laying claim to the copy write status of these phrases and the revenue generated from their use. The authorities aren’t naming this individual yet but there have been enough hints that I’ve formed my own opinion of who this is and I’ll reveal this later.

Here’s the shit.

The authorities have gotten permission to exhume Hobey’s remains from his Pennsylvania resting place and do DNA testing to prove or disprove the bloodline being claimed.

So you can see how that can put us in the shit, ehh. They get Mr. Baker’s body out of the ground, do a thorough examination, realize that its missing a vital body part and whambo-bamboo they connect it to us. Thanks to some piss-ass chatterbox we could be in the shit and could possibly lose are most valued possession. Plus that kind of investigation could put us under some hard scrutiny causing us to suspend or even end some of our more secretive activities. I don’t want to get into that stuff now you guys, but you can guess the kind of things that we’d have do without.

Well by now you’re probably wondering who it is that is trying to make some money here. Ehh?
Baker apparently never married so it was assumed that he had never fathered a child. But the rumors that I’ve been hearing is that the marriage issue is probably factual but the child business isn’t. Being the stud athlete that he was he certainly had his fair share of offers from the ladies of the day. It seems though that his reputation as a gentleman is relatively untarnished except for one partially documented incident.

On a unknown date the Princeton team had a road trip up to the Toronto area to play a club team. Who won or loss isn’t known but it was a terribly cold day; possibly better then thirty below. The game had almost been called off upon their arrival because blizzard conditions were developing as well. Hobey had left his coat on the hood of one of the two cars they had used to drive north in and the wind had blown it off. Game over, Hobey couldn’t find it. After looking for some time he told his team mates they better get going since they had class the following morning. He’d try to buy a coat and catch a train as soon as he could.

By now, from the sweat of the game, he’d become pretty damn frozen himself. He needed to warm up and found an open cafĂ© and got himself a bowl of potato and corn chowder. The homely young lady that served him after hearing his dilemma offered him a beaver fur coat that had been her dad’s. He’d passed away recently and he could have it if he’d wait for her to finish her shift.

Rumor has it he missed three days back at school and when he was seen around campus after he got back with his new fur coat he had a noticeable spring in his step.

Homely and horny, it sounds like to me, ehh you guys?

So he possibly left offspring back up in Canada.

So some of the hints that I’m picking up are that the descendant is Gretz and Hobey was his grandfather on his mom’s side. I mean you guys you look at the skill set: both were terrific hockey players. Besides Gretz’s wife and kids, he and his family members are in no way attractive. Gretz’s family is from the Toronto area. And the really creepy part is the number 99 he always wore. Respect for Gordie Howe, nah, no way. You take Hobey’s birth year 1892 and add the fist two digits together and you get nine, then you take the second nine of “92. So now you have two nines and a two - duh? Two nines, ehh? Spooky shit, ehh?

Yah, that’s what I think and I sure don’t want to get caught up in this investigation and the possible litigation that could evolve. We’ll get a hold of Pittsie soon for legal consultation cuz it’s damn imperative to protect the reputation of the Outlaws and our secret Crossed Stick Society.

Oh, yeah you guys - I want to apologize for not writing something last week for your entertainment, but I was kinda busy and distracted by my other job.

Damn glad that the season is underway. So you guys go out and win one for the Gipper, ehh.

Jasper here telling ya to skate hard and walk with wood.

Saturday, September 29, 2007


We all know that Wayne Gretzky has for many years now been recognized as the greatest hockey player ever. The man walks with wood from the days of his youth. What hockey record didn’t he set in the annuls of the NHL, ehh?

Now me, you guys know, am just a humble little lop-sided skater on the short side a being over the hill. Yeah, but I’m still walking with wood too and maybe that’s only cuz I invented the phrase. WTF? Well if I didn’t invent it then I was the first to use it so completely public like I do in this here blog.

The rest a ya can blow smoke out your ass if ya don’t agree with me.

Ok - the stage is set. Now here’s this week’s story.

I’ve been following the development and release of a new skate product called the Therma Blade. Its been in development over the last five years and could end up being an innovation to our game of hockey. In a nutshell the Therma Blade is a heated hockey blade system. The warm blade assists in melting the ice under it - turning it to water which in reality is the basis for a skate blade’s ability to glide smoothly. That is a “known fact” - plain and simple, ehh.

You guys knew that, right?

Ok, so maybe ya didn’t. Ya don’t know nuclear science either do ya? Me neither.

Shit, who cares? I sure don’t give a rat’s ass whether ya know science or not. You guys know some shit about hockey though and that’s all that matters. Ehh?

Around about the middle of this month the Therma Blade is going to be released and available at your better skate shops. It’s been tested by several hundred skaters including Gretzky. The developer of the new blade had him try a pair around the time of the 2004 All Star Game in Minnesota and afterwards he said that he would endorse them. Haven’t see him in any ads yet but my global reach in the fantasy world of advertising is kinda limited from my cabin here in the back woods.

Well this damn product has got me a little pumped up and I’m working on deal where Therma Blade ends up being a partial sponsor of my team: Norris’ Nightmares. Trying to get them to spring for blades for all my guys and gals on the team. They’d get advertising on our jerseys and in all of our game programs. We’re close in the negotiations, but aren’t there yet. I think it will be a great deal for both parties.

I’m working on some other sponsorships too. Takes a lot of my evening time after work - or as you might say “my regular job.” I get settled into my recliner after dinner with computer on lap, composing letters of interest to possible sponsors, while the honey watches TV in the background. Bless her heart for allowing me to pursue the excellence of hockey. She’s my girl, ehh!

One night last week I fell asleep in the old recliner doing these chores and woke up with the laptop blank on my lap and the TV still on with the honey out like a light on the couch. Dark as midnight outside and dim inside being lit only by the TV.

Ya know how that is when this sorta disruption occurs to your sleep cycle. You’re all confused and disoriented - me too. If it wasn’t for the TV, I wouldn’t have been able to get back on track right away like I did. I checked my watch and it was about 2:30. Shit, I thought, I gotta get up at five so I gotta get back to sleep. I’ll just leave the honey where she’s at. I look around to find the clicker to turn the TV off when one of those late night commercial announcer says “And you get these Magic Skates, the pair - left and right skate - with heel switch and pocket remote for only $50,000, batteries not included. Call now and we’ll throw in a personally autographed picture of Gretz.”

Not sure what I was hearing, I turned back to the TV and watched the remainder of the commercial. It turns out that the Magic Skates were really a bargain at the price stated. What these little gems do, is take your skill set and beliefs in them back to a previous time. Gretz is their spokesman as he had used them secretly during his NHL career. The ad showed a picture of Gretz as a nine year old, the season that he got 23 goals, or something like that, in one game. He used the Magic Skates regularly to take him back to that freak game. Applying the magic of the skates he turned into the super star that we are still in awe of today.

They explained that during his day as a player the Magic Skates were still in development which is why he wore them secretly. The batteries were one of two things that they’ve now perfected. Gretz’s version didn’t always hold a charge otherwise he would have scored thousands of more goals then he did. They’re not included in the base package but sold separately with a charger. This battery kit you can get for another $15,000 and worth every penny.

Now I’m thinking that I don’t understand the science of these dang skates but I sure like what they can do. But crap that’s a lot a money, ehh? Kinda like a specialized time machine that enhances your psych and confidence to overcome any defects in your hockey skill set. Maybe they’re worth it?

The second feature that they had improved was the power switch. They said that in Gretz’s day they only had a hard wired switch. Gretz kept his up in the top of his breezers.

Oh yeah - you guys are thinking now “Right, all this in one commercial?” This is one of those five minute infomercials. So shut those thoughts up, ehh.

Alright back to it.

So Gretz has this switch up near his hip. He keeps his jersey tucked in right there by it so he can easily reach in and turn the Magic Skates on. Kinda worked back then, kinda didn’t. Gretz sometimes couldn’t get his gloved hand to turn it on.

So now they’ve got a remote that can do it. Usually then, they say, it is controlled by the player’s coaching staff. The remote overrides the base switching system which is located in the heels of the skates. You activate the switch here by clicking your heels together. Kinda like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, ehh? This ain’t Kansas Toto.

Wondering, could these pups really take the abuse of a rough and tough hockey game? Or are a bunch of marketing shysters just trying to rip off the most honorable of athletes - hockey players?

Sheesh, I’d like to get a pair to try out. But I’m thinking when you get right down to it I never really had an outstandingly terrific game. I can remember one game where I scored two goals and can vaguely remember some where my defensive skills were pretty damn good. But just too much of a blur ya know, too many after game brewskies to be able to pick the right time of my hockey life to apply to the Magic Skate system.

I don’t know how they work.

Guess I won’t ever know - the dang alarm went off and it was 5:00 AM again. Gotta get ready for work now but that was one hell of a strange dream. Ehh?

Jasper here. Skate hard you guys!

Sunday, September 23, 2007


I kinda like to scrounge about and salvage things that can be used later on. The barn’s full a this kinda shit. Plus I really can’t stand to pay the premium dollar for something new when there’s just a stew pot full of folks that will let go of perfectly good crap for dimes on the dollar.

So when Timmy, that’s T-Ball to those of you that remember him from an earlier tale, called up last week and said that he had a line on a wood chipper that he wanted and wanted to know if I was up for a road trip - well shit, I was all ears. He mentioned that there might be some other stuff that maybe I’d be interested in acquiring or at least looking at. I’ve been looking for a used log splitter and a portable mill. I’d use the log splitter to bust some a my timber to sell next summer and I’ve been also thinkin about constructing barns and out buildings for folks out in the North Woods to pocket a little more cash so a portable mill would be damn handy.

Timmy says, “Jasper if you’re going then we gotta hoof it quick.”

I gave the cookie jar a look-see and discovered a couple a hundred bucks. Got a hold of the honey for approval then buzzed T-Ball right back. “Timmy, I’ve got a couple a C-notes and I’m ready to roll.”

“That ain’t a lot Jasper. But knowin your wheelin-dealin expertise you’ll probably do a-ok. We’re heading north dude so you’ll have to change that cash for Loonies along the way. Headin up by my grandpappy’s place. I gotta hitch up the trailer and will be by within the hour. Pack some chow, ehh.”

I threw together some liverwurst, Limburger, onion and mustard sandwiches grabbed a fresh bag of Doritos, and brewed up a couple of thermoses of java supreme. Time to get stinky - twice - I figure. T-Ball will appreciate this shit. Nothing like the competition to determine who can fart the loudest or foulest on a road trip, ehh? And I’ve got the fuel right here.

He shows up, I take a last pisseroo and we hit the road. “So where are we exactly heading?” I ask as we get rolling. I look at my watch and its about 7:30 Friday night and the sun’s already set off to the west. The night’s ahead a us.

“Well, Jasper, my grandpappy lives on Prince Edward Island. You remember that don’t you? Its going to be anywhere from a twelve to sixteen hour drive depending on the border crossing, night construction along the way and the ferry. We’ll have to trade off driving and napping I figure.”

He continues the small talk and I sorta remember that he’s from Cape Breton or Prince Edwards Island but mainly I’m just thinking somewhere north of Nova Scotia. Now I’m beginning to worry a bit. Sure hope the directions are clear and the route straight forward or we’re going to get good and lost when it’s my turn to drive. I could get mixed up in an ice rink (been known to have put the puck in the wrong net a time or two - aw come on you guys it was by accident - I’m really not that screwed up).

T-Ball jams a CD in and starts singing along. Its some fuckin opera or some shit and he’s doing a damn good job of imitating, at the top of his lungs, the foreign sounding singers. I ain’t into this crap but he pulls off some of the weirdest shit sometimes. I could go for some cranked up classic rock or some of that current country music like Toby Keith or Big and Rich or Keith Urban.

Them boys kick ass just like the my rock from the seventies and early eighties. If he puts in any rap or hip-hop crapola I sure for shit am going to give him a hella left elbow right in his fuckin Adam’s apple. We gonna brawl over that shit!

After about an hour a this (I keep hoping his voice will give out) he reaches over and turns the stereo off pulls a folded piece of paper from his pocket and says “I downloaded this and printed it out. Open the glove box there and the light will come on. Won’t give me as much glare as the overhead will. Take a look at that. Some fuckin sales, ehh?”

It’s a map. Hmmmm. A map that’s listing about a hundred and forty yard sales. The damn thing’s titled “The 70 Mile Coastal Yard Sale” and its of the area called Wood Islands over on PEI. “Ya see that Jasper, there’s a shit load of yard sales spread all the ways from Orwell down to Belfast and out to Murray Harbor. There’s going to be some good shit and it’s a damn good party besides. These folks will love us when we tell em that we came up from the States. If you let on that you’re a noogie puck head then they’ll be putty in your hands when ya start negotiating your shit. Ehh? You ready for this? Saturday aaaaand Sunday.”

Now me and T-Ball, we’d been out to auctions, estate sales, livestockin and such together cuz we sorta think alike when it comes to livin in the woods ya know. We don’t go at this shit like a couple a old bitties looking for knick-knacks and shit. We go for the gusto. If we can get someone to give us a lemonade then we can get them have us help finish off a case of brewskies and all a their leftovers. Since we’re on the cheap here (well at least I am) we’ll be looking for a place to shack up at least Saturday night and maybe Sunday too. It’s a damn game and we play it well.

The sandwiches and chips get munched away and I nod off for a bit cuz Timmy finally shut up for a while. I don’t know how much sleep I got but I woke up from him just ripping one really loud ripe one. “Fuckin-A, ya shit! We gotta open some windows.”

“It ain’t so bad Jasper. You can out do me old buddy. You ready to drive? You snore like an old pleurisied dog - ya bitch. I need to take a piss. We’ll pull over and swap over for a bit.”

We get out and piss. I cut a loud snorkeler, Timmy starts laughing and about drizzles on his boots. Damn wasted fart. I figure I can give him some sweet breaths while he’s sleeping.

I check our bearings. “Just stay on this road. It’s Trans Canada Highway 106. We’ll take the ferry out of Pictou/Caribou over across the Northumberland Strait to PEI. Make sure I’m awake then, ok?”

“Yup, I got ya covered”. Shit, I’m thinking: if I don’t get us fuckin lost in the meantime. I’ll be damned, I must a slept like puck in a snow bank, if I didn’t wake up back when we crossed the border. Poured myself a fresh mug of lukewarm java supreme - and we rolled again. T-Balled puffed on a doobie and was out in five.

“What the fuck, Jasper?”

“Sorry about that ya pecker head. Had to swerve for a couple of dumbshit deer and the trailer about fishtailed on us. We never lost pavement though. Ehh. Nod back out. I got things under control.”

From there on it was uneventful except for the juice I was ripping while he slept - all the way to the ferry. Woke him up and told him that his snoring sounded like a cow waiting for a late milkin. He chugged on some now cold coffee and we crossed over to PEI; wanting to hook up first with the dude that had the chipper that T-ball wanted.

He made the deal and we hornswaggled a free bacon and egg breakfast outta the guy’s old lady. Said we were going to do some shopping and that we’d pick up the chipper on our way back home - could we leave the trailer at their place.

We hit the road and cut the cheese all morning. He asked about Norris’ Nightmares and I told him the team was coming along pretty good. Just like when we were young Outlaws. Told him that Jingles and Bronzy were running the practice this weekend for me. It’d be ok.

Damn right!

Anybody that’s participating in the 70 mile yard sale has balloons displayed out at the road and sometimes a little hint of what they’ve got for sale. I’m a bit more interested in the places that are more rural because they might have some equipment I need but we stopped at places in the communities too. T-Ball always gets a good chatter going with the dealers and shoppers both. I like to play the part of disinterest over what I really want and over emphasized awe over just terrible garbage. We saw the usual used household goods and clothing, trinkets and paintings. There were a lot of local crafts stuff too like quilts and cozies of every shape and form. Noticed everywhere a hodge-podge of crafted paintings, dolls and carvings of red headed, freckled faced tarts.

Picking one these various items up I ask Timmy, “What gives?”

“Anne of green gables,” was all he replied as he jumped back into his complementary banter with an older matron.

Like I knew what that meant. Anne of green gables, ehh? Not a clue.

We were visiting one place after lunch. (Had weaseled some lobster sandwiches out of a couple of young lasses at the last place while sharing some bottled home brews we had acquired along the way.) They had three tables out and you could tell that it was a couple of families working the goods. One of the tables had a couple of old style goalie masks on it and I gave them a little scan. Picked one up and the old codger sittin in a well worn high back oak chair said, “Yup, that mask there, ehh, used to be Cheevers.”

That said, I flipped it over and examined it a little better. It was just a toy street hockey or Halloween mask that had been marked-up and painted a bit. Probably even had been pissed on to look weathered and stinky. But it sure for shit wasn’t one of Cheever’s. Playing the dumb fuck and tempted to see how much bullshit I could get outta this old guy I say, “Cheevers, ehh? Who’s that?”

Oh that lit him up. He got out that old chair and came up to the table just laying it on thick. T-Ball had to get involved now. We just acted like we believed every bit of it. Everyone of his exclamations was followed with a “No shit, ya gotta be kidding!” He claimed that Cheevers had personally given it to him. Well if he had given him a mask, then in my opinion it was still hanging on a wall back in his den.

I quiz him, “How much ya want for it, five hundred bucks?” to see how full a shit he really was.
He stammers a bit and says, “Nah, not that much. I want to get two-fifty for ‘er.”

We excused ourselves expressing that we wished him luck and that a hockey collector might stop by with that kinda cash on em so he could sell it.

Me and T-Ball just about couldn’t hold our laughter as we walked back to the truck. That oldster had his head right up his ass, uh huh.

Been at it now all day long and I haven’t seen a log splitter or portable mill. Probably have to get that stuff from Sears and Roebucks alrighty or maybe if I’m lucky for about half their price I’ll find something that won’t fall apart right away from that new tool house they call Harboure Fraight.

We’re just about ready to call it a day when we see some balloons out at the road by a nifty little farm. The tables were set up along side the barn that had been painted a light grey with dark blue trim. Wasn’t a working farm I figured - too dressed up. Long handled gardening tools were for sale leaning up the side a the barn. Crafted items, pies and cookies were on the tables. A spirited, grandmotherly appearing woman was working the sale. She had made all the crafts and pastries she said. She had a nice comforter that was the colors that the honey liked so I worked a good deal and bought it for her. Ya can’t come back empty handed from this kinda weekend extravaganza ya know. Gotta score some brownie points when ya can. She shared some cookies with us - damn fine oatmeal chocolate chip. And we chatted a bit - me trying to bring on the charm.

I asked about the selling of the tools and her decorative barn. She explained that the barn was now set up as guest rooms and that her husband had passed away last year and he had maintained the place. But now she hired a local gardener so the tools were for sale. I told her that we were just a couple a hockey players up from the States.

She said, “Oh, my! My son had played hockey. I forget how much fun it was to go watch him play. Brings back such memories,” she whispered as several tears came to her eyes. “I’ve got some of his stuff I was going to put out but I didn’t think it would sell. He died in a car accident about twelve years ago, you know. Do you want to see what I’ve got. Come on into the tack room at the end of the barn.”

Being interested in maybe making arrangements to crash here later tonight I followed her and let her reminisce. We got into the tack room - maybe it was once but it looked more like a sports den then anything now and smelled of stale cigars. All kinds of stuff was in the room and all neatly arranged along one wall and in a closet. Nothing particularly excited me until I looked in the closet and saw a bundle of hockey sticks. Shit! They were Paul Coffee righty Sherwoods like I used to use and hadn’t seen in years. All brand new! An even dozen of em.

I told her that I was interested in the sticks but I was also interested in a place for the night. She said that she’d sell the sticks and two rooms for only a hundred bucks but it was conditional on us joining her for breakfast and conversation tomorrow morning. I told her that it sounded like a deal but we weren’t sure when we’d be getting up. She said that that would be ok - she’d wait for us. Then she went to get me a couple of keys while I took the Sherwoods out to the truck.

T-Ball had found a bar and grill up the road a piece after talking with a couple of other folks that were browsing the tables. We said our see ya laters and went on up the road.

The place was pretty good. They actually were a microbrewery that had some damn fine amber that went well with anything. I had a lobster dinner (never get enough) with home fries, dinner salad, hot cheese bread and more beer. Timmy had a steak and lobster dinner with a baked potato, clam chowder with homemade crackers and more beer.

We just sorta kept pounding those ambers and around nine a couple of young ladies showed up. T-ball hit on them right away and I joined in the conversation but mainly sat back and watched him work. They had come over from Halifax and one was stunningly beautiful - looked like Nichole Kidman, when she was in Far and Away, except when she smiled. She was missing two teeth in front and had a gold bridge with diamonds set in it that you could easily see. Kinda turned me off but figured that they were conversational so I asked about them. Seems as though she had gotten hit by a puck while watching preseason tryouts for the Bruins some years back. They gave her a big settlement and she thought she’d dress it up a bit with the moola. Kind a made me wonder how much else of her was “dressed up”.

T-Ball, always the ladies man, made his move and tossed me the keys. “Catch ya in the morning Jasper. The ladies and I have got some business to take care of.” And they disappeared out the door.

I order another brew and savored every sip rather then chugging it like the drunken fool I normally was. Paid my tab and headed back to the little hobby farm for the night. At some point in the night the next room got a little noisy so I figured that Timmy and the girls must have finally come back here.

There was tomorrow yet and more yard sales. Maybe I’d still find a log splitter or portable mill like I wanted. This 70 mile yard sail on Prince Edwards Island had been pretty good so far.