VOODOO HOCKEY

(or was it fakies?)

Hey my fellow woodsmen and puck heads. Greetings for a wonderful USA holiday: Memorial Day 2007.

Hope that all of you guys have your weekends planned cuz there sure as shit ain’t any hockey on the tube in my neck of the woods until Monday night. Yours neither, I expect.

I didn’t get so lucky as to find the Stanley Cup Finals going to Detroit and Buffalo like I wanted. Instead we’ll have to settle for the Ducks versus the Senators. It might be inspiring play - don’t know. We’ll see, ehh?

So, because I spent some years in Southern California as a Kings fan (and still am) and because of the close proximity I’ll toss my hat for the Ducks in this round. But I’m tellin ya, I ain’t no Ducks fan!

Moving on here and before getting to the subject at hand I gotta ask "You guys walking with wood this past week?" Ehh? Couldn’t hear ya here - just deathly silent here in the back woods. Whasup my friends?

Those of you in the know understand that I write mainly factual shit; spiced up a bit to get your attention and maybe give ya a chuckle or two while ya read. Today ain’t no diff. I spent quite some time doing the research on this blog and then married the story to some of my past experiences. Hope ya like it. Let me know.

If you’ve read all of my stories you know that I’ve got a thing for cheerleaders, right? Ehh, which of you boys don’t? Take off, you ain’t no hoser in my book then. Short skirts, stimulating cheers, pom poms, the whole damn works. I like it all - no doubt about it.

Well, I like hockey like crazy and I like to read a lot too. Reading about hockey though is going to get kinda slow in a couple of weeks. Shiiite! It’s already down to about nothin. So any article in my newspaper has been devoured and savored like the last bit of browning and ice cream that you slobber up as ya wipe the bowl with your index finger. Oh, another tasty little morsel. What’s this say?

I subscribe to two newspapers. One is local and so small its a wonder that they can publish it on a daily basis. There usually isn’t any hockey articles published in it. Just the local gab that I try to keep up on in case I’ve gotta chat with some one down at the bar or liquor store or something. The other paper is considerably larger and is published in one of the larger gay-ass cities on the west coast. This second paper covers hockey; so I read it like any dumb ass puck head would.
Today’s edition had two small blurbs - neither more than a couple of column inches on an inside page of their sports section. The first was some more follow up on the gambling issues with Rick Tocchet and the other was about Courtney Prince, the former head cheerleader of the New York Ranger’s "Ranger City Skaters."

Jasper Wheats here is going to discuss the cheerleader of course. Ya bet your damn ass I am!

It seems as though Ms. Prince has filed a sexual discrimination law suit against Madison Square Garden. Actually I believe that she filed the lawsuit back in 2004 so this business has been going on for some time. Some of you guys out there may know a lot more about this thing then I do, but I’m going to summarize the relevant issues that I understand.

Courtney, as it was, had been the head cheerleader and led practice sessions and led the cheer team at home Ranger events. She of course was instructed to teach the other girls moves that were sexually alluring, etc. Sex sells I’ve heard; so if there’s nothing going on on the ice then ya might as well watch these honey’s, ehh? She made about $150 per game which doesn’t sound like bad money, but ya gotta figure they weren’t paying these girls for their practice time.

The Garden has a policy that these cheerleaders and Rangers aren’t supposed to fraternize with each other. Apparently there was no such restriction between the Gardens’ staff and the cheerleaders. After a game in late 2003 Courtney was at a bar on New York’s Westside called Daddy-O’s. I don’t think Daddy-O’s has anything to do with my good bud Robbie-O, but who knows it could be his hep brother’s place that he never talked to me about.

So anyway, Courtney’s at Daddy-O’s waitin on a quesadilla and maybe or maybe not hangin with James Vogel, PR for the Rangers, and Jason Diamos, reporter for the New York Times. The claim here is that Vogel played some tongue hockey on Courtney and suggested a threesome. She shot him down and later warned her girls on the squad that there was someone on the Ranger staff that was a sexual predator. Mix and mingle folks - it ain’t what it used to be, ehh?

Shortly thereafter she was let go from the Ranger City Skaters. Allegations are bouncing back and forth.

Some say she’s bipolar. Others that she’s suffering from hypersexuality (whatever the heck that is I want some of it). Some of the girls say that she told them to make the fans feel like they want to get in your pants. Some of them say that she told them to stuff their bras if they felt the need. She says that the Garden’s executive staff instructed her to say that.

I don’t really care. Its just this little bit here towards the end that I’m concerned with. Do these girls have fakies or not? Nah, that’s not it. I like how the whole package looks. Entice me ladies. Real or not the requirement from me is for anything fake to be functional or toss it. I mean, you guys, look at me, I’ve got a fake hip. It works. I love it. Ain’t no bullshit! Fake this - fake that. From my perspective if it looks right or it acts right, then its A-OK.

So when’s it not OK. Let me tell ya a true story.

A couple of years after I quit playing full check hockey and joined the ranks of old farts playing non-check I came across a faky. This jerks name was Hurt. You know like painful. Hurt was a genuine faky from the get go. He played on one of the teams in our league - I can’t remember the name of it for the life of me. He really sucked. If it had been me running the league at that time I’d have put him down with the Squirt A’s or lower. The dude just couldn’t skate. I mean give him a chair to push around. It didn’t bother me so much when we played his team cuz he was just another pylon to skate around. The problem that I had is that someone allowed him to officiate games also.

Holy shit if that wasn’t a mistake!

He couldn’t keep up with the play and I’m not sure if he really knew how to interpret the rules. At least that’s my contention and I’m stickin by it.

As was typical for most of us that transitioned from checking to non-check; I had a hard time staying out of the box. As a defenseman I worked the slot a little too hard on occasion or took ‘em into the boards or dumped someone into our bench every once in a while shooting for a free beer later, or what have ya. And on this particular night I don’t remember what got me in a fix. But I figure that some a da Irish came outta me - arguing or maybe even some physicality with Hurt after the call. Well the shiite little faky tossed me!

Pissed me off like ya can’t believe, ehh? The dudes so far from walking with wood that he’s just a flamin mush pie.

Jingles skates over to me and in his vicious nice way gets my ass off the ice. Someone serves my penalty as the game continues on. Ding dang fakies don’t belong on the ice. I’ve got no respect for somebody faking to be something that they can’t be - not in a million years. Ya hear?

I’m sitting in the dressing room taking off my gear so I can get back out and watch the end of the game when Jingles’ oldest kid runs into the dressing room. We call him Ry-Guy. He’s about ten years old at the time and sometimes sits on the bench with us wearing a helmet and helping out running water bottles and such. Good kid, always an entrepreneur, taping sticks and other shit for us in the locker room for tips. He’s finished his undergrad now and is going to go to law school soon. Like I said - good kid.

Well Ry-Guy yells "Uncle Jasper, Uncle Jasper! Hurt just broke his leg!"

I said, "You kidding me, ehh?"

"No." he says. "Come on out and see."

So I walk out a the dressing room, turning my sock liners black walking on the rubber mats in the rink, and look through the glass at the near corner. Way down to the other end I could see that faky Hurt sprawled on the ice screamin his fool lungs out.

Deserved it, I’m thinking.

Ry-Guy goes, "I was on the bench and everybody starting saying that you must have a Voodoo doll in your bag!"

"That’s not bad Ry-Guy", I say chuckling, "But I wish he’d quit screamin. It’s makin me kinda sick."

I don’t know how the game ended up - seems like the final score is never as important as the adrenaline of playing. Hurt had broke both bones in his leg right above the top of his skate boot. Probably did hurt like hell. Did he deserve it? I don’t know. Was it Voodoo Hockey? Nah, I wouldn’t tell ya if it was. I sure for shit though to this day think that he was one of the biggest fakies of all time that ever laced on the skates.

I admire him for loving our sport and trying to be a part of it - but the dude was just way outta his league.

If your going to do it then do it right! Ehh? No fakies allowed.

Walk with wood my friends!