Earlier this week I happened to be reading a news report on ABC News’ website. It was a startling article by Marcus Baram titled “Did Bush’s Grandfather Steal Geronimo’s Skull?”
Holy shit!
The article hints that our president’s grandfather might have dug up and stolen, the famous Indian, Geronimo’s skull and femur back in 1917 for Yale’s Skull and Bones society. And that these artifacts might still be on display in the Skull and Bones “Tomb”.
I’m telling you guys that this is just hitting too close to home for me. I had to reread the article a couple of times and each time it gave me goose bumps. This is some scary coinkie-dinkie, ehh?
I probably shouldn’t be revealing the following facts but I’m going to anyway out of good conscience. That’s something that living in the backwoods teaches ya – get away with something for as long as you can but when its time (and you’ll know when that is) then ya just better fess-up.
So here’s the story you guys:
I mentioned several times how the Outlaws are such a tight band of bros. Ehh? You know it, you believe and you can relate to it. I told ya last week how to be an Outlaw ya had to have a certain charisma or we didn’t want ya playin for us. Right? Ya know the type I’m talking about. Somebody that could play the game fair enough, keep up with the drinkin and partyin and would have your six if ya needed it in a fight. Ehh?
The forefathers of the team, me included, had enough correct insight, to usually pick the right characters. Usually a season would tell for sure. At the end of the first season each player was invited to join our secret Crossed Stick Society. Yep!
You’re doubting this? No way guys! I've download a copy of our business card at the start of this blog. So go back and take a look above at our puck decal and business card. See the crossed sticks on both? Not kidding guys. Hey and read that shit on the business card. Whacha think we’re really up to, huh? Sorry but I had to black out the phone number because that puppy is still classified information.
Yup, we’re into some real live clandestine activities and some of those activities oh so closely mirror the ABC News article it just about scares the heebie-jeebies out a me.
We have a place where we gather for our Crossed Stick Society meetings. It’s in the back room of what used to be Happy Jacks Good Time Saloon. The place hasn’t gone by that name now for over twenty years, so the common folks wouldn’t be able to find it if they tried. Even when it did go by that name it was such a shit ass hole in the wall that most would have avoided it anyway.
We keep some sacred hockey trinkets there behind a secret door inside of the beer cooler. It just looks like a patch in the galvanized wall but we know better. So what’s in there, in the Cooler? Ehh? It makes me smile to think.
We’ve got some typical stuff. A couple of old raggedy, bloody, smelly jerseys from retired players. Yup they really stink to high heaven and we usually pass them around for a quick sniff at the beginning of meetings like you’d pass around a joint to get the party going.
What else? Lets see, we’ve got the first league cup that we won and that we all drank out of on that glorious night. Hell, my old man even drank outta that keepsake. Never been washed. Nope, and we occasionally pass it around at the end of a meeting filled with brew if we’re sober enough to remember. We’ve got a few teeth that we’ve put in epoxy shells and we’ve got one massive tape ball that Ry-Ry put together once. We’ve got JP’s goalie stick that has a puck mouse hole in it that one of Jingle’s slap shots left. – unbelievable. I’ll have to sneak a picture of that someday to show you guys. I think we’ve got a couple of pair panties and the some of the sacred foil that Vigor used to use.
Yeah, but we’ve got some more valuable things that have been snuck or stolen. Keith, one of my earlier defensive partners, came to us from Joliet. He was a big Blackhawks fan and Denis Savard was his favorite player as a kid. His dad used to get him into a couple of home games every year. He managed to sneak into the Hawks’ dressing room during the game and hid out in toilet stall during intermission between periods. Denny plopped down in the next stall and proceeded to have a couple of smokes while taking a dump. Keith snagged those butts and gave them to the Crossed Sticks Society to be forever stored in the cooler. We keep them in a baggy with like a -- toe-tag attached.
We’ve got a non-descript piece of plywood. Doesn’t look very important but it was tossed from the ice of a St. Louis Blues game. I figure that it must have been an away game because of I can’t think of an Outlaw that ever hailed from St. Louis. And it isn’t a piece of a stick blade either. Much more important then that. It’s a piece of the improvised back and spine protector that Doug Gilmore used to keep from getting damaged from cross checks while he parked in the slot on the edge of the crease. I don’t know who recovered it but it apparently broke off during a horrendous little battle and the linesman picked it up and tried to throw it into the time keeper’s bench. It missed and landed over the glass at the feet of a unaware spectator. Our guy snagged it up.
We’ve got some body parts too. Gavin who came outta Detroit had heard from his older sister in 1973 that her boss a surgeon was going to remove a bone from Gordie Howe’s wrist. She was an attending nurse in the surgery and managed to steal that little bone by doing a bit of switch-o-rama. I can’t tell if its his scaphoid or his trapezium, not being a doctor and all, but it ain’t very big either. We keep it inside an empty Mickey’s Big Mouth. I think Gavin had to trade some smoke to get it from his sister. But we’ve got it now.
But our biggest trophy item that we have is very hush – hush. You guys can’t tell anybody about this. We’d probably get prosecuted for some sort of international crime for this jewel. So keep it below the collar if ya know what I mean.
We’ve got one of Hobey Baker’s knee caps! Shhh …. keep it down. Don’t let anyone know. Ehh?
No, we didn’t dig it out of his grave back in Montgomery County, Pennsylvania where “most” of his remains rest, but it was one hell of an adventure how it ended up in the “Cooler”. We of the Crossed Stick Society keep this piece of Hobart Amory Hare Baker in a revered grape jelly jar submerged below some of Russia’s finest vodka.
For those of you that don’t know, Hobey Baker has an award named after him that the best collegiate hockey player wins each year. He was a phenomenal player at Princeton University in the early 1900’s. In my book – Hobey Baker was walking with wood. While at Princeton he was a member of the Ivy Club. History says that this was just an “eating” club but this story tends to indicate that it was similar to the Cross and Bones at Yale as a secret society. We tend to believe that it has its origination in Europe with ties to the Masons and Knights Templors or some other such secret and powerful secret organization. Some rumors of the Ivy Club hint that the boys were into some bare knuckle fisticuffs where much money was won and lost between the life-long members. Sounds like that fits well with a guy that’s buried in the state that the Flyer’s hail from.
Upon graduating from Princeton, Hobey began working for JP Morgan who we think had ties through his European education to this same Ivy Club. JP Morgan and his company were (and still is) a very powerful and wealthy institution.
World War I broke out and Hobey became a pilot and possibly shot down as many as three enemy planes before his own demise. He flew a Spad III that was painted Princeton’s colors – orange and black. I don’t know off the top of my head or not if he was shot down or crashed. But on December 21, 1918 he died near Toul, France, a town with medieval fortifications located on the Moselle River.
From here the official history gets a little dicey so we’ll pickup from Pittsie’s tale. Pittsie is an Outlaw from the 1990’s. He’s also a lawyer so I figure his story could be a little dicey too. I believe that he got his law degree from George Washington University and his folks (rich bastards on Edmonton oil or something) gave him an around the world trip as a graduation gift. About a year to see the sights and take it all in. Not bad ,ehh, for a puck head? It was a journey of heavy partying and he made many friends along the way.
He tells it that he spent about two weeks in Singapore, drinkin, eatin and waking up in places that he had no memory of getting to. He said that he had found a favorite little night spot that was mainly catering to the foreign crowd and partied his ass off there at the start of every evening. Where he ended up didn’t seem to matter. Ladies and liquor and good smoke is the way he described it. One night when he was getting pretty juiced up and boasting about his hockey abilities he was looped into some back and forth bull shit with a skinny little Frenchman named Xavier.
Xavier was down vacationing from a business venture in Vietnam that was being financed by J.P. Morgan. He said that he had also spent some time in Montreal working on diamond imports from South Africa. He was a fan of the Habs since then and he and Pittsie hit it off big time even though there must have been forty or so years difference in their ages.
They both scored some nukie that evening that they met but hooked up again the next night with a whole ‘nother load of shenanigans. So they get going on hockey again and Xavier says in his broken English, “You know the Hobey Baker, no?”
Pittsie a Canadian but wise in things American says “Oui, for fucking sure!”
Well they get talking about Hobie and Xavier lets on that his father and gang saw Hobie after he crashed in northeastern France during the first world war. “Oui., he was a liberator and his last words were “Viva la Club Ivy”. My father almost fainted upon hearing this.”
“His death then was quick but tragic after that and they helped to remove his remains from the orange and black plane and turn them over to the local authorities. That evening his dad’s gang went back to the wreck because of what Hobie had last said; hoping to find some relic or note pertaining to this secret society that they too were member’s of as passed down by there fathers and grandfathers. Not knowing what they’d find they were cautious so that the authorities wouldn’t see them there in the dark of night. They found nothing else except the bloody mess of Hobey’s crash. Some flesh and torn fabric was all they saw until the plane shifted from their combined weight and something fell. It was Hobey’s kneecap with a little flap of flesh. Feeling in awe of this man that they didn’t know and yet knowing he must be of their same secret society La Club Ivy they preserved and saved this chunk of soft tissue. They knew that someday someone will find meaning in it so they hid it away.”
Xavier told him that they hid it behind a loose cornerstone of a rampart on the northern wall of the fortification around Toul. The river was running high that night and it allowed them to reach this special stone by boat. As usual to movie stories that we’ve seen recently this stone was marked with the Masonic symbol.
Your thinking bullshit!!!!!!!!!
Pittsie was thinking it too. Just a drunken story, ehh. But Xavier says, No, monsieur, I’ve seen it too and placed things of value behind this same stone.”
Pittsie says, “Xavier,ya want another one?” And they party on for the night.
Before the end of his stay in Singapore Pittsie hooks up with some Ausy dude that joins him for much of the rest of the gift vacation. I can’t remember his name but I remember him well and skating with him a bit. He really sucked on the ice – beginner – but what the hey he seemed to appreciate the sport and that ain’t such a bad attitude. Ehh?
So you guys can guess what happens next in this story. They hook up with some honeys later on in Paris and the girls want to get out of town into the country. Pittsie on a whim asks them if they know where Toul is and if that is someplace they’d consider heading to. “Mais, oui! We’ll navigate.”
So off they go and it rains all of the two or so hour drive and continues raining through the night. The next day they wander around town while Pittsie is scoping out the river. He lets the Ausy guy in on his plan. “We go up river to Nancy and rent a sports boat for the day. Get the girls drunk so that they don’t really know what’s going on and see if we can find this loose stone in one of the north ramparts. With the rain last night the river will be high and we might get lucky.”
So off they went on their little adventure and several hours later had success by finding the right cornerstone. It was bigger and heavier then they expected but with some expert maneuvering of the boat and a little juggling they were able to reach inside the opening. Their were many strange things inside including a jeweled watch still attached to a wrist and gloved hand, some guns, leather wrapped documents and of course Hobie’s kneecap wrapped in an orange and black wool scarf. They took the kneecap – scarf and all and left one of the girl’s panties and bras in its place. What a kick – these guys were nuts-o!
Pittsie brought Hobies’ kneecap back to the states. He was sweating bullets going through customs fearing that they’d thoroughly search his luggage. Went smooth though. He kept it until he became an Outlaw and joined our Crossed Stick Society realizing how special this would be for us. It is one of our most treasured items and I hope you guys never tell anyone about it. I’d hate for his relatives to come asking for it back so that he can move on to hockey heaven or some other such bullshit claim. Its in our possession and as we all know from out lawyer friends like Pittsie – possession is nine-tenths of the law.
Jasper here – just crackin my ass for your pleasure. Later dudes and dudettes.
Remember: Skate Hard!
Holy shit!
The article hints that our president’s grandfather might have dug up and stolen, the famous Indian, Geronimo’s skull and femur back in 1917 for Yale’s Skull and Bones society. And that these artifacts might still be on display in the Skull and Bones “Tomb”.
I’m telling you guys that this is just hitting too close to home for me. I had to reread the article a couple of times and each time it gave me goose bumps. This is some scary coinkie-dinkie, ehh?
I probably shouldn’t be revealing the following facts but I’m going to anyway out of good conscience. That’s something that living in the backwoods teaches ya – get away with something for as long as you can but when its time (and you’ll know when that is) then ya just better fess-up.
So here’s the story you guys:
I mentioned several times how the Outlaws are such a tight band of bros. Ehh? You know it, you believe and you can relate to it. I told ya last week how to be an Outlaw ya had to have a certain charisma or we didn’t want ya playin for us. Right? Ya know the type I’m talking about. Somebody that could play the game fair enough, keep up with the drinkin and partyin and would have your six if ya needed it in a fight. Ehh?
The forefathers of the team, me included, had enough correct insight, to usually pick the right characters. Usually a season would tell for sure. At the end of the first season each player was invited to join our secret Crossed Stick Society. Yep!
You’re doubting this? No way guys! I've download a copy of our business card at the start of this blog. So go back and take a look above at our puck decal and business card. See the crossed sticks on both? Not kidding guys. Hey and read that shit on the business card. Whacha think we’re really up to, huh? Sorry but I had to black out the phone number because that puppy is still classified information.
Yup, we’re into some real live clandestine activities and some of those activities oh so closely mirror the ABC News article it just about scares the heebie-jeebies out a me.
We have a place where we gather for our Crossed Stick Society meetings. It’s in the back room of what used to be Happy Jacks Good Time Saloon. The place hasn’t gone by that name now for over twenty years, so the common folks wouldn’t be able to find it if they tried. Even when it did go by that name it was such a shit ass hole in the wall that most would have avoided it anyway.
We keep some sacred hockey trinkets there behind a secret door inside of the beer cooler. It just looks like a patch in the galvanized wall but we know better. So what’s in there, in the Cooler? Ehh? It makes me smile to think.
We’ve got some typical stuff. A couple of old raggedy, bloody, smelly jerseys from retired players. Yup they really stink to high heaven and we usually pass them around for a quick sniff at the beginning of meetings like you’d pass around a joint to get the party going.
What else? Lets see, we’ve got the first league cup that we won and that we all drank out of on that glorious night. Hell, my old man even drank outta that keepsake. Never been washed. Nope, and we occasionally pass it around at the end of a meeting filled with brew if we’re sober enough to remember. We’ve got a few teeth that we’ve put in epoxy shells and we’ve got one massive tape ball that Ry-Ry put together once. We’ve got JP’s goalie stick that has a puck mouse hole in it that one of Jingle’s slap shots left. – unbelievable. I’ll have to sneak a picture of that someday to show you guys. I think we’ve got a couple of pair panties and the some of the sacred foil that Vigor used to use.
Yeah, but we’ve got some more valuable things that have been snuck or stolen. Keith, one of my earlier defensive partners, came to us from Joliet. He was a big Blackhawks fan and Denis Savard was his favorite player as a kid. His dad used to get him into a couple of home games every year. He managed to sneak into the Hawks’ dressing room during the game and hid out in toilet stall during intermission between periods. Denny plopped down in the next stall and proceeded to have a couple of smokes while taking a dump. Keith snagged those butts and gave them to the Crossed Sticks Society to be forever stored in the cooler. We keep them in a baggy with like a -- toe-tag attached.
We’ve got a non-descript piece of plywood. Doesn’t look very important but it was tossed from the ice of a St. Louis Blues game. I figure that it must have been an away game because of I can’t think of an Outlaw that ever hailed from St. Louis. And it isn’t a piece of a stick blade either. Much more important then that. It’s a piece of the improvised back and spine protector that Doug Gilmore used to keep from getting damaged from cross checks while he parked in the slot on the edge of the crease. I don’t know who recovered it but it apparently broke off during a horrendous little battle and the linesman picked it up and tried to throw it into the time keeper’s bench. It missed and landed over the glass at the feet of a unaware spectator. Our guy snagged it up.
We’ve got some body parts too. Gavin who came outta Detroit had heard from his older sister in 1973 that her boss a surgeon was going to remove a bone from Gordie Howe’s wrist. She was an attending nurse in the surgery and managed to steal that little bone by doing a bit of switch-o-rama. I can’t tell if its his scaphoid or his trapezium, not being a doctor and all, but it ain’t very big either. We keep it inside an empty Mickey’s Big Mouth. I think Gavin had to trade some smoke to get it from his sister. But we’ve got it now.
But our biggest trophy item that we have is very hush – hush. You guys can’t tell anybody about this. We’d probably get prosecuted for some sort of international crime for this jewel. So keep it below the collar if ya know what I mean.
We’ve got one of Hobey Baker’s knee caps! Shhh …. keep it down. Don’t let anyone know. Ehh?
No, we didn’t dig it out of his grave back in Montgomery County, Pennsylvania where “most” of his remains rest, but it was one hell of an adventure how it ended up in the “Cooler”. We of the Crossed Stick Society keep this piece of Hobart Amory Hare Baker in a revered grape jelly jar submerged below some of Russia’s finest vodka.
For those of you that don’t know, Hobey Baker has an award named after him that the best collegiate hockey player wins each year. He was a phenomenal player at Princeton University in the early 1900’s. In my book – Hobey Baker was walking with wood. While at Princeton he was a member of the Ivy Club. History says that this was just an “eating” club but this story tends to indicate that it was similar to the Cross and Bones at Yale as a secret society. We tend to believe that it has its origination in Europe with ties to the Masons and Knights Templors or some other such secret and powerful secret organization. Some rumors of the Ivy Club hint that the boys were into some bare knuckle fisticuffs where much money was won and lost between the life-long members. Sounds like that fits well with a guy that’s buried in the state that the Flyer’s hail from.
Upon graduating from Princeton, Hobey began working for JP Morgan who we think had ties through his European education to this same Ivy Club. JP Morgan and his company were (and still is) a very powerful and wealthy institution.
World War I broke out and Hobey became a pilot and possibly shot down as many as three enemy planes before his own demise. He flew a Spad III that was painted Princeton’s colors – orange and black. I don’t know off the top of my head or not if he was shot down or crashed. But on December 21, 1918 he died near Toul, France, a town with medieval fortifications located on the Moselle River.
From here the official history gets a little dicey so we’ll pickup from Pittsie’s tale. Pittsie is an Outlaw from the 1990’s. He’s also a lawyer so I figure his story could be a little dicey too. I believe that he got his law degree from George Washington University and his folks (rich bastards on Edmonton oil or something) gave him an around the world trip as a graduation gift. About a year to see the sights and take it all in. Not bad ,ehh, for a puck head? It was a journey of heavy partying and he made many friends along the way.
He tells it that he spent about two weeks in Singapore, drinkin, eatin and waking up in places that he had no memory of getting to. He said that he had found a favorite little night spot that was mainly catering to the foreign crowd and partied his ass off there at the start of every evening. Where he ended up didn’t seem to matter. Ladies and liquor and good smoke is the way he described it. One night when he was getting pretty juiced up and boasting about his hockey abilities he was looped into some back and forth bull shit with a skinny little Frenchman named Xavier.
Xavier was down vacationing from a business venture in Vietnam that was being financed by J.P. Morgan. He said that he had also spent some time in Montreal working on diamond imports from South Africa. He was a fan of the Habs since then and he and Pittsie hit it off big time even though there must have been forty or so years difference in their ages.
They both scored some nukie that evening that they met but hooked up again the next night with a whole ‘nother load of shenanigans. So they get going on hockey again and Xavier says in his broken English, “You know the Hobey Baker, no?”
Pittsie a Canadian but wise in things American says “Oui, for fucking sure!”
Well they get talking about Hobie and Xavier lets on that his father and gang saw Hobie after he crashed in northeastern France during the first world war. “Oui., he was a liberator and his last words were “Viva la Club Ivy”. My father almost fainted upon hearing this.”
“His death then was quick but tragic after that and they helped to remove his remains from the orange and black plane and turn them over to the local authorities. That evening his dad’s gang went back to the wreck because of what Hobie had last said; hoping to find some relic or note pertaining to this secret society that they too were member’s of as passed down by there fathers and grandfathers. Not knowing what they’d find they were cautious so that the authorities wouldn’t see them there in the dark of night. They found nothing else except the bloody mess of Hobey’s crash. Some flesh and torn fabric was all they saw until the plane shifted from their combined weight and something fell. It was Hobey’s kneecap with a little flap of flesh. Feeling in awe of this man that they didn’t know and yet knowing he must be of their same secret society La Club Ivy they preserved and saved this chunk of soft tissue. They knew that someday someone will find meaning in it so they hid it away.”
Xavier told him that they hid it behind a loose cornerstone of a rampart on the northern wall of the fortification around Toul. The river was running high that night and it allowed them to reach this special stone by boat. As usual to movie stories that we’ve seen recently this stone was marked with the Masonic symbol.
Your thinking bullshit!!!!!!!!!
Pittsie was thinking it too. Just a drunken story, ehh. But Xavier says, No, monsieur, I’ve seen it too and placed things of value behind this same stone.”
Pittsie says, “Xavier,ya want another one?” And they party on for the night.
Before the end of his stay in Singapore Pittsie hooks up with some Ausy dude that joins him for much of the rest of the gift vacation. I can’t remember his name but I remember him well and skating with him a bit. He really sucked on the ice – beginner – but what the hey he seemed to appreciate the sport and that ain’t such a bad attitude. Ehh?
So you guys can guess what happens next in this story. They hook up with some honeys later on in Paris and the girls want to get out of town into the country. Pittsie on a whim asks them if they know where Toul is and if that is someplace they’d consider heading to. “Mais, oui! We’ll navigate.”
So off they go and it rains all of the two or so hour drive and continues raining through the night. The next day they wander around town while Pittsie is scoping out the river. He lets the Ausy guy in on his plan. “We go up river to Nancy and rent a sports boat for the day. Get the girls drunk so that they don’t really know what’s going on and see if we can find this loose stone in one of the north ramparts. With the rain last night the river will be high and we might get lucky.”
So off they went on their little adventure and several hours later had success by finding the right cornerstone. It was bigger and heavier then they expected but with some expert maneuvering of the boat and a little juggling they were able to reach inside the opening. Their were many strange things inside including a jeweled watch still attached to a wrist and gloved hand, some guns, leather wrapped documents and of course Hobie’s kneecap wrapped in an orange and black wool scarf. They took the kneecap – scarf and all and left one of the girl’s panties and bras in its place. What a kick – these guys were nuts-o!
Pittsie brought Hobies’ kneecap back to the states. He was sweating bullets going through customs fearing that they’d thoroughly search his luggage. Went smooth though. He kept it until he became an Outlaw and joined our Crossed Stick Society realizing how special this would be for us. It is one of our most treasured items and I hope you guys never tell anyone about it. I’d hate for his relatives to come asking for it back so that he can move on to hockey heaven or some other such bullshit claim. Its in our possession and as we all know from out lawyer friends like Pittsie – possession is nine-tenths of the law.
Jasper here – just crackin my ass for your pleasure. Later dudes and dudettes.
Remember: Skate Hard!
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