MAY THE WOOD BE WITH YOU

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 café 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.