Dumb 1

Writing hockey humor is oft times not an easy task. The words, sometimes, just don’t magically appear on paper in some sort of fluid motion going from brain to fingertips to keyboard to computer screen to printed copy; not ending in an organized hodgepodge of fibbery and convoluted fact for your reading enjoyment.

Sometimes the monitor or computer screen doesn’t work because I’ve kicked the cord under my desk and disconnected it from one end or the other.

Or sometimes the keyboard doesn’t work for the same ridiculous reason caused by my friggin little feet. I’ve even had an individual key go bad and have had to replace the keyboard – bucks outta my pocket with no reward for the free effort I provide.

Blooyee!

This week, I even had the power receptacle on the back of my laptop go south and so you are getting this trashy tale from my seldom used desktop – hence the use of a plugged in monitor and keyboard, ehh.

Ah, yes … those fingers. Smashed from hockey, too cold and un-limber from being outside for too long without my mitts on, and Lord forbid arthritic conditions that might have set in due to my grand old age. These too might slow me down in my skill to weave a short tale for your delight.

But ….

Yes, but … the most debilitating factor in creating a fictitious pile of shit, my friends, is a malfunction of my puny little pea brain.

Yup!

I blame it on my muse so much of the time. But you can only take that so far. It’s my brain’s lack of horsepower in the imagination department. Of course it could be that I haven’t been on the ice for some time now. Or it could be that I haven’t just totally gotten crunked for bit too.

So shit! What do you do when you’re having an intense duration of brain farts?

Ya reach for your trusty word book and choose some possible words that you could use for the theme or subject of today’s story.

I picked five different words to choose from for today. I figure that one of them, I’ll be able to horse up enough with humor and hockey to make it worth publishing. You know I’ve got to! That’s it, plain and simple, or I ain’t Jasper Wheats and I ain’t walking with wood. Ehh?

The five words that I randomly picked were:

1) Methodology – means: a system of methods or the underlying rules or principles of a procedure or system – Kinda like running the left wing lock the Devils were so notorious for using.

2) Atrium – means: the central room that an ancient Roman house was built around. Or the main chamber of the heart – Damned if I can think of how this could be the theme of a bullshit hockey story.

3) Satyrasis – means: abnormal or excessive sexual craving in a male – unfounded in my belief, the male of our species is a friggin horndog to the max all of the time – this is not abnormal nor excessive but could certainly be applied to any yarn spun by walking with wood Jasper Wheats. Ehh!?!?

4) Derogatory – means: tending to lessen the reputation or merit of a thing or person – Sean Avery gets in your face, knocks you off your pace and shoots a puck in your space behind that pissed off goalie’s back.

5) Tomahawk – means: a hand axe used as a throwing or chopping weapon; to cut, kill or strike with a tomahawk – yup, there’s a couple of those on the Blackhawks shoulder emblem ain’t there?

Ok, so I provided ya with some definition’s too. Nothing wrong with a little edumacation along the way to makin ya chuckle. I’ve taught a college class or two over the years and figure that you, my reader, could use some learnin once in a while.

Now for some donuts. A writer needs donuts … or cinnamon rolls … or cookies and coffee … or pretzels and beer to kick start the whole shebang, ehh. What’s your medicine? I’ll take any of the above besides a myriad of others.

Couldn’t find any donuts in the cabin so I settled for a bowl of chocolate flavored crisp rice. Brewskies later this evening while watching a game on the tube.

Speaking of televised games, I watched the Wild playing the Pens in Pittsburg earlier this week and got so pissed off at the main camera coverage that I had to fire off an email complaint to Comcast Sportnet. The fool was jerking around so much following the puck that I started getting dizzy. Ya know I like watching the game. I like watching the play develop. I like to see what’s going on on the ice. This blasted cameraman would zoom in so close that the only thing you could see, was say, Crosby and the puck. Damn dude, back off a bit, and you won’t have to move the camera so much. What do you guys think?

Back to my choosing one word from my five choices.

Dudes and dudettes – we’re going with tomahawk for $400 Alex.

As I mentioned earlier you can see the crossed tomahawks on the shoulders of the Chicago Blackhawks. It has been their alternate logo since 1964. What happened with the Blackhawks in 1964, I’m not really sure, but usually when a crossed object emblem is created it indicates the formation of a secret and oftentimes wicked clandestine society (remember the Outlaws Crossed Stick Society and that I’m still a member). Well this we do know, that prior to 1964 the Blackhawks had Bobby Hull and Stan Mikita playing for them. And in 1964 Bobby’s brother, Dennis, joined the team. This could certainly have had something to do with the new alternate logo and the implication of a secret society within membership of the Blackhawks. Bobby and Dennis together were quite the pair of party animals. I leave you to investigate that further – I don’t want to supposition any more than I have to to peak your interest any more.

It’s kind of interesting but the standard logo for the Blackhawks, that image of the Native American, with feathers and all, is quite often voted the best sports logo. I bet that you didn’t know that it was designed by the wife of the first owner. Her name was Irene Castle and she had been a famous dancer. Her husband, Frederick McLaughlin, had bought the team (then playing on the west coast as the Portland Rosebuds) and moved them to Chicago where he named them the Blackhawks after the military unit that he had served with. In their first game the Blackhawks won 4-1 over the Toronto St. Patricks on November 19, 1926. That’s just about eight-two years ago this week. Crazy, ehh? Where’s those losers now???

Do you own a tomahawk? How about a hatchet? An ax?

Me, I currently own a hatchet. It’s really more like an oversized lathing hammer and I’ve never used it as a weapon. Have you ever used yours as a weapon?

When I was kid I had one that was a toy with a rubber head. That was probably good because I know I used it to chop on my sisters all of the time. I was always trying to scalp them in some sort of misogynist attitude. Of course Mom and Dad whuuped on me each time and eventually the attitude went away and I became a fair lover of the opposite sex (Did someone say “Satyrasis”?).

Did any of you guys own one of those rubber headed tomahawks when you were a kid? You could get them at Wall Drugs or any other tourist novelty store. Shit you can still probably get them at Spencer’s, ehh?

So this year the NHL has started cracking down some of the stuff that I always took for granted as a necessary part of the play. I love to get my stick up on the mid section of a player. Not really a slash and not really a hook. Usually I’m going for high on their stick and gloves. Kinda lets ‘em know that I’m there, ya know. More a bit of chase factor than anything else when you’re an old fart like me and can’t skate as fast as your opponents. It looks like I’d get called all the time. I’m not trying to impede him and I sure as shit ain’t tomahawking the dude with a nasty slash or getting up high enough to be called for high sticking.

When I was younger (and you still see it today when a player can get it away with doing it) it used to be a nasty little ploy to tomahawk an opponent’s stick right below his lower glove hand when he had his weight on it; like during a face off. The intention was to snap his stick right below his glove and it often worked. He’d be stickless until he could get to the bench. Haha! Pretty expensive these days when you think of the cost of some of these shafts now used by the non-traditionalists (ya gotta be walking with wood ehh unless you’re fuckin rich).

The second year that I was coaching youth hockey an incident of tomahawking promoted my career. I had started the season as a Bantam AA coach. I was working with a good group of kids. All heart but really lacking the skills to be at the double A level. Second year skaters as Bantams and their parents always figurin that their kid should be playing at a level better than the skills that he or she really had. Yep, love is blind. We didn’t win many games that year though I gave them a good effort on my part. One of the grandfathers, Alex, was my assistant.

The Midget A team usually practiced right after us so I would stick around to help out. They were coached by a pretty good skater by the name of Sam Nation. Had a lot of hockey smarts and the skills to go with them. He didn’t have a formal assistant so I’d show up for games when I could to help out. These were usually just the home games. Anyway, at one of the home games while trying to get these yahoo’s to get their shit together for the next line change, Sam was having no luck getting one big lunk-head to pay attention. So he grabbed the nearest stick and tomahawked him right over the top of his helmet. I had to laugh. Didn’t hurt the kid at all. But he finally caught on what he was supposed to pay attention to while on the bench. The unfortunate thing for Sam was the fact that the kid’s dad saw him do this. The complaint went up to the team board and they let Sam go whereupon I took over coaching two teams for the rest of the season. The next year I coached Midget AA and off I went with my coaching career. Sam ended up in Flagstaff coaching Junior A. I’ve gotta say, he was a good coach – I learned a lot from getting to work with him. Most importantly, I learned, don’t tomahawk your players over their heads. Especially when their parents are around to see ya do it.

Okee –dokee, folks. Ya wanted fly under the radar. But keep your elbows up going into the corners, keep your sticks down, and skate your asses off. You never know, you might be the next Sidney Crosby, Dustin Brown, Alex Ovechkin or Evgeni Malkin. Ehh??

Jasper here, skatin hard until next time and walking with wood always!