Tuesday, December 2, 2008

GETTING TRASHED

Well, we’re into the Holiday season for this year. Thanksgiving is just over and Christmas now is less than a month away with New Years following a week later. It’s a good time of year to celebrate with family and friends, ehh? With hockey season in full swing it’s the durn burn best time of the year!

Reminds me of a time way back now. Can’t say for sure what year it was but I was still taking my bruises while skating with the original Outlaws. Both Jingles and Bronzy were skating with me so it must a been the early 80’s.

We had a really good team back then. After my bro’s joined the team and some of their former team mates from youth hockey had also, we just seemed to kick shit with regularity. It was a good time, shit for sure! We were rowdy, nasty and skilled. We had jelled this season after being just a smidgen on the loosey-goosey side the season before.

As it was, and is typical of most amateur seasons, in the previous season the league had shut down for about three weeks surrounding Christmas and New Years. There was the occasional shinny and pond hockey sessions to get involved with but most of us got together on the off nights and drank our fool asses off; whining about the lack of competitive play during this idle stretch. And of course the lack of strange tang to conquer here in the backwoods of the far north.

On one particular night, before he got just snockered, Woody boasted loudly “Next season ya fuck heads, were gonna go to a Holiday tournament. I seen in an advertisement over to Ole’s Skate Shop that they’ve got tournaments in Denver, Florida, and California every year during Christmas break. We gonna do this next year or what? Ehh?” He raised his mug and we all clinked in and immediately yelled for several more pitchers of the suds.

To cover a lot a ground quickly, we held Woody to it. He was and still is really great at organizing shit and got us set up in a tournament in Southern California. We were guaranteed four games minimum and a trip to see the Rose Parade as part of the package.

It took us almost two days to get there with all the connecting flights and layovers. Nothing but a continuous drunk for all of us along the way. Woody had booked some especially cheap flights; mainly on airlines that ain’t no longer in business now-a-days.

We were all booked into a Super 8 hotel in some town north of the freeway and we had rented two passenger vans for the eleven of us that went. That was two full lines and Guy, our goalie. We had four rooms: One with four guys sharing, two with three, and one for Guy by himself (Shit, everybody knows ya can’t room with a goalie, right? – They’re just too fuckin nuts). There was a bar right next door, Lucky Johns I think, as was a liquor store and a Denny’s was a few blocks away with some burger and taco joints within walking distance. We were set as set can be. Bought some cases and filled the tub up in one of the rooms so that we could continue being just absolutely trashed.

We had to check in for the tournament and get our schedules. Our first game was the next afternoon at 2:00 pm at the Ice Capades Chalet. Sign-in was at Klondike, a nice cold rink, NHL size it looked like, with only glass at the ends. So we got directions to the other rink a couple a miles away and went over to it to check it out too. Both rinks were about five miles from the hotel and as they say out there in California, “Freeway close”.

Ice Capades Chalet, ehh? Oh what a little piece of shit this place was. Not even full size, but I’ve played on pond ice that was smaller, so we decided to quit griping. But it had no glass at all, just fishnet, no defined benches or penalty box, and the friggin far side from the entrance and one end had brick above the boards with protruding pilasters. We were told that special rules applied and any real physical contact along these areas would end up in boarding calls. Shit it looked like panty waste hockey in this rink, ehh. Plus the damn place smelled like old vomit, ammonia, the refrigeration system must leak a bit we figured.

We stuck around for a bit watching a B division game between a local team and a team that had come down from Iowa or somewhere. We chatted with locals and they said that there was a fair bar outside and around the corner of the building, Bilbo Baggins. They said that Friday and Saturday nights were pretty good for chicks and that the place had a band. We gave it a look see and pounded a few drafts. They had an outdoor court and if you left your drink at your table you could walk a couple a yards over to windows that overlooked one end of the rink. Not bad. Not bad at all.

Woody’s slurring his words by now, he’s pretty tossed as are most of us or getting there anyway. Shit we’ve been drinking solid for almost three days now. Woody tells us that he got directions for a bar and grill at the beach where we could get some grub, drink schooners and check out the Pacific Ocean. So we piled into the vans and headed off to Newport Beach, I think it was, to this beach-boy bar called Mutts or something like that.

Yep, it was right on the boardwalk. Not summer mind ya but a nice afternoon and a lot of California girls to check out as they walked by or came in to the bar.

Sweet! Not in bikinis this time of the year, but they were fucking hot.

Eggman scored and said he’d get back to the hotel on his own. Me, not a chance in hell. Being short, lopsided and about as handsome as a horse’s ass I have generally accepted that all I ever get to do is look at the honeys.

So we’re all really toasted now. Woody decided to walk down to the water so most of us went along. He only fell flat on face three times. I stumbled once myself. Perdy-near cocked, I was. The second time, Woody gets up and pftts about like Elmer Fudd then lets us know that the sand tastes salty. We get down to the water, its past dusk now, and we can see lights on boats somewhere out on the ocean. Woody whips out his noodle to take a little drizzle and leans back to take it all in and falls over backwards. Pisses all over himself, he does.

Keats, driver of one of the vans says, “Fuck he ain’t riding back with us all pissed up like that. Guy, he’s gonna ride in your van. Probably smells like your gear anyway and you guys won’t notice the difference. Somebody help him up and let’s head back to the hotel.”

Jet lag and all had apparently set in as there was no argument from anyone as we shuffled through the sand back to the parking lot back by Mutts. I don’t know how we found our way back to the hotel and damn surprised that we didn’t get pulled over. Hell of a lot of traffic out there!

The next day we got up at varying times. In each room we had shook out the top mattresses on the floor; that way everybody had a spot to sack out by themselves and didn’t have to crash queer. Gave us all a chance to sleep reasonably well except for the guys crashed by the head that we all had to stumble over when it was time to whiz during the night.

We got our shit together the next day to play our first game. Eggman showed up at the start of the second period with the babe he’d hung with from the day before. Said he was too hung over to play. Woody just looked back at him and then threw up on his own skates and said “Fuck you, Scotty, we’re all hung over.” We won that game seven to five with no mishaps. Had a few beers at Bilbo Baggins and I drove one of the vans back to the hotel with guys that wanted to crash for a bit. Our next game was at 10:00 am the next morning and then we had our third scheduled for that same night with about thirty-six hours before our fourth game was scheduled. Tournament play, that’s how it goes sometimes.

We went back to Bilbo’s later that night and closed the place. And in the morning we were shit for shaky playing in the ten o’clock game at Klondike. I think our opponents had played the night before at Ice Capades and had helped us close the place. They played like shit and were puking all over the ice. Lightweights! We beat them ten to nothing or something. Pounded some brews in the parking lot then all headed back to the hotel to rest up for our evening game.

Keats is driving again in the van I’m in as we head for our third game. He plays D like me and originally hails from the New York City area. Married to a real cat-lady, with a pair of hooters and a hell of a accent. She don’t sound backwoods at all. No sirree! He’s a Rangers fan to the max but wears an Islander’s jacket out of respect for his inlaws that gave it to him a few years back. Woody’s riding shotgun and giving us a pep talk along the way. Eggman’s riding in the other van so that Woody doesn’t chew him a new ass-hole. Seems as though Bronzy is in this van too and I know Jingles is because he’s sitting behind me and keeps grabbing my shoulders shaking me and saying “Come on Jasper, gotta get ya hopped up and the adrenaline flowing! You gotta kick some ass tonight!” Not real sure who else was in this van but we were loud. There was not time for solace in our pain and weariness. Nope. We were jiving!

Guy drove the other van and they got to the rink about five minutes after us. Ice Capades Chalet again. After I dropped my gear inside I went back out in the parking lot. Guy was just pulling his gear outta the back so I offered to help carry some of it in. I grabbed his pads. Oh fuck were they heavy. Old style goalie pads. Leather, stuffed with horsehair and some other shit, but soaked through and through. No wonder they were so heavy, he hadn’t had a chance to get them dry. Goalies, I’m telling you they’re nuts cuz his pads musta weighed about thirty or forty pounds each. How do ya move in that shit????

The game ahead of us as I recall had about a period to go. I found their snack machines and got a Snicker bar and a double shot a sugared up coffee. Needless to say I had the jitters and this was gonna peak those. Probably give me a pre-game shit fest too. I’d rather play light anyway. You guys know what I mean, ehh?

In the dressing room Collin and Woody are pounding beers. Rat’s got his helmet and long johns on, just sitting there with clasped hands. He says to nobody in particular “I kinda like it here. I think I’ll stay after the tourney’s over. Look in to buying some property.” Didn’t figure he’d have his head in the game, ehh. Spaced out somewhere else. Robby’s all geared up already standing outside the doorway, chewing on his mouth guard, holding both sticks together with both hands up near the knobs, his helmet sitting sort of sideways not fastened and just rocking forward and back on his skates.

Pregame rituals ehh. You’ve got yours, we’ve got ours.

So we’re playing against the Flin Flon Sturgeons, a group of big boys from the border of Saskatchewan and Manitoba hailing from the Flin Flon and Sturgeon Lake region. Sheesh, if it took us two days to get down here, I wonder how many days their trip was? They iced three forward lines and two sets of defense. They all looked like lumber jacks. Paul Bunyan had nothing on these guys. The only thing advantages for us in my eyes was that they mostly skated like they had clogged up work boots on. A wittle swuggish wookin if ya know what I meeeeaaannnnn.

Jingles takes the first draw between Bronzy and Collin. Keats and McCloskey on defense. The bastard breaks Jingles’ stick at the drop of the puck so Jingles comes up with both gloves empty handed into his chin and drops him before the ref can figure out what happened, then skates to the bench for a new twig. No penalties called but the tempo is set for the rest of the game.

The big boys are up on us two to nothing at the end of the first. Woody takes the draw to start the third with Rat and Robbie as his wings. Me and Keith are taking the blue line.

Woody’s shorter that me, you know. And the big old oof comes over the top of him on the faceoff and tries to squish him into the ice like ya’d spread butter on bread. Keith had move forward quickly to the face off dot and sprayed the asshole in the face as he stopped. The puck squirted back between the two us and Guy came out to clear it up to Rat as I circled through Keith position. Rat skated up the boards then crossed over center feeding Woody breaking through Rat’s wing position once he finally un-buried his face from the ice. Rat went crazy – all the way across to the opposite wing while Robby drove to the net.

Woody had crossed the blue line with the puck still on the boards and drew two of the Sturgeon towards him as he dropped to Keith on the point. Keith took the one timer and Robbie tipped it home. We were on the scoreboard.

We’re just twenty to twenty-five seconds into the period so we stayed out for the drop. Skating with only two lines we were used to going two to three minutes stop time between shifts. Nuts, but it works and keeps the lines tight and together throughout a game. None of that thirty to forty-five second shifts like in the NHL.

This time Rat moves over to center to take the draw cuz he’s about a foot taller than Woody. Keith and Robby cheat while Woody, the little fire hydrant that he is, inches almost to the boards at the drop. I shifted over almost center ice and again the puck came out of the faceoff right up center where I hit Woody as I crossed the blue line and he was almost crossing into their zone. Again Robby made a b-line towards the net but this time got taken out by both defensemen at once and they all went down in pile to right side of the slot. Woody had open ice to the net, deked left and went high on the right side. It beat the goalie but caught the cross bar and dropped down into the crease. Woody twisted and stuffed it tweeners on his backhand and immediately slapped ass-first against the boards to the right of the net and raised his stick in triumph.

The Sturgeon goalie threw his stick at Woody and got two minutes.

We took a seat. One shift … two goals … all tied up.

Jingles and crew come out to take the faceoff on the power play at center ice. The Sturgeon are slapping at the sticks of Bronzy and Collin working for position. Jingles pulls it back to Keats who circles back behind our net. He hits Collin along the boards on the inside faceoff circle who again circles behind the net and hits Bronzy just inside our blue who taps it to Jingles who had circled in and was now breaking hard across our blue line with Keats jumping up on Bronzy’s side and Collin opposite. Jingles side steps a hit from his right side and hits Keats on the fly with a crisp little snap. Keats bobbles it in his feet and has to look down for a sec and just gets clocked.

Along the far boards, you betcha! Face first right into one of the protruding brick pilasters. Pealed the skin on his forehead like lifting a pancake off a grill. The ref’s blowing his whistle for boarding and Jingles is in this hitter’s face and has got his stick up across this dude’s neck.

Keats has dropped to the ice, knocked out cold and bleeding like a stuck pig. A linesman is signaling for help from our bench and we all jump on the ice.

One of the Flin Flon boys (come to find out that it was the twin brother of the guy Jingles is throttling) grabs Jingles from behind around his neck and tries to wedge him off. Jingles backs down enough to drop his right glove and grabs the helmet off the guy behind him, continues to hold that guy’s head, drops a shoulder while backing off from the first guy and sweeps his leg out and rolls the second guy right over him like a WWF move. In the mean time Bronzy is getting thrown over the boards by some other big clown on the near side of the ice. Shit he only weight about 145 lbs back then. Collin in the mean time is back on the guy that hit Keats and the whole rest of the team is across ice to the area of the original infraction. All this time McCloskey has got some forward by the top of his jersey, holding him with his left hand, head down, and just wailing with his right on this ugly dude’s face.

First, the Sturgeon serving the goalie’s penalty jumped on the ice to join the fracas and all the rest from their bench followed. Guy and their goalie were going at good and you could hear the French cussing just ripping off of Guy’s lips.

It was major mayhem as the remainder of the two benches met. Gloves dropped everywhere. My nose got busted on the second or third punch. We were outnumbered two to one in some cases and the officials couldn’t do anything to stop it. Needless to say we were absolutely getting trashed by these big fuckin lumberjacks.

At one point in this melee I saw that Robby had jumped up on some Sturgeon’s back and had wrapped his legs, skates and all, around the dude and was just wailing on the back of the cat’s neck to no avail.

I’m still swingin, Jingle’s is still swingin, Keith’s bloodied one guy but looked like a Steven King’s Carry with massive amounts of blood running down over his face too. Collin’s got two guys on him and he’s face down in the ice just getting pulverized. Rat looks like he’s knocked out flat on his back and Woody now has someone chasing him.

I look over to the boards, between swings, where Bronzy had been tossed and see him climbing back over but also notice that a bunch of spectators have jumped over the boards too. They’re mostly players from other teams, probably, ya know, but in street shoes the ice wasn’t too friggin delicate with them. They were slipping and sliding trying to get over to break this shit up but half of them had upended bouncing off of their fool noggins.

After about five minutes, I guess, we all cooled down. Somebody had called an ambulance for Keats and after about twenty minutes they were wheeling him away.

The ref called the game. The tournament host tossed us and the boys from Flin Flon out of the tournament without being able to complete any more games and no refund. Woody argued against this with no success. Yup!

“Read your tournament agreement. You signed it as did each of your players. You Outlaws are nothing but a bunch backwoods henchmen as far as I’m concerned. Same for the Sturgeons. And forget about bussing up to the Rose Parade – OUT OF THE QUESTION!”

Far from home. Same kinda results. Old time hockey to the max. We maybe didn’t win the tournament but we sure for shit weren’t lick our wounds either. We’re Outlaws and we’re walking with wood. Yessirree!

I know that we had a few days yet before our flights home so we hung out and got trashed every night. Gave some time for the swelling of Keats forehead to go down and for the stitches and repairs by the doctor to start taking effect. His old lady was sure gonna give him a going over when he got home. He flat ass knew it.

New Years Eve was started at the bar next to the hotel, Lucky Johns, but they had reservations starting at 10:00 pm for some biker party or something so we bailed from there and went down to the small rink and Bilbo Baggins. The little honey that Eggman had nailed showed up with some of her friends and we all hung together for the night. One little chubby sweetheart was sitting next to me at midnight and she gave me a big old hug and kiss as we brought in the new year. Dabnabit if that wasn’t enough coaxing that we went out to the parking lot together a little bit later for some more making out and extracurricular activity that ended us up in the middle seat of the van that I just so happened to have the keys to.

As we had finished up our first round and were heading back to get some more drinking in we met Collin with a honey hanging on to him heading out. Collin said, “Wheats you old toad. What’s ya up to? Say ya got the keys to the van? Let me borrow them for a bit.”

Hell, it was a damn good night! I don’t remember too much more. Just a hell of a hangover the next day and getting razzed by the guys that my date last night had been about as homely as cold wet dog. Yeah well I got some and I know that over half of them didn’t. They were just more interested in getting trashed.

And me? Yeah, that too, but while walking with wood ehh!

Jasper here until next time.

Enjoy these times ….

And skate hard my friends!

1 comment:

deb said...

Awesome list of junior sites. I was looking for info to learn more about the two teams that offered my son contracts for the 2009-2010 season and I found it all on here. thanks for making my day