REGGIE

Slapshot’s Paul Newman or ????

Last Monday, May 25th, Paul Newman announced that he was retiring from acting. He cited his reasons being that he was having memory loss and couldn’t act with the exceptional ability that he had been able to for so many years. Most of us that are reading this (myself included as the humble writer) here at Jasper Wheats’ hockey humor blog remember Mr. Newman best in the 1977 movie Slapshot.

I’ve enjoyed watching many other movies that Paul Newman was in such as The Hustler, Hud, Cool Hand Luke, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, and The Sting. One of his more recent and one of my favorite movies of all time that he was in along with Tom Hanks was Road to Perdition. He has been a superb actor since the 1950’s. His departure from the industry will surely be noted by others and I’m sure that his peers will honor him with some sort of lifetime achievement award in the near future. He deserves it. Yup!

Paul Newman walks with wood folks! There ain’t no doubt about it.

He’s been involved with auto racing for many years now and started a salad dressing company that I believe his daughter currently runs. Heck, he’s been married to Joanne Woodward for how many years now? That’s lasting power folks! That’s something to praise in a man that’s worked in a industry that just seems to destroy marriages with vigor.

What a classic movie Slapshot was! It’s oft referred to as having a cult following. I couldn’t agree more. Paul played the part of player/coach Reggie “Reg” Dunlop of the Johnstown Chiefs. The Chiefs were having financial difficulties. The players were having relationship issues. And the team was on the verge of success with a winning season and heading into the finals. I’ve just got so many memories from that film – the infamous Hanson Brothers with their glasses and foiled knuckles, the on ice strip tease, the fights and the dirty play. All for good drama and great hockey humor.

Lots of those guys in Slapshot were real actors that knew how to play hockey. Others were hockey players that got bit parts. I got to play against quite a few of them two different times in my career as my Outlaws played against the Celebrity Allstars, once for a charity event and once if my memory serves me right for a TV show. Those are stories for another time, but I do remember drinking in the bar after one of those games with Jerry Houser. Jerry played the part of Dave “Killer” Carlson and some of you might remember him in other movies like Summer of ’42. I busted up Houser’s elbow pretty good in the game and he was showing off how swollen it was and that he needed more beer to deaden the pain.

Yup, don’t we all?????????
Newman was the binding force for the Chiefs. He believed in them and made up shit all the time to get them motivated. I’ve been there and done that, for sure!

Ehh? You guys are wondering where the humor is this week. Well, maybe there ain’t going to be too much. Maybe this week it’s just about reminiscing the good times. Maybe it’s taking me back to days gone past – days I miss. Shit I’m just a stinky old fart. Now days, for me, it seems like the most difficult part of hockey is trying to find the top outside hole in my left skate when I’m trying to lace up. Ain’t that a bitch though?

I can remember a game many years ago now – can’t remember the name of the team we were playing against though. Might have been the Maroons, can’t say for sure. Can’t tell ya if we won or loss either. It ain’t important to my story, ya know.

I got cross checked from behind by Saul Swanke. Hell of a hockey player, hard ass with a killer slap shot. Story goes that when he was kid his dad used to give him shit (I mean big time shit – beatings, ya gotta walk home kid – that kinda shit) if he didn’t play well. It apparently inspired him because he really was a good player. He had a sweet girl named Sharon. Kept her on a leash. They broke up later and she’s now married to one of Bronzie’s and my friends. Get Christmas cards from her and her hubby every year now.

Saul used to take faceoffs against Jingles regularly. Lot of pushing and shoving. Both of them tough as nails. Each of em respecting the other though. Saul never knew the origination of the nickname “Jingles” and would call him Bo Jangles instead. Jingles liked to dance and can’t say that Saul ever had his dance card filled either. There was always one more tussle to toss in these guys. Good stuff, ehh?

So anyway, Saul hits me hard from behind almost directly across the ice from our bench. I go down with my right hand out, not able to tuck anything in, and snapped my humerus (upper arm bone) into three pieces. Colin had seen what happened and skated over to the bench yelling “Jasper broke his arm.”

My folks had been at the game and my mom asked me later how did Colin know so quickly that my arm was broken. I had to tell her that as I got into a sitting position against the far boards that my right arm just sort of flopped about. Pretty damn obvious if you ask me. Shit howdy mom! Bless her soul now. Ehh?

Dad drove me over to the hospital and they had an orthopedic surgeon start working on the break. Awfully damn sure that they cut my jersey, shoulder pads and tee-shirt off of me that night. The doc kept shooting me full of zylocaine every minute or so while he tried to stabilize the break.

He wanted to operate on me and screw the bones back together. I was obstinate to no end having some major fear of surgery at that time. I’d had surgery before but just recently a friend of friend had gone in to have pins removed from his ankle and went into a coma during surgery. Uh ahh! No sirree, they weren’t going to put me under. Just keep pumping me full of that hot shit cuz this thing is killing me.

They put me in a half cast (splint) with a bunch of elastic wrap and admitted me to the hospital. The next day folks at work were told what happened and my boss figured that I was pulling some shit because nobody, I mean nobody gets admitted to the hospital for a broken arm. So I had to explain the whole deal.

The bone was in three pieces, ehh. Looking back now, surgery with the screws would have been the best choice. But no, I couldn’t do that. Instead they put me in a hanging-arm-cast. The cast had a rope embedded in it out near my wrist that slung around my neck. The cast itself was huge with all kinds of extra plaster to add weight. The cast acted like traction and pulled down on my arm keeping the bones aligned. I had to sleep sitting up for four weeks until the bones had knit enough so that they could put me in a fiberglass cast for the last two weeks or so. The doc would cut a little bit away from the original cast right over the break each week as I went in to see him. By doing so it corrected the way my arm hung and resulted in a fairly close correct realignment. He said that if he’d a done the surgery he couldn’t have guaranteed as good a job. Patted himself on the back didn’t he?

I’ll tell ya I went pretty nuts while that arm healed. I lived alone in an old trailer at the time. Damn if that pup didn’t have a leaky roof and if we didn’t get one hell of a storm one night. I’m sleeping in a recliner (yup – that’s sitting up) and I wake up. Pretty normal cuz the arm would throb every night and I’d have to pace around after taking some good pain medication waiting for it to kick in. Except tonight I’m getting dripped on. And that wasn’t the only place dripping. I get out some pots and in the worst place slide my big cooler underneath. Later I’ve got to dump these utensils – what a pain that was with one arm.

There are a few other things that are a pain in the ass to take care of with only one functioning arm. I won’t get into that but I’ll tell ya you sure end up knowing who your friends are.

So I had the joneses real bad for hockey. If someone would come pick me up I’d go watch the boys play. I remember one game that I was at where damn near a bench clearing brawl cut loose. There was as much crap going on off the ice as there was on. The rink didn’t have proper benches nor penalty boxes. If ya had a penalty then you went and stood next to the scorekeepers shelf off ice. I just happened to be standing right there when this shit started and an opposing player in the box started going at with our player in the box. I grabbed the opponent around the neck with my good arm completely forgetting about my broken arm. I actually pulled him away off the rubber mat up on to some steps. Screw his edges, ehh! I guess I’m lucky that he didn’t fight back against me and only wanted at my team mate.

But crap a rammy if I didn’t want to play. Ya live it. Ya breath it. I had to have it.

Somewhere along the way I recall that the doctor said I could start doing some normal stuff a couple of weeks after getting out of the final cast. I figured that that meant being able to play hockey. Damn right, ehh?

I didn’t figure that I was ready to skate with the Outlaws right away because that was a might physical, but there was Sunday morning pickup that I could do. A lot of the same guys that I played with or against would be there but it would be just for fun and not as much contact.

I suited up and it was kind a hushed in the dressing room. Most of the guys were going to skate off their hangovers – morning hockey for adults is waaaaay different then night hockey.

I got out on the ice and warmed up before sides were chosen. I can’t say who was picking for the other side but Lance picked me.

Lance was a big ox of a dude. Always had been an opponent, he played center and would park just outside the crease. Was a bitch trying to move him. We’d been in a little fisticuff years earlier and there wasn’t much good blood between us or him and the Outlaws. He and Jingles would go at it regularly and every chance in a competitive game he tried to take out Woody – hated his guts. Ehh?

It was just pickup, so what the heck, I wouldn’t have to worry about him tearing my arm apart if we were on the same team.

The second or third season I was with the Outlaws, Lance’s brother Terry had been my defensive partner. Damn good skater. Not as big as Lance and maybe a bit more sane. They had come from Boston and Lance was one heck of a Bruins fan. He was bud’s with Phil Esposito and would party with him anytime the Bruins were in town. It doesn’t matter how bad ass you are – hockey players are tight.

Lance was one of those guys that you could say made Slapshot a cult film. Back in the day he’d watch it over and over again. His teammates nicknamed him Reggie for Paul Newman’s character from the movie. It stuck. All of us in the league eventually called him Reggie. To this day if you yell Reggie when he’s in a crowd he’ll respond. Crazy yeah, he was a fanatic of the movie. He even had a Johnstown Chiefs jersey that he’d gotten all bloodied up.

So here we are back at that first session of Sunday pickup after getting out of the cast. I’m just a little nervous worrying what if I fall or what if I get hit hard and re-break my dabgone humerus again. But crap I’ve got the joneses and I’ve gotta skate.

I’m off in never-never land worrying and Reggie yells, “Hey everybody, listen up! Wheats just got out of his cast and if anybody hits him ya gotta answer to me. So back off and give him a little room this morning.”

I couldn’t believe it. Reggie saying that shit! Nah, never in a million years!

He did though. Ain’t making this up. He did. An arch enemy for years and years gives me some respect.

From that day on Reggie, in my book, was walking with wood.

I haven’t seen him for a few years now but Bronzie and Jingles skate against him every once in while. It’s not the same as the old days. No longer enemies, but respected opponents, friends even -- that party together in the bar and even at their kid’s birthday parties.

Hockey memories – they are the best! Hockey friends – ya can’t live without them – can ya?

Skate hard guys!

Jasper here – walking with wood until the next time.

Wood to Smitty

We had some days of Indian summer and then winter came back with a vengeance. We had an ice storm first that took down the phone and power lines. I didn’t get any of that restored until just last night. So those of you who live and breath by my blog’s news and humor, I do wish to apologize and hope that this one’s a real good dinger for you.

I was snow bound for a couple of days but after that the roads got opened up and I was heading into town and catching some good hockey at my favorite watering hole. I did get to see the NCAA Division I final of the marketable Frozen Four series. Some really good hockey there. And I got to see some of the last games of the season that the NHL kicked out for us. Now were into Stanley Cup Playoffs which can only mean that I’ve got only about two more months to watch the sport that pumps my blood. Hang in with me folks – I can’t say that I have any favorites this year and as typical of my behavior I’ll be rooting for the underdogs in any game that I get to watch. I believe that a games going to be on in about an hour so I’ll see how much of this I can knock off before then.

If you read my blog on a regular basis you’ll notice this time that my north woods jargon is not being used. It may slip through if I don’t catch myself today but because this is such a somber work that I figured that I owed Smitty that much.

Being snow bound these past couple of weeks brought back the joyous memories of a time many years back where the snow and the cold and the woods had also held my vital spirit at bay.

Back in the ‘80’s I had a job that had me traveling a bit between here and there down in the lower forty-eight. Texas seemed to be one the predominate states that provided me with a survivable income. If it wasn’t San Antonio then it was Arlington or Houston where I set my bags down. The job was good but days out left me a bit drawn and in need of sober activities or I couldn’t face the next morning.

I had spent many a day in small communities doing my business and had discovered that the local Walmart was always a good place to meet and talk with the local folks. You guys know that I’m no uppity sort of guy so this level of socialization fit me just fine. Most of my heavy beer drinking and carrying-on happened when I was home and after a good skate. The metropolitan areas of Texas had their Walmarts too and my type of folks hanging around at them.

During one trip to the Houston area I hit up a short but good conversation with a sweet young thing working the cash register. Her name was Vickie and she was getting off work in about a half hour. I asked her if she’d join me for dinner at a barbeque joint up the street. She was a bit nervous I could tell and I just let it go when she said that she wasn’t sure if she’d be able too.

I took my purchase of a horror paperback back to my hotel and headed over to the BBQ joint figuring that she wouldn’t show but hanging on to the hope of her use of the word “able”.

I was about half done with my first fill-up of sweet tea when she showed up to my anxious surprise. She didn’t want to eat anything but would have some sweet tea too. We chatted for about an hour and I found out that she was only seventeen and dating a guy named Billy, a goalie for one of the New York teams. It seemed as though she was pretty much hung up on Billy but was seeking some fatherly advice from me because he was about my age. She had met him in the same sort of way that we met each other, but it had been in the off season when Billy was in town doing some fishing. Being the benevolent character that I am I was glad to counsel her. I don’t know why but the young ladies have always opened up this way with me. It must be my bear-huggish physique or something of that nature.

We chatted a few more times together during my stay and exchanged addresses and phone numbers. She knew that I played hockey too and said that someday she wanted to see me play. I’d looked her up every time that my travels brought me back to the Houston area. She was gorgeous but so young and wanted my great hug at the end of every visit together.

Vickie ended up marrying Billy and he gave her a son, Daniel Wayner Smith. Their marriage didn’t last too long though and she got pretty messed up over the crumbled matrimony. Our letters and phone calls were now more frequent and were much longer in length then earlier.

Billy was gone (the jerk) and she needed to support herself and little Daniel. The pregnancy had changed her body and she’d begun partying heavy. Her breasts had remained huge from the pregnancy and she decided that the only way she could make ends meet was to use what she’d got and started working at Little Ricky’s Cabaret. She tried using stage names of Robin the Hood and Nikita Kay but finally settled on Anna “Nickel”. My own thoughts now reminiscing: “Silver Dollar” would have been more appropriate.

It wasn’t until much later that I would realize the road that this divergence would be taking her and to her eventual demise and my pain. But still being quite young at heart at the time I too also enjoyed and partook of the lifestyle she had now taken on. But she still has such down times and I had the opportunity to lift her back up on occasion. One such time was that that is the one of this story.

She had finally decided that she had to see me play so I booked her a round trip ticket for a two game weekend. She got her mom to watch little Daniel and I picked her up at our local airport on Friday afternoon with hugs and kisses. We drove back to my cabin in the woods and I got her settled in. We were playing the Skukumchuck Selects at 7:30 so we didn’t stay long before heading off to the arena.

The Selects were a pretty fair team and gave us a good game. I checked for her in the stands at each time my defensive pairing went out on the ice and was pleased to see that she was both watching the game and seemed also to be fitting in good with the other gals. We won when Jingle’s tipped in a cross ice pass from Bronzy with a little over a minute left to play. Those brothers of mine have always played so well. I can’t believe how much I’ve enjoyed the fact that they decided to play hockey instead of becoming professional wrestlers or tennis players as part of their athletic skills.

Terry’s Tavern was cooking after the game and I can’t believe how stinking drunk Vickie and I each got. It was a wonder that we got back to the cabin without crashing somewhere along the way. She rode all the way back in my pickup snuggled up against me. Good wood was on my mind and she wasn’t acting in any way negative to the notion.

Yup, though strong desires and too much alcohol don’t allow fruition sometimes we crashed that night without any action only to wake up to the start of a hell of a snow storm. A real doozie of a storm had swooped in down from the Bering Sea and by the afternoon was just pounding us. By 6:00 pm when I like to leave for my games we had taken over three feet of fresh snow. With the wind blowing the way it was I knew that some of the low areas from the cabin to the main road would be completely drifted in maybe seven or eight feet or more. I figured that the game would be called because no one would be able to get out even in town and I wasn’t too worried because I kept the cabin well stocked and had plenty of fire wood.

Vickie was a bit worried though not being from the North Woods. So I did my best to alleviate her fears not realizing that in doing so I was also rousing her libido. Need I say more then for the next few days being snowed into my cabin we shared some of the greatest love making and pure sex of my life. She revealed to me her stage presence “Anna Nickel Smith” and just drove me nuts. We enjoyed each other for those few days and we joked with each other so much. She kept whispering in my ear “Come on Jaspy give some wood to Smitty,” taking on her own secret hockey player nickname with me.

Oh those days were wonderful! After one really tender moment she grabbed an empty Labatt bottle and spit some backwash into it, sort of recapped it and quickly set the bottle outside where it was about sixty below. She said that she wanted to preserve it for maybe future use. I laughed and said “Vicki, you are so nuts!”

She said, “Jasper, you have so many great qualities but I’m not ready for another baby. You’re getting old and when I’m ready again you might not have it. I’m going to keep that on ice until then and when I’m ready again for another child I want it to be yours.”

I just laughed it off but when she was finally able to head back to Texas she repacked that bottle in dry ice and had UPS send it to her gynecologist after a lengthy phone call. He said that he’d store it in a sperm bank for her.

We stayed in touch over the years but her lifestyle continued to change as she got famous. She ended up marrying some really rich guy that was way older then me. He died several years back and Vickie’s been fighting with his family over the inheritance. She called me once and said that it was time. My seed in cold storage was still viable and she was going to give it a try. I was pretty worried because she had now gotten way overweight and was doing some awful drugs due to the stress in her current life. She got way strung out and then wasn’t talking with me anymore. But she did have a baby girl; Danielynn she named her. I thought well maybe she is mine. Maybe it worked. I figured that I could be a good dad this late in my life; as opposed to earlier when I too was a party animal. She wouldn’t talk to me, she wouldn’t substantiate that I was Danielynn’s daddy. I kind of let it go, a little hurt but our flame I realized had burned out a long time ago. Never having a lot of money myself, I never considered trying to prove paternity.

Daniel Wayner Smith, her son died at twenty while in the Bahamas. Vickie completely fell apart after that and died of an overdose within the same year. She had become so famous and so rich that her death filled many a news report. Danielynn’s paternity became big news too because of this. I guess the courts finally ordered identification of her father and I became awfully anxious folks, let me tell you. Ends up it wasn’t me. I guess my little soldiers lost their oompf over the years.

Yeah life’s a bitch and then you die.

Sad for Vickie … sad for Anna Nickel Smith … sad for Smitty.

Sad for Daniel Wayner and Danielynn her kids.

Sad for Jasper Wheats for a short little bit.

But I’m still walking with wood. No doubt about that folks – no sirree! Ehh?

Road Trip with T-Ball

One thing that I’ve always found pretty tight about sports is all of the nicknames. Who gives a rats-ass where they came from? I’d have to say that the nicknames of most pro athletes were created by the fans or sportscasters. I mean look at a few on my “short list” here:

Boom Boom – Bernie Geoffrian – what’s that tell you?

The Great One – Wayne Gretzky – certainly was – not so sure now.

Red Light – Andre Racicot – ooooh, sunburn city.

The Turk – Derek Sanderson – what the ……..?

The Golden Jet – Bobby Hull – blondie, ehh?

The Golden Brett – Brett Hull – like father, like son – you betcha.

The Pocket Rocket – HenriRichard – couldn’t be Rocket Richard could he?

The Russian Rocket – Pavel Bure – another “rocket” - ok.

Mr. Hockey – Gordy Howe – now that’s sayin sompun, ehh?

Chopper – Al MacGuinnis – should have been Radar with that slapshot.

In some of the other sports ya got Catfish Hunter, the Babe, William The Refrigerator Perry and on and on and on. Ehh – what’s it all mean? Shit I don’t really know.

And then you’ve got nicknames that are some sort of abbreviation or modification of the player’s name. These I can understand a bit better. They sound like they mighta come from the guys on the bench or back in the locker room. Like what’s wrong with Grets for Gretzky? Here’s a few of them that I can think of:

Ziggy – Zigmund Palffy – great with the Kings.

O – Gerry Odrowski – I coached his boys.

The Flower – Guy Lefleur – yo Habs!

Cheesie – Gerry Cheevers – shit I thought he was in a museum.

Rogie – Rogatien Vachon – Habs and Kings goalie, but with a nickname that you’d give a dog.

Ollie the Goalie – Olaf Kolzig – hey in the Northwoods if we call ya Ollie its cuz your last name is Olson, ehh?

Beezer – John Vanbiesbruck – a nickname every want-a-be goalie wanted.

Cujo – Curtis Joseph – sounds like a damn mutt’s name again.

So being from the Northwoods and all maybe I don’t know shit about nicknames, ehh? I mean, I’ve had a few over the years, like Bobby-O (I’ll never figure out where they came up with that) and the Team Bleeder (the season I got stitched up a few too many times). A lot guys just call me by my last name, Wheats – shit it’s what’s on the back of my jersey dabnabit. My brothers generally go by Bronzy and Jingles. Bronzy’s just a jazzed up version of Brian and I guess that even a rock band or media head could come up with that. But Jingles is a definite bench derived name for Jimmy. During his years in juniors, Jingles would get sent out on the ice (pretty….damn…..often…..folks) to take guys out the game, but when he was a midget he really knocked the socks outta some jackoff. When he came back to the bench, I believe it was the back up goalie that said “You really shook the jingles out of that guy”. And it stuck.

So some guys get named by their team mates and some get nicknamed by the fans or media muthas.

Well T-Ball got nicknamed by his buds. I ain’t real sure whether it was his on ice antics or bar room charisma that led to his naming – but it fit. His real name was Tim (I won’t use his last name here ‘case he wants to sue me for some shit or other) so the “T” was for that. And he lived hockey and life like it was just a non-stop speed ball (Not to say that he didn’t have to get rushed to the hospital few times due to extracurricular activities).

He was from Cape Breton Island (yo - Canadian Maritimes if that ain’t Northwoods, ehh?) and had somebody sponsor him so he could work down in the lower forty-eight. He worked as a plumber – hard worker – dirty work. Got his shirt caught in the pipe threading machine once. Spun him around about three times before some jerkoff figured he could stop it by un-plugging the machine. It really busted up T-Ball’s wrist and he missed more then a season. Sucks – not being able to play!

T-Ball wasn’t always an Outlaw. I think when I first met him he played for the Rangers in our league. Really tough guy to play D against. He’s about 6’-2”; I’d guess and maybe 210 – 220 pounds of solid muscle. All speed and good puck control – balls out sort of business and yappin at ya all the time. The league got all changed around and eventually fell apart which was when we joined up with a semi-pro league and T-Ball joined us.

He was good acquisition and I was coachin the boys by then. He was loud but daggone stimulatin if ya know what I mean. The guys needed a charge in their shorts and T-ball could bring it.

He could be damn down to earth though too. If he’d a been my son he would a made me proud. Give ya an example here. I had season seats to the Kings back then and they made the Stanley Cup finals against Montreal that year. T-Ball went to one of the games with me at Los Angeles’ Fabulous Forum (before Staples Center). I forget which game it was and I forget the score and the whole shebang except for this (Could it have been the beer?):

T-Ball jumps up out of his seat and says he’s got to get out to the lobby. I figure he’s got to take a leak cuz we’d really been chuggin em. But it was game on and you gotta hold it during play. Didn’t make any sense to me. I think the Kings scored while he was gone cuz it got really, I mean really loud. After a bit T-Ball comes running back up the stairs taking two or so at a time. He was beamin if ya know what I mean – thought maybe he’d just done a toot or two. But he yells at me “I just called my Dad back in Montreal on one of the pay phones!”. Well I thought his folks were back on CBI but he says, no his dad’s on a job in Montreal. He says “Wheats, I said to my dad to listen to this, I’m at the Forum for the Stanley Cup Finals. Then I took the phone away from my ear and held it out so he could hear the crowd. Shit, I get back on the phone with him and he say’s back to me “Yeah, wrong Forum, ehh?” Ain’t that something – smartass Pop.”

Yeah, he was ok.

On road trips he ruled.

Road trips are good hockey. Ya win some and ya lose some, but if ya got enough guys to ice a team its hockey at its best. Ya got rubber legs from the travel and ya got butterflies to counter that by pumpin ya full of adrenalin.

Secondly, road trips are partying. Folks, I’m telling ya, there ain’t no better partying then that of road trips. First thing that you do is designate whose hotel room gets the beer. That done then ya fill their tub with beers and ice. This shit is for casual thirst quenchin, gut bustin after last call and breakfast of course. Serious drinkin will be done at the bar after the game.

So the third thing is to scope out the neighborhood for a decent bar or two. You couldn’t always trust the local team’s recommendations and sometimes game results dictated that you really didn’t need to win in the bar too (though damn if we couldn’t if we had too).

On this particular road trip that I’m thinking of we were all set up at the hotel and had gone on to the rink to suit up. T-Ball dumps his gear out on the floor in front of himself. Kicks it around a bit and grabs a t-shirt and sniffs it then throws it in the trash. Grabs another one, sniffs it and throws it in the face of one our wingers. Kicks his gear some more and reaches out and grabs another t-shirt. He sniffs this one too and says “Aw, fuck they all smell like shit – what’s the dif? Probably’ll give me a little maneuvering room out there.” I’m telling ya that his gear just reeked.

Game on. Game over. Shower up and time to partaaaaaaaaaa!

T-Ball comes up to me before we head to the bar and says he’s got to run back to the hotel cuz he left his wallet there. Wanted to know if I could give him a ride. I thought about it for a sec – thinkin – he’s the chick magnet, I’ll look good walkin into the bar with him. So I tell him, “Yeah, lets scoot.”

We get back to his room and he snags his wallet off the top of the chest of drawers. He gives it a quick peek for cash and says to me “Wheats, ya need some protection? Grab a couple of those.” I look over at the chest and see that he’s got like thirty condoms of maybe five different varieties spread out on top. Holy shit, is he ready for the game later tonight, or what?

Good hockey! Good partying! Good night!

That was T-ball. That was road trips. That was walking with wood.