Yesterday was Easter and the last games of the 2008 - 2009 season have now been played and the lineup for the Stanley Cup playoffs have been set.
Now this won’t make everybody happy including me but ….
… here are my predictions for the best hockey has to offer in the playoffs:
First Round:
Capitals win vs the Rangers
Penguins win vs Flyers
Devils win vs Hurricanes
Bruins win vs Canadians
Blues win vs Canucks
Sharks win vs Ducks
Redwings win vs Blue Jackets
Blackhawks win vs Flames
Second Round:
Devils win vs Capitals
Bruins win vs Penguins
Sharks win vs Blues
Redwings win vs Blackhawks
Semi-finals:
Bruins win vs Devils
Redwings win vs Sharks
Stanley Cup Finals:
Bruins win vs Redwings
Yup – I just feel that it’s the Bruins’ year!
I’ve got to tell you that I really got to see more televised hockey this season than any ever before in the past. I’ve seen just tons of NHL games, college games, high school games, AHL and even ECHL games. It’s been a real blast but I of course attribute this good fortune to the fact that I’ve been unemployed since October of 2008. Damn, nearly the entire season, ehh. I missed a little bit recouping from my fool-ass brain injury but otherwise I just got to see a shit load of hockey this year.
I’m of course hoping to land a new job real soon. Ahh yup. And you know if that happens then I’m gonna miss a bunch of the Stanley Cup Playoff games. Well, I’d certainly rather have a job though. But hockey rules, and you know that as well as the fact that I live it.
Those of you that keep track of me know that I travel to California on occasion, right? Back in late March I lined up several interviews for companies that have their headquarters in the San Francisco Bay area. All of them possibly good opportunities that would mostly keep me close to home here in the back woods but with some amount of travel as may be required because of the job responsibilities. So I’m hoping for some good luck out of this. Shit, I’m hoping for good luck for anybody that is looking for a job right now. The whole world has kinda soured if ya know what I mean but I’m sure we’ll pull out of it soon.
You followers also know that when I travel that I like to stop in to local rinks and see what kinda shinny they got going on or how their youth teams are faring. It’s always fun to meet new pucksters and their friends and families. This trip was no different as I was able to set aside a bit of time to visit the rink in Oakland.
It’s a fairly modern facility located on 18th Street in Oakland. Goes by the name of the Oakland Ice Center and seems to have some hockey affiliation with the San Jose Sharks and two other rinks; one in San Jose and one in Freemont. All three of these cities are on what they refer to as the eastern side of the Bay Area. I checked out what all they have going on here and was really quite impressed for a California rink. They’ve got an in-house league (Sharks Ice), a traveling club team – the Outlaw Bears, a high school league and an adult league with teams of the usual various names but I thought that these were a bit interesting: Puck Pigs, Skateful Dead, Cross-Czechs, and Gang Green.
They’ve got two ice surfaces here – one NHL size and one Olympic size. Dressing rooms, pro-shop, snack bar; you know, the usual fare. But I’ve got say again – I was impressed.
I stopped by mid-morning on a Tuesday and was expecting to find only figure skaters on the ice. Exactly! That’s all that was going on when I arrived, but by the time I checked out the facility, sipped on a coffee and reviewed some of the league and team stats things had begun to change.
Private figure skating sessions had ended on the NHL rink and pucksters loaded down with their gear started showing up. I figured that it was maybe a session of lunch-time pickup getting ready to get underway so I thought I’d stick around to watch and chat up some of the players. I went back to the snack bar and got a slice of pizza. Whoa dogs – that’s some tough stuff to eat – I think it was leftover from the night before and was just put under the warming lights. Oh well it was chow and job interviewing had taken a bit outta me and I needed to re-energize a bit.
Now this was really strange, because I’ve never seen it with pick-up before, but two refs and two lineman came out on the ice first. They skated around a bit and then went over to the penalty box where a crowd was gathering off of the ice. I hadn’t noticed but there were a bunch of suits over their and a video crew with, what I could see, at least two cameras. Curious I moved over closer from the end boards to the sin bin and noticed that several of the dudes in suits were displaying embroidered NHL emblems on their jacket pockets.
Interesting, ehh.
On a previous visit to California I ran into Apple bigwigs testing the I-Puck along side Zamboni testing the Zamboomba. What a hilarious mess that was. I was wondering though “Could I be onto something as controversial again”?
Curious and as forward as I am I walked up to one of the suits and introduced myself.
“Hi, I’m Jasper Wheats, world famous hockey blogger. What’s going on here?”
The dude shook my hand and said, “Howdy mate, I’m Rup Iverson, NHL rep – Enforcement Technology.”
By this time players were coming out on to the ice and all of them were stopping by the penalty box and were signing in or something.
Rup hands me a business card and says “This was all hush-hush until the GM’s meeting and since you’re here I figure the cat’s outta the bag. Ehh?”
Not wanting to act like a stupid shit I said, “Ahh yup,” in as a commanding voice as I could.
I dawdled a bit and lazily started to say, “Soooo …” expecting him to cut me off, which he did – the prideful bastard.
“Wheats, I know your shit. Its good stuff. Ya don’t mind me calling ya ‘Wheats’ do ya? Well you know the big discussion coming outta the GM meeting was fighting. That’s my bag. I led the Norse league two years in row for penalty minutes and fighting majors. Unusual for European hockey but I just love to mix it up. After I quit playing I migrated to Canada end got myself a degree in human psychology. Coached a bit at junior level then moved into a back office position with the NHL. They said they could use somebody with my education and background.”
This guy is on a high horse so I let him continue talking.
“Ya see Wheats, Bettman more than anybody wants to abolish fighting in the league. Between me and you he’s a wimp and would probably drop from just a feigned punch. But anyway the GMs just want fighting controlled a little better. They realize that it adds to the package when a fan pays to watch a game and also that a good donnybrook can ramp-up a team’s play during the course of a game. But what the GMs are afraid of is that with the salary cap and all, well some of there top notch high priced players can’t afford to be injured in a little fisticuff. If ya catch my drift.”
I returned, “Yeah I getcha. The big buck owners don’t want their stars being sidelined because they’re the main draw. Right? But that’s why teams carry enforcers, ehh.”
“Right, right! That used to be the case. I mean did ya ever see Gretzky without McSorely? Right. Used to be the case I’m telling you. But now days the stars are just as willing to mix it up as anybody else. And this scares the owners and it trickles down to the GMs. They’ve got to somewhat obey their masters ehh. Don’t want to be kiss asses but money talks and bullshit walks, Wheats. You know that.”
I’m getting this but what I’m not getting is how this mid-day skate is going to remedy this managerial situation. So I say “Cool!” to keep him on the hook and nudge some more. “So how’s this work, Rupster?”
“Whoa, Wheats! I go by Rup. That Rupster shit makes me sound like some sort a punk kid. Lets keep this clean, ehh!”
The dude is full of himself. “Sorry. So go on Rup.”
“Some of the big horses have come up with some ideas and we’re trying one out today. Ya notice that all the players are signing releases over there? Well these guys are local pickup/beer league players noted for rough stuff and they’re each getting paid a couple hundred bucks to play today with instructions to play as crazy as possible. Elbows, boarding, high sticking, hooking you name it. We expect that the gloves will get dropped with regularity throughout the skate. We’ve got actual NHL on-ice officials that will blow whistles to stop play upon an infraction but no actual penalties will be called. We want the play intense but somewhat controlled. All of these guys jumped at the opportunity to play in this game this afternoon because they’re all pretty frustrated from sitting in the box so much during their regular league games. Wheats, you’re gonna see some old time hockey this afternoon.”
“Ok, ok,” I say, “so the test is letting these boys play but lots of whistles? Doesn’t seem to be much of an idea.”
“Nah Wheats. Here’s the drill. And all these guys know it and that’s why they sign the releases. Once a fight breaks out the linesmen will come into break it up as usual. But the refs are packing dude.”
“What ya mean Rup?” Now I’m lost. Are these refs carrying guns or something?
“OK, let me explain. See that belt the ref is putting on? It’s got a power pack for a taser that is strapped to his wrist and index finger kinda Spiderman style. When he extends his arm micro switches are turned on that activates the system and when he blows his whistle the taser fires in the direction of the pointed arm/index finger. The taser system has an audio pickup tuned to the officials’ whistles that activates and fires the propulsion subsystem within milliseconds. We zap the fighters and the fight ends. Simple as shit ehh. I don’t know why we didn’t think of this sooner.”
“I think that the idea is crazier than radioactive moose dung, Rup. But what’s my opinion count for anyway? I just happened upon your little exercise and probably shouldn’t be here anyway. I think I’ll go sit in the stands and watch your ‘controlled’ game. Thanks for the info.”
“Just don’t get in the way Wheats. I’ve got a lot respect for you and what you’ve done for the world of hockey. So I sure as shit don’t want you to get mixed up in the nastiness on the ice. I’m sure you could hold your own with these boys; but just the same I don’t want you to get hurt. Ha-ha! Sit back and enjoy the show.”
I climbed up into the stands and by than the game got underway. Rup hadn’t been kidding about the expected rough play. This was some good shit my friends. Rough and tumble hockey the way it was meant to be played. But in my mind its just a dabgone shame that if a fight breaks out that someone’s going to get zapped.
It wasn’t long before we had some action. One guy got hooked on an open ice breakaway (ok almost a breakaway) and at the following faceoff after the whistle the two decided to tangle. The linesman let them go for few seconds and then jumped into as normal to break it up. The ref lined up pointed his arm and finger, rather than raising it, and blew his whistle. He either missed his mark or was too far away because the fighters kept going at it. The second ref then came in close and zapped one of the guys. Since by then the guys were almost bear hugging the charge from the taser went though both of them and they dropped like stiff legged GI Joes and commenced to shake mildly about on the ice but then got up quickly and started at it again.
At that point the cardboard pizza I had eaten decided to come back up. This was ugly in a way and didn’t seem to really work the way Rup said it was intended. I didn’t like it. Not one bit. Finally they broke it off with the help of the linesmen.
After a few seconds some EMTs, that I hadn’t noticed previously, came out on the ice to check the fighters’ vitals, I guess.
Both refs went over to the penalty box and were each refitted with replacement wrist apparatus. Apparently the system was modular for a quick changeover of the wrist remote. Somebody must have thought ahead about this. Any duration to changeover would be a detriment to the game – kinda like a TV timeout.
Play got underway again and it continued at its rough pace. I’m still thinking that this isn’t such a good idea when Rup comes jogging up into the stands with a clipboard in his hand.
He sits down beside me and boasts “What ya think of that Wheats?!?! Wasn’t that something?”
“Ahh Rup! That had me tasting my lunch twice. I’m not so sure that this is such a good idea,” I responded feeling sick again.
“Oh don’t tell me you can’t stomach this action. I’m sure that there’s more to come.”
A little bit later a fracas broke out in the crease and slot area. Normal pushing and shoving like you’d expect. Four, five maybe even six guys going at it some.
Both refs move up close and both of them have their arm extended and whistle to their mouths. Or so I thought. Finally a whistle blows and the bundled up bunch of guys don’t pay any attention and keep at it. But the craziest shit in the world is that one of the ref’s went down and he’s vibrating like Linda Blair in the Exorcist just to the left side of the net.
I tossed my cookies in a split second and Rup was up and on the run. Next thing I see is he’s flat footing it across the ice and sliding into the group of players and drops to his knees like a trainer over the downed ref. The EMTs follow but at a much slower cautionary pace to aid this zebra down on the ice.
The vibrating stops. They give the ref oxygen, put him on a flatboard and take him off the ice.
Rup gets back off the ice and goes to talk with the suits. A bullhorn gets pulled out and whoever’s behind it announces that “That’s it for today boys.”
I get up to leave cuz I’m not feeling real good now and Rup catches up to me at the bottom of the stairwell.
He says “Wheats, I’m sure you’re going to write something on this so I want you to get it straight what just happened. The ref that went down for some reason had the remote for his taser attached to his whistle hand and brought it up to his mouth. When the other ref blew his whistle it fired right into his cheek. Zapped the holy fuck out him and also cut up his face. He should be ok because these things are de-tuned a bit from standard issue units that the cops use. But I don’t know for sure, we maybe don’t have these puppies set strong enough to be the deterrent that we want on the ice. It sure zapped the fuck outta the ref but didn’t do as much as we wanted to the players. Oh, and I forgot to mention this earlier but each of these players had to have been zapped before to qualify for this skate. As crazy as it sounds, none of them had to volunteer to be zapped. They all said that they had been zapped a time or two previously by the Oakland PD. Some of them said that they had been tasered right out in the parking lot here while chugging beers after a skate. Maybe they’re sort of immune to the charge. I don’t know.”
I started heading for the door and told Rup that I hope he gets it right but that I still didn’t feel like it’s the best thing to do to the game of hockey.
Rup grabbed my arm and spun me around. “Wheats, I know what your thinking. But there’s a lot of money in this. You’ve got my card. If you think of anything that might work that the GMs, owners and even possibly Bettmen would be interested in then give me a call or shoot me an email. I know that you’ve got lots of connections and are well regarded in hockey circles worldwide. Your input would be great.”
With that he shook my hand and bid me goodbye with one of my own lines “Wheats, your walking with wood, man, your walking with wood.”
Monday, April 13, 2009
Monday, March 16, 2009
IS IT HOOKING OR IS IT FISHING?
Have you ever been fishing? Nah, I’m not talking about out in the ocean. I’m a freakin land lubber so my idea of fishing is from shore on a mountain lake or impoundment or the streams that flow into or out of these bodies of water. I’m mainly talking about trout fishing. It’s a favorable pastime when hockey season is over and it sure beats the shit outta playing golf.
Speaking of golf, have ya ever seen the kinda money those guys make in tournaments? Where the hell does that money come from? Its not like golf is a physical game like hockey that can draw from an enormous fan-base as a legitimate spectator sport. Shit howdy! I mean who watches that shit and even better yet who in the world would PAY to watch it? For the life of me, I just can’t figure it out.
So I’ll get back to fishing in a little bit.
What in the world is going on with ice hockey these days? Playoffs are around the corner and will start in about four weeks and the general managers all got together again and raised some shit about fighting and instigators and all this other shit. It blows my mind how far away from true hockey we are getting these days. Look at all the protections that are being provided goalies and superstars. Fuck’em! As far as I’m concerned if ya lace’m up and step on the ice you’re fair game. So you’re a goalie and ya lay down in the crease (Gee have you seen how big the crease is these days?) trying to make a save? That’s your job, right? You’ve got more protective gear on then anyone else on the ice, is that correct? So you’re down or maybe your not and you get clobbered by an opponent; maybe on purpose or maybe he got clobbered into you by one of your teammates, so he gets a penalty and you get to be a whoosss. Is that right?
No fuckin way! Of course its not. Be a man instead of a weenie.
And the hooking calls that have been being made all season long; what a bunch of shit they are. Take a look at a hockey stick. See how at the end of the shaft the blade joins it angularly. Now to restrict or impede someone by hooking by use of this angled blade is a bloody hook. Not the crap that the league now calls. A player gets tapped in his mid-section or on his gloves by his opponent and we get a hooking call. Bull crap! Come up with a new term for this – call it panty-waisting or tapping. But hooking, come on? No way. I’m sick of it.
What does the league think? Getting tapped might hurt your little fingies? Well wear some dad-gone hockey gloves for Pete’s sake. Have you seen the mitts that some of the hot shot forwards are wearing these days? My honey wears heavier gloves when she does gardening. If ya get a chance take a look at the skimpy little gloves that Joe Thornton uses.
One thing that is fairly physical that I’ve never been too fond of though is cross-checking in the back. This can cause permanent spinal damage. It seems as though this has been on the rise and very seldom is called. Probably the most prevalent cross-checker in the league is Rob Blake.
When I coached, I always taught my kids to drop one hand off the stick so that they wouldn’t get called for cross checking. There isn’t a penalty for shoving.
There, I got up on my soapbox for a little bit. I mean, like, gee-wilikers I’m Jasper Wheats, walking with wood, and I’m entitled to speak my mind about all things hockey, ehh.
How about you? What’s your take on all the changes going on with hockey? Drop me a line and let me know how you feel. Are we losing that old time hockey flavor that we so love?
Yup, I got a little off task here you guys. I hope that you didn’t mind too dang much. Let’s get back to fishing, ehh.
I used to do a whole shit load of fishing on the lakes in Minnesota when I lived down in the Twin Cities area. Mainly catching bluegills, crappies and fool bullheads. It was a good time that’s for sure. I remember one little fishing trip we took up to a lake north of Saint Paul, Twin Rivers Lake. We were probably three families all together if I remember right and this time we went out in two powerboats to the far side of the lake from where we had set up camp. It’s so long ago now that I can’t remember if we were using shiners or worms but we were working a crappie hole between where the two rivers dumped into the lake. It was like fishing in a barrel. You drop your line, you pull up a crappie. Seemed as though somebody in the other boat caught a small pike and I don’t think it was big enough to be legal so all we really had was a big old mess of panfish.
On this particular fishing expedition I was the oldest male kid and as such was designated to fillet all these puppies. I think it was like 173 fish that I cleaned that afternoon. I was up to my elbows in fish guts, skin and scales and flat slabs of pan-fish fillets. It was actually quite a bitch but the fish fry we had that night was awfully damn good.
But this is my take on that: Having the boats to get over to that fishing hole was just too much of an unfair advantage to the fish. I guess that’s why I don’t like boat fishing. Oh yeah, plus I always get a little seasick later from the rocking of v-hull boats. Now a canoe, that’s a different story. You’re low to the water and you have to paddle – there’s some exertion involved on the fisherman’s part and that sort of karma-wise evens out the advantage over the fish.
After moving away from the Land of 10,000 Lakes I didn’t fish for many years. I had a new life and new adventures that a young man in his late teens and early twenties might find himself involved. But nope, fishing wasn’t one of those activities.
At some point in my late twenties, one of my hockey buds, Mooney (he’s since passed away due to cancer but is walking with wood on the other side I’m absolutely sure), talked me and a bunch of other members of the team to go on a trout fishing trip up to the mountains. This, my friends, was a great reintroduction to a favorite pastime of all folks that live in the backwoods.
On this first trip it was Moonie, Mick, Guyster, myself, and I think Doodoo. Mick played defense with me on occasion and Guyster, our goalie, from Montreal, actually had a college degree in fish husbandry – so he was sort of an expert on all things “fish”. DooDoo was a blond haired horndog slicker from Boston that’d poke anything that had a hole; hence his nickname. And Moonie, well he’d skated winger most of the time and had been coming to this area since he was a little kid.
There were four main areas that we fished on this trip. The first was in the high country lakes. All were at 10,000 feet elevation or higher. A couple of small ones that we didn’t pursue too heavily were the Toad Lakes that were higher up in the mountain range but part of the drainage. Then there were the two Virgin Lakes (Upper and Lower or Big and Little take your pick) and Turbull Lake that were all within about a quarter a mile of each other that we fished quite heavily. The second area that we fished was the Walking Wood River that was down the mountain in another drainage but easy walking from the main road. The third was a big impoundment, Spanhaven Reservoir, where we fished from the dam and the trout were fat. The fourth and last spot we fished was at the lowest elevation at around 4,000 feet and again an impoundment named Lindy Pond.
Camping was available at or near all areas except Spanhaven where a small town is similarly named that has motels, a sporting goods/fishing supplies store, gas stations, restaurants and bars. On this particular trip, and any I took with Moonie, we always stayed at the Walking Wood Lodge in town and ate breakfast at a coffee shop across the street and had dinner and brews at the Rhino Bar down the street.
Moonie had scads of injuries, broken bones and shit, so I think he found sleeping on a hotel bed to be of less discomfort then tent camping. We didn’t complain. A warm shower after fishing all day in rain sometimes or even sleet wasn’t such a damn bad inconvenience to put up with, ehh.
I am damn glad that old Moonie turned me on to this part of the world and re-inspired my fishing spirit. He may have sucked on the ice but he sure knew how to continue our camaraderie after the season was over. The trout opener is always the first weekend in May so the timing was excellent.
Do any of you hockey dudes or dudettes have a friend like Moonie that turned you on to something way cool? Again, if you have, well than just drop me a line and tell me about it. It coulda been an uncle, an aunt, a grandparent, or a neighbor. Shit, it could be your folks or a sibling that spiffed up a part of your life and maybe they haven’t ditched it yet for a better life like Moonie did. But tell me about it, I’d like to hear your stories.
After having done this with Moonie and the boys for a few years I made plans for a fishing trip with my brother Jingles, his son Ry-Ry and three of our nephews Ricky, Josey and his little bro Amos. Ricky and Josey are the oldest and the same age at around 12 or 13 during this trip. I think Amos is next youngest and then Ry-Ry was the punkest kid along.
This trip was for camping and fishing – no hotel or restaurant fare. The boys were going to enjoy the virtues of camping. We packed all the gear under the shell of my little pickup truck and Amos road with me. Jingles was driving at the time either a Yugo or a Le Car, econo-boxes, with the other three nephews.
So off we headed about 340 miles each way to the campground at Turnbull Lake. We weren’t too concerned about making good time, just sort of pittered about with pit stops and time to jostle a bit to break up the tedium of the drive. Nothing like uncles destroying all the good manners that these boys’ moms had ever taught them. Yeah, you’re damn right you can fart in the car! Ha-ha, and the louder and the stinkier the better.
We brought along the usual provisions for eating and drinking – eggs, bacon, potatoes for frying, hot dogs, chips, cookies, pops and beers (for me and Jingles only – of course) and maybe some fruit – not sure about that. I packed three of my tents – an umbrella tent that myself and Amos slept in and two each two man pup tents, one for Jingles and Ry-Ry and one for Josie and Ricky. Everybody also brought sleeping bags for themselves. It gets down below freezing even on summer nights when your camping above 10,000 feet so we needed to be prepared.
The first day was dedicated to driving and setting up camp. We didn’t do any fishing, had a little time to hike around and show the boys the three lakes that were close by. The campground has mountains that rise up another three to four thousand feet on three sides so the views up there were pretty damn spectacular. I’m pretty sure that everybody thought this place was just tits.
I fixed dinner and got a fire going. We sat around the fire, roasted marshmallows and acted like just a bunch of fools telling scary stories and talking about bears and crap. I think the coolest thing for my nephews was being able to add wood to the fire and being able to stir it up making sparks fly. It was crazy but very cool to hang out with my family in such a rugged place. As we let the fire burn down it came time to take trips to the campground’s outhouse for the before bed pisseroos. With couple of flashlights in hand we all trucked on down to individually enter the throne of stinkdom. Whew, it was bad in there after a hot summer day – even in the cool of the night that shitter was pretty ripe.
So after that ordeal we all got back to the camp and I made sure that each tent had a flashlight and we all settled into our tents and sleeping bags. Everybody was making a lot of noise and such with laughing coming from every tent before we finally crashed out. But I’m not so sure that anybody got a good night’s sleep. It was colder than poop. Amos mutters in his sleep and I know that I had to bury my head in my sleeping bag to keep warm and block that out. Damn near suffocated and get claustrophobic when I cover my head. Oh well, that wasn’t the worst of it.
In the morning I come to find out that Jingle’s and Ry-Ry’s sleeping bags were of the GI Joe variety. They might keep you warm on the living room floor but they sure don’t work for fuck up in the mountains. They froze their fool asses off.
After fixing breakfast for all I got us organized to do some fishing. I already had two complete ultra-light spinning rod and reels plus one medium weight rod and reel set up. So for this trip I had bought four el-cheapo closed face spinning rod and reel rigs. I hate those things but thought that they would be easier for kids to learn on. Deciding that the two Virgin Lakes had too much vegetation growing on the shore line and to avoid snags in this shit we walked over to the far shore of Turbull Lake where there were some rock ledges and boulder sized scree that we could easily fish from.
Now Jingles is a hell of a hockey player but I had to show him how to setup the gear and how to cast to catch trout just like I did my nephews. The nephews all grew up to be pretty athletic with Ricky and Josie playing some puck, Ry-Ry winning an AAAU 14 year old world series, and Amos playing every play in some football games his senior year of high school. So once I got them going they all did pretty good.
The only real problem was while Amos was not paying attention and setting his rig down a seagull swam into his line and being startled flew away pulling his gear into about fifteen feet of water. What a crack up. Good thing I had an extra rig.
The boys started getting hungry so we broke off to go back to camp for lunch. While there Mick showed up in his Bronco and he went off fishing one of the Virgin or Toad Lakes only to join us again in the evening.
So back to the shelves and rocks we went fishing. And boy oh boy did it get good in the afternoon. We were catching twelve-inch rainbows right and left. We discovered that about 30 to 40 feet out was a drop off and the fish were hanging just over that edge. I was hopping about taking fish off the line and getting them on stringers and doing this and doing that to keep the screaming down. I got so caught up after a while helping Amos and walking back and forth from his spot to where Jingles and Ry-Ry were fishing that I hadn’t noticed that Josey and Ricky had disappeared. When I did finally notice I realized that those little shitters had taken off and had climbed several hundred feet up the scree and were perched on a massive outcropping with about a hundred foot free fall immediately below them. I screamed at them to get back down explaining that their moms’, my sisters, would kill me if they got seriously hurt while up here. LOL
That evening I cleaned some of the trout and we had them for dinner. Needless to say the boys preferred hot dogs so we had those too.
Again we sat around the fire and had a good time that evening. It was good to have Mick show up because he added stories that we hadn’t heard before. Plus his inclusion into the adult attendance we drank a lot more beer that night and I know for one that I paid for that with several frigid scurries away from the tent in the night in order to empty my bladder. Ry-Ry discovered that if he stuffed green pine needles into the beer cans and threw them into the fire that they made loud popping noises and so had invented “sap bombs” that we put up with during that night’s and the remaining evening fires.
I really think these boys had a blast. I know that I did and I’m sure that I’ll remember this fishing trip forever. I hope that they do too.
Another thing the boys discovered was that pops and beers make for tremendous burps when you’re at altitude. Each tried to out do the others. It was intense and oft times sounded quite painful.
Because of those wimp-ass sleeping bags that Jingles and Ry-Ry had to use they placed some good sized loose stones next to the fire pit to warm up and later put them in the bottom of their sleeping bags to keep warm through the night. Well – half the night and as crazy as it was this worked better than doing nothing else like they had the first night.
Mick hadn’t brought a tent and asked if he could sleep under the shell in the bed of my pickup. No problem, but he only had blankets and no sleeping bag. In the morning he said that that was bullshit. So much wind blew in around the bed of my truck that he froze his fuckin ass off. He was gonna sleep in the back seat of his Bronco the next night.
The next day we hiked about and fished some more. All in all I think we caught about eighty rainbows. Like that fishing trip back in Minnesota, again I cleaned every fish. Now trout don’t get filleted but you do gut them by slitting from their bowel opening to their gills and pulling their innards out by grabbing the gills and pulling down and out. Gills are pretty sharp and both of my thumbs were sliced almost to the bone from doing this – ahhhhh - yes the pains of fishing.
I think that my old defensive buddy, Mick, had a pretty good time hanging out with the old Wheats clan for fishing and freezing on this adventure. We had to leave on the third day early and left him while he did some more fishing.
We packed everything up and got ready to hit the road. I looked at Amos who was again going to ride with me. He had the same and only sweatshirt he had with him still on – filthier than my fishing rag. It was an old mustard yellow colored thing so I had him turn it inside out so it didn’t look so bad. Kinda held the odor in also. He got a bloody nose on the way home and bled all over it anyway, so no biggie – I should have left it right side out, ehh.
Sometime later after this trip I found out that Josie and Ricky couldn’t stand the stench of the outhouse at the campground and had avoided having to sit in the office by not taking a crap the whole trip. LMFAO! I don’t know how they managed that because that greasy-ass bacon that I fixed every morning for breakfast had my bowels moving in about three minute flat. I guess you could call what I fix for the morning meal as “Jasper’s Instant Breakfast”, ehh.
I love hockey. I love camping. And I love fishing. So many more tales to tell.
Come back again and read some more.
Jasper here, just telling ya to skate hard and walk with wood.
Speaking of golf, have ya ever seen the kinda money those guys make in tournaments? Where the hell does that money come from? Its not like golf is a physical game like hockey that can draw from an enormous fan-base as a legitimate spectator sport. Shit howdy! I mean who watches that shit and even better yet who in the world would PAY to watch it? For the life of me, I just can’t figure it out.
So I’ll get back to fishing in a little bit.
What in the world is going on with ice hockey these days? Playoffs are around the corner and will start in about four weeks and the general managers all got together again and raised some shit about fighting and instigators and all this other shit. It blows my mind how far away from true hockey we are getting these days. Look at all the protections that are being provided goalies and superstars. Fuck’em! As far as I’m concerned if ya lace’m up and step on the ice you’re fair game. So you’re a goalie and ya lay down in the crease (Gee have you seen how big the crease is these days?) trying to make a save? That’s your job, right? You’ve got more protective gear on then anyone else on the ice, is that correct? So you’re down or maybe your not and you get clobbered by an opponent; maybe on purpose or maybe he got clobbered into you by one of your teammates, so he gets a penalty and you get to be a whoosss. Is that right?
No fuckin way! Of course its not. Be a man instead of a weenie.
And the hooking calls that have been being made all season long; what a bunch of shit they are. Take a look at a hockey stick. See how at the end of the shaft the blade joins it angularly. Now to restrict or impede someone by hooking by use of this angled blade is a bloody hook. Not the crap that the league now calls. A player gets tapped in his mid-section or on his gloves by his opponent and we get a hooking call. Bull crap! Come up with a new term for this – call it panty-waisting or tapping. But hooking, come on? No way. I’m sick of it.
What does the league think? Getting tapped might hurt your little fingies? Well wear some dad-gone hockey gloves for Pete’s sake. Have you seen the mitts that some of the hot shot forwards are wearing these days? My honey wears heavier gloves when she does gardening. If ya get a chance take a look at the skimpy little gloves that Joe Thornton uses.
One thing that is fairly physical that I’ve never been too fond of though is cross-checking in the back. This can cause permanent spinal damage. It seems as though this has been on the rise and very seldom is called. Probably the most prevalent cross-checker in the league is Rob Blake.
When I coached, I always taught my kids to drop one hand off the stick so that they wouldn’t get called for cross checking. There isn’t a penalty for shoving.
There, I got up on my soapbox for a little bit. I mean, like, gee-wilikers I’m Jasper Wheats, walking with wood, and I’m entitled to speak my mind about all things hockey, ehh.
How about you? What’s your take on all the changes going on with hockey? Drop me a line and let me know how you feel. Are we losing that old time hockey flavor that we so love?
Yup, I got a little off task here you guys. I hope that you didn’t mind too dang much. Let’s get back to fishing, ehh.
I used to do a whole shit load of fishing on the lakes in Minnesota when I lived down in the Twin Cities area. Mainly catching bluegills, crappies and fool bullheads. It was a good time that’s for sure. I remember one little fishing trip we took up to a lake north of Saint Paul, Twin Rivers Lake. We were probably three families all together if I remember right and this time we went out in two powerboats to the far side of the lake from where we had set up camp. It’s so long ago now that I can’t remember if we were using shiners or worms but we were working a crappie hole between where the two rivers dumped into the lake. It was like fishing in a barrel. You drop your line, you pull up a crappie. Seemed as though somebody in the other boat caught a small pike and I don’t think it was big enough to be legal so all we really had was a big old mess of panfish.
On this particular fishing expedition I was the oldest male kid and as such was designated to fillet all these puppies. I think it was like 173 fish that I cleaned that afternoon. I was up to my elbows in fish guts, skin and scales and flat slabs of pan-fish fillets. It was actually quite a bitch but the fish fry we had that night was awfully damn good.
But this is my take on that: Having the boats to get over to that fishing hole was just too much of an unfair advantage to the fish. I guess that’s why I don’t like boat fishing. Oh yeah, plus I always get a little seasick later from the rocking of v-hull boats. Now a canoe, that’s a different story. You’re low to the water and you have to paddle – there’s some exertion involved on the fisherman’s part and that sort of karma-wise evens out the advantage over the fish.
After moving away from the Land of 10,000 Lakes I didn’t fish for many years. I had a new life and new adventures that a young man in his late teens and early twenties might find himself involved. But nope, fishing wasn’t one of those activities.
At some point in my late twenties, one of my hockey buds, Mooney (he’s since passed away due to cancer but is walking with wood on the other side I’m absolutely sure), talked me and a bunch of other members of the team to go on a trout fishing trip up to the mountains. This, my friends, was a great reintroduction to a favorite pastime of all folks that live in the backwoods.
On this first trip it was Moonie, Mick, Guyster, myself, and I think Doodoo. Mick played defense with me on occasion and Guyster, our goalie, from Montreal, actually had a college degree in fish husbandry – so he was sort of an expert on all things “fish”. DooDoo was a blond haired horndog slicker from Boston that’d poke anything that had a hole; hence his nickname. And Moonie, well he’d skated winger most of the time and had been coming to this area since he was a little kid.
There were four main areas that we fished on this trip. The first was in the high country lakes. All were at 10,000 feet elevation or higher. A couple of small ones that we didn’t pursue too heavily were the Toad Lakes that were higher up in the mountain range but part of the drainage. Then there were the two Virgin Lakes (Upper and Lower or Big and Little take your pick) and Turbull Lake that were all within about a quarter a mile of each other that we fished quite heavily. The second area that we fished was the Walking Wood River that was down the mountain in another drainage but easy walking from the main road. The third was a big impoundment, Spanhaven Reservoir, where we fished from the dam and the trout were fat. The fourth and last spot we fished was at the lowest elevation at around 4,000 feet and again an impoundment named Lindy Pond.
Camping was available at or near all areas except Spanhaven where a small town is similarly named that has motels, a sporting goods/fishing supplies store, gas stations, restaurants and bars. On this particular trip, and any I took with Moonie, we always stayed at the Walking Wood Lodge in town and ate breakfast at a coffee shop across the street and had dinner and brews at the Rhino Bar down the street.
Moonie had scads of injuries, broken bones and shit, so I think he found sleeping on a hotel bed to be of less discomfort then tent camping. We didn’t complain. A warm shower after fishing all day in rain sometimes or even sleet wasn’t such a damn bad inconvenience to put up with, ehh.
I am damn glad that old Moonie turned me on to this part of the world and re-inspired my fishing spirit. He may have sucked on the ice but he sure knew how to continue our camaraderie after the season was over. The trout opener is always the first weekend in May so the timing was excellent.
Do any of you hockey dudes or dudettes have a friend like Moonie that turned you on to something way cool? Again, if you have, well than just drop me a line and tell me about it. It coulda been an uncle, an aunt, a grandparent, or a neighbor. Shit, it could be your folks or a sibling that spiffed up a part of your life and maybe they haven’t ditched it yet for a better life like Moonie did. But tell me about it, I’d like to hear your stories.
After having done this with Moonie and the boys for a few years I made plans for a fishing trip with my brother Jingles, his son Ry-Ry and three of our nephews Ricky, Josey and his little bro Amos. Ricky and Josey are the oldest and the same age at around 12 or 13 during this trip. I think Amos is next youngest and then Ry-Ry was the punkest kid along.
This trip was for camping and fishing – no hotel or restaurant fare. The boys were going to enjoy the virtues of camping. We packed all the gear under the shell of my little pickup truck and Amos road with me. Jingles was driving at the time either a Yugo or a Le Car, econo-boxes, with the other three nephews.
So off we headed about 340 miles each way to the campground at Turnbull Lake. We weren’t too concerned about making good time, just sort of pittered about with pit stops and time to jostle a bit to break up the tedium of the drive. Nothing like uncles destroying all the good manners that these boys’ moms had ever taught them. Yeah, you’re damn right you can fart in the car! Ha-ha, and the louder and the stinkier the better.
We brought along the usual provisions for eating and drinking – eggs, bacon, potatoes for frying, hot dogs, chips, cookies, pops and beers (for me and Jingles only – of course) and maybe some fruit – not sure about that. I packed three of my tents – an umbrella tent that myself and Amos slept in and two each two man pup tents, one for Jingles and Ry-Ry and one for Josie and Ricky. Everybody also brought sleeping bags for themselves. It gets down below freezing even on summer nights when your camping above 10,000 feet so we needed to be prepared.
The first day was dedicated to driving and setting up camp. We didn’t do any fishing, had a little time to hike around and show the boys the three lakes that were close by. The campground has mountains that rise up another three to four thousand feet on three sides so the views up there were pretty damn spectacular. I’m pretty sure that everybody thought this place was just tits.
I fixed dinner and got a fire going. We sat around the fire, roasted marshmallows and acted like just a bunch of fools telling scary stories and talking about bears and crap. I think the coolest thing for my nephews was being able to add wood to the fire and being able to stir it up making sparks fly. It was crazy but very cool to hang out with my family in such a rugged place. As we let the fire burn down it came time to take trips to the campground’s outhouse for the before bed pisseroos. With couple of flashlights in hand we all trucked on down to individually enter the throne of stinkdom. Whew, it was bad in there after a hot summer day – even in the cool of the night that shitter was pretty ripe.
So after that ordeal we all got back to the camp and I made sure that each tent had a flashlight and we all settled into our tents and sleeping bags. Everybody was making a lot of noise and such with laughing coming from every tent before we finally crashed out. But I’m not so sure that anybody got a good night’s sleep. It was colder than poop. Amos mutters in his sleep and I know that I had to bury my head in my sleeping bag to keep warm and block that out. Damn near suffocated and get claustrophobic when I cover my head. Oh well, that wasn’t the worst of it.
In the morning I come to find out that Jingle’s and Ry-Ry’s sleeping bags were of the GI Joe variety. They might keep you warm on the living room floor but they sure don’t work for fuck up in the mountains. They froze their fool asses off.
After fixing breakfast for all I got us organized to do some fishing. I already had two complete ultra-light spinning rod and reels plus one medium weight rod and reel set up. So for this trip I had bought four el-cheapo closed face spinning rod and reel rigs. I hate those things but thought that they would be easier for kids to learn on. Deciding that the two Virgin Lakes had too much vegetation growing on the shore line and to avoid snags in this shit we walked over to the far shore of Turbull Lake where there were some rock ledges and boulder sized scree that we could easily fish from.
Now Jingles is a hell of a hockey player but I had to show him how to setup the gear and how to cast to catch trout just like I did my nephews. The nephews all grew up to be pretty athletic with Ricky and Josie playing some puck, Ry-Ry winning an AAAU 14 year old world series, and Amos playing every play in some football games his senior year of high school. So once I got them going they all did pretty good.
The only real problem was while Amos was not paying attention and setting his rig down a seagull swam into his line and being startled flew away pulling his gear into about fifteen feet of water. What a crack up. Good thing I had an extra rig.
The boys started getting hungry so we broke off to go back to camp for lunch. While there Mick showed up in his Bronco and he went off fishing one of the Virgin or Toad Lakes only to join us again in the evening.
So back to the shelves and rocks we went fishing. And boy oh boy did it get good in the afternoon. We were catching twelve-inch rainbows right and left. We discovered that about 30 to 40 feet out was a drop off and the fish were hanging just over that edge. I was hopping about taking fish off the line and getting them on stringers and doing this and doing that to keep the screaming down. I got so caught up after a while helping Amos and walking back and forth from his spot to where Jingles and Ry-Ry were fishing that I hadn’t noticed that Josey and Ricky had disappeared. When I did finally notice I realized that those little shitters had taken off and had climbed several hundred feet up the scree and were perched on a massive outcropping with about a hundred foot free fall immediately below them. I screamed at them to get back down explaining that their moms’, my sisters, would kill me if they got seriously hurt while up here. LOL
That evening I cleaned some of the trout and we had them for dinner. Needless to say the boys preferred hot dogs so we had those too.
Again we sat around the fire and had a good time that evening. It was good to have Mick show up because he added stories that we hadn’t heard before. Plus his inclusion into the adult attendance we drank a lot more beer that night and I know for one that I paid for that with several frigid scurries away from the tent in the night in order to empty my bladder. Ry-Ry discovered that if he stuffed green pine needles into the beer cans and threw them into the fire that they made loud popping noises and so had invented “sap bombs” that we put up with during that night’s and the remaining evening fires.
I really think these boys had a blast. I know that I did and I’m sure that I’ll remember this fishing trip forever. I hope that they do too.
Another thing the boys discovered was that pops and beers make for tremendous burps when you’re at altitude. Each tried to out do the others. It was intense and oft times sounded quite painful.
Because of those wimp-ass sleeping bags that Jingles and Ry-Ry had to use they placed some good sized loose stones next to the fire pit to warm up and later put them in the bottom of their sleeping bags to keep warm through the night. Well – half the night and as crazy as it was this worked better than doing nothing else like they had the first night.
Mick hadn’t brought a tent and asked if he could sleep under the shell in the bed of my pickup. No problem, but he only had blankets and no sleeping bag. In the morning he said that that was bullshit. So much wind blew in around the bed of my truck that he froze his fuckin ass off. He was gonna sleep in the back seat of his Bronco the next night.
The next day we hiked about and fished some more. All in all I think we caught about eighty rainbows. Like that fishing trip back in Minnesota, again I cleaned every fish. Now trout don’t get filleted but you do gut them by slitting from their bowel opening to their gills and pulling their innards out by grabbing the gills and pulling down and out. Gills are pretty sharp and both of my thumbs were sliced almost to the bone from doing this – ahhhhh - yes the pains of fishing.
I think that my old defensive buddy, Mick, had a pretty good time hanging out with the old Wheats clan for fishing and freezing on this adventure. We had to leave on the third day early and left him while he did some more fishing.
We packed everything up and got ready to hit the road. I looked at Amos who was again going to ride with me. He had the same and only sweatshirt he had with him still on – filthier than my fishing rag. It was an old mustard yellow colored thing so I had him turn it inside out so it didn’t look so bad. Kinda held the odor in also. He got a bloody nose on the way home and bled all over it anyway, so no biggie – I should have left it right side out, ehh.
Sometime later after this trip I found out that Josie and Ricky couldn’t stand the stench of the outhouse at the campground and had avoided having to sit in the office by not taking a crap the whole trip. LMFAO! I don’t know how they managed that because that greasy-ass bacon that I fixed every morning for breakfast had my bowels moving in about three minute flat. I guess you could call what I fix for the morning meal as “Jasper’s Instant Breakfast”, ehh.
I love hockey. I love camping. And I love fishing. So many more tales to tell.
Come back again and read some more.
Jasper here, just telling ya to skate hard and walk with wood.
Monday, February 16, 2009
CROSSED STICKS AGAIN
Today’s a great day. Plain and simple. Yup!
I woke up again, still breathing and hungry for hash-browns, bacon and eggs.
That kind shit tells ya that I’m still alive and well. Ehh? What do you expect? No matter no how the back woods and winds coming down from the great north ain’t gonna knock my socks off today. No sirree!
You folks up for that? Ya gonna be kickin it again with me today? Hope so cuz I ain’t loopin in no slackers. Hear me? Me and my pals, we’re walking with wood big-time!
“Why?” you guys ask.
Who gives a rats ass why. It just don’t matter none. Not at all.
Nobody’s gonna knock the wind outta my sails and nobody’s gonna glue a chip on my shoulder.
Uhh uhh. Not today.
So Saturday was Valentine’s Day and it followed a Friday the thirteenth this year. No biggie. I spent both days with my honey, treating her just fine. She loved it. Uhh huh! Did ya do the same? Shoulda if ya didn’t and shame on you too.
Oh, what else?
Well Bronzy and some of the Outlaws went over to Wisconsin to the Labatt Blue Pond Hockey Tournament. I tried to get a hold of him Friday evening to see how they were doing but no luck so I left a voice mail on his cell phone.
I worried about those boys and that night I had a fool dream that they lost their first game like 34 to 1. Crazy dream. I know those boys know how to lose but not that bad ehh.
So Saturday evening Bronzy finally calls me back. They had had two games earlier in the day. Lost both and he says that they lost on Friday too. All tolled they were out scored by seven goals in their three games. Sucks but I’ll be damned if they hadn’t just partaken in the very grass roots of our fine sport. Pond hockey! Ya can’t beat it for nothing!
He says to me, “Jasper, we’re in a bar, it’s kinda loud. Let me move to a quieter spot.”
I asked him who all skated and he told me that Woody, Blummer, Terry, Gordie and Warren were there with him. I said, “So you boys going to drink that bar dry?”
“Nah, I don’t think so. Wisconsin folks can drink really well I think and they were prepared for our partying. Besides that, Woody’s gone on the wagon and he’s just drinking O’Douls.”
“Well there goes half the consumption that you’d normally have then, ehh”, I responded. “Say did ya bring along any of those ‘Polka Til Ya Puke’ t-shirts and try to sell them?”
He laughed and said “Oh fuck no Jasper, I’d a probably been run outta town if I’d tried to hawk them puppies. Thought that they were a crazy idea once but not so sure now. These cheeseheads really don’t take highly to folks ragging on their favorite form of dance. Ha-ha.”
He continued with some more comments about the tournament. “You and Jingles shoulda been here. Brings back old memories of when we were kids skating on the pond in the neighborhood back there in Wayzata. Way too much skating going on here, though, and the ice was really pretty rough. Couldn’t make decent passes and woulda been hell on your hip Jasper.”
“Yup,” I said. “I told ya that it would be rough and sharp skates weren’t gonna be any advantage. And right now, it ain’t my hip I’d a been worried about. It’s like my whole body is just like one over stretched rubber-band right now since I’ve had my brain injury. Nothing seems to be loose. I’d a probably snapped every ding-dang tendon in my body. Damn, though! I really miss it and wish I coulda joined you guys.”
After that he put Woody on. He’d moved outta state and I hadn’t talked to him in a while so that was a real treat.
We made the old times chit-chat and then he says “Hold on Jasper” as he steps outside the bar. “I’ve gotta ask you something kind of private. Inside, behind the bar on the wall is a wooden plaque that’s heart shaped and it’s got a golden cross on it and a couple silvery crossed hockey sticks below. No words, nothing else. I asked a couple of the barmaids what it meant but they didn’t know, said that they had only come in to help out for the extra tournament crowd. I’ll tell ya, it’s kinda eerie. Do you know what it means? Could you look into it Jasper?”
I told him that I’d research it a bit cuz I wasn’t real sure what the plaque meant. I told him that it might be the symbol for another chapter of the super secret Crossed Stick Society.
Enough said we signed off.
Yeah, it got me wondering though. You guys remember my tale from June of 2007 where I wrote about ‘Hockey’s Secret Society’ after having read some revealing news articles about Yales’ Skull and Bones secret society? Remember that I told you guys that we had some very exclusive hockey relics including (You can’t tell anybody this shit!) Hobey Baker’s kneecap?
You remember that shit, ehh?
Well, I started investigating. I started looking at the symbolism first.
First of all I looked into the heart shape of the plaque. We know that the heart is a vital organ of the body. It pumps the life blood that sustains us. Symbolically it stands for character – compassion, love, intellect, courage, affection and ardor. Something of deep concern. In association with friendship and camaraderie it can symbolize blood brothers or brothers-in-arms.
Companions, huh? Could it mean team-mates? Team-mates to the end? Maybe.
Now the cross immediately brings to mind the association with Christianity. Christ on the cross at Golgatha (the 'skull') or Calvary. This symbol was made more popular as the standard for the knights that went off to fight in the crusades. It carries not so much the image of Christ’s death on the cross but more so his resurrection and salvation for those that believe in him. Here than we could say the cross indicates to remember the old but be inspired and renewed by that remembered wisdom.
And those crossed hockey sticks. They too are symbolic of the cross. But are tied to a specific cause. Here being hockey.
But as I said above, the knights in the crusades carried on their flag or standard a symbolic cross. And no more famous are those knights than those of the Knights Templar and their association with the order of the freemasons. The freemasons may have been the first to have used other objects crossed (or overlapping) as one of their symbols. They have used the crossed Masonic square (like a carpenter’s square) and compass to create one of their symbols.
The skull and cross-bones symbol that we so readily associate with pirates (and Yale’s secret society) also is of Christian origin. A skull (or several) with a pair of crossed bones were placed at the entrance to cemeteries. It is a symbol therefore of death. On a pirates flag the crossed bones are positioned below the skull. As a symbol for poison the skull is over the top of the crossed bones – meaning the skull is in the foreground and the bones in the background. As with motorcycle gangs and tattoos the skull and crossbones is now an indication of being a bad-ass.
Another common symbol found in cemeteries is marked upon the grave markers or tombstones of soldiers killed in combat. Here the symbol is that of crossed swords or sabers. To “cross swords” is metaphorical to fighting. And to fight can be as equal to - to compete or to be in competition. That being so than our symbol or logo of crossed hockey sticks indicates that we are in the business of hockey competition.
Some other examples of crossed objects used as logos, emblems and badges that I discovered in my research include the following:
Crossed Hammers – symbol for miners, also a hate symbol used by the Hammerskin Nation – a racist skinhead organization
Crossed Keyes – keys to heaven or St. Peter’s keys
Crossed Oar and Saw – the oar symbolizes travel and the saw symbolizes martyrdom – for Saint Simon Zealotes
Crossed Arrows – Native American symbol for friendship, also included in the badge of the bombers of the RAF
Crossed Rifles – military infantry, etc.
Crossed Pistols – used on cowboy belt buckles, etc, also included in the badge of military police
Crossed Drum Sticks – drummer or drum corp
Crossed Baseball Bats – oh yeah you guys know that sport
Crossed Hatchets – the pioneer insignia for the Union Army during the civil war, also used quite often in ancient coat-of-arms, used by the Chicago Blackhawks, and may be found in combination with a skull as a biker symbol
Crossed Hammer and Sickle – symbol for Communism
Crossed Hammer, Hoe and Brush – Korean Worker’s Party
Crossed Pickaxe and Hammer or Mallet – also a miner’s symbol
Crossed Knife and Fork – symbol for a feast (I love this one, ehh – just put it with a beer mug and ….)
Crossed Knives – symbol for impending death
Crossed Tennis Rackets – ahh-yup another summer sport
Crossed Golf Clubs – oh that’s gay, sorry excuse for a sport – but sometimes combined with a skull that has golf balls for eyes (I guess that means that you’re a killer golfer – whatever ….)
Crossed Clubs - a symbol of the exploits of Heracles/Hercules
Crossed Flags – an emblem for the color guard
Crossed Checkered Flags – a racing symbol – the race winner being shown the checkered flag
Crossed Checkered and Chevy Flag – a Chevy Corvette logo
Crossed Lacrosse Sticks – a lacrosse logo – interesting: the sticks are also known as crosses
Crossed Skis – a skier’s logo (don't do that when you're skiing because it'll really mess ay up)
Crossed Mallet and Shepherd’s Staff Behind a Cross – the symbol of a White Shrine high priestess
Crossed Lipstick, Ciggie and Flickknife – symbol for a female prep school delinquent – found on a “bitch blazer”
So, how many other “crossed” symbols, logos or badges can you think of? How many hockey team logo’s can you think of that include crossed hockey sticks? Bunches, ehh?
Are we all tied to the same brotherhood? It seems as though there is that implication with ‘all’ of these crossed symbols.
But how does that heart shaped plaque, the golden cross and the silvery hockey sticks all tie together? Is it a talisman of a remote Wisconsin chapter of the super secret Crossed Stick Society? Or is it something else? Who made it? When was it made? These are all questions that I’m going to have to investigate further. I can only surmise its importance. It is definitely a mystery to be resolved and I’ll have to get back to you guys when I know more.
Jasper here until next time. Skate hard, walk with wood, and take that friggin shot, ehh!
I woke up again, still breathing and hungry for hash-browns, bacon and eggs.
That kind shit tells ya that I’m still alive and well. Ehh? What do you expect? No matter no how the back woods and winds coming down from the great north ain’t gonna knock my socks off today. No sirree!
You folks up for that? Ya gonna be kickin it again with me today? Hope so cuz I ain’t loopin in no slackers. Hear me? Me and my pals, we’re walking with wood big-time!
“Why?” you guys ask.
Who gives a rats ass why. It just don’t matter none. Not at all.
Nobody’s gonna knock the wind outta my sails and nobody’s gonna glue a chip on my shoulder.
Uhh uhh. Not today.
So Saturday was Valentine’s Day and it followed a Friday the thirteenth this year. No biggie. I spent both days with my honey, treating her just fine. She loved it. Uhh huh! Did ya do the same? Shoulda if ya didn’t and shame on you too.
Oh, what else?
Well Bronzy and some of the Outlaws went over to Wisconsin to the Labatt Blue Pond Hockey Tournament. I tried to get a hold of him Friday evening to see how they were doing but no luck so I left a voice mail on his cell phone.
I worried about those boys and that night I had a fool dream that they lost their first game like 34 to 1. Crazy dream. I know those boys know how to lose but not that bad ehh.
So Saturday evening Bronzy finally calls me back. They had had two games earlier in the day. Lost both and he says that they lost on Friday too. All tolled they were out scored by seven goals in their three games. Sucks but I’ll be damned if they hadn’t just partaken in the very grass roots of our fine sport. Pond hockey! Ya can’t beat it for nothing!
He says to me, “Jasper, we’re in a bar, it’s kinda loud. Let me move to a quieter spot.”
I asked him who all skated and he told me that Woody, Blummer, Terry, Gordie and Warren were there with him. I said, “So you boys going to drink that bar dry?”
“Nah, I don’t think so. Wisconsin folks can drink really well I think and they were prepared for our partying. Besides that, Woody’s gone on the wagon and he’s just drinking O’Douls.”
“Well there goes half the consumption that you’d normally have then, ehh”, I responded. “Say did ya bring along any of those ‘Polka Til Ya Puke’ t-shirts and try to sell them?”
He laughed and said “Oh fuck no Jasper, I’d a probably been run outta town if I’d tried to hawk them puppies. Thought that they were a crazy idea once but not so sure now. These cheeseheads really don’t take highly to folks ragging on their favorite form of dance. Ha-ha.”
He continued with some more comments about the tournament. “You and Jingles shoulda been here. Brings back old memories of when we were kids skating on the pond in the neighborhood back there in Wayzata. Way too much skating going on here, though, and the ice was really pretty rough. Couldn’t make decent passes and woulda been hell on your hip Jasper.”
“Yup,” I said. “I told ya that it would be rough and sharp skates weren’t gonna be any advantage. And right now, it ain’t my hip I’d a been worried about. It’s like my whole body is just like one over stretched rubber-band right now since I’ve had my brain injury. Nothing seems to be loose. I’d a probably snapped every ding-dang tendon in my body. Damn, though! I really miss it and wish I coulda joined you guys.”
After that he put Woody on. He’d moved outta state and I hadn’t talked to him in a while so that was a real treat.
We made the old times chit-chat and then he says “Hold on Jasper” as he steps outside the bar. “I’ve gotta ask you something kind of private. Inside, behind the bar on the wall is a wooden plaque that’s heart shaped and it’s got a golden cross on it and a couple silvery crossed hockey sticks below. No words, nothing else. I asked a couple of the barmaids what it meant but they didn’t know, said that they had only come in to help out for the extra tournament crowd. I’ll tell ya, it’s kinda eerie. Do you know what it means? Could you look into it Jasper?”
I told him that I’d research it a bit cuz I wasn’t real sure what the plaque meant. I told him that it might be the symbol for another chapter of the super secret Crossed Stick Society.
Enough said we signed off.
Yeah, it got me wondering though. You guys remember my tale from June of 2007 where I wrote about ‘Hockey’s Secret Society’ after having read some revealing news articles about Yales’ Skull and Bones secret society? Remember that I told you guys that we had some very exclusive hockey relics including (You can’t tell anybody this shit!) Hobey Baker’s kneecap?
You remember that shit, ehh?
Well, I started investigating. I started looking at the symbolism first.
First of all I looked into the heart shape of the plaque. We know that the heart is a vital organ of the body. It pumps the life blood that sustains us. Symbolically it stands for character – compassion, love, intellect, courage, affection and ardor. Something of deep concern. In association with friendship and camaraderie it can symbolize blood brothers or brothers-in-arms.
Companions, huh? Could it mean team-mates? Team-mates to the end? Maybe.
Now the cross immediately brings to mind the association with Christianity. Christ on the cross at Golgatha (the 'skull') or Calvary. This symbol was made more popular as the standard for the knights that went off to fight in the crusades. It carries not so much the image of Christ’s death on the cross but more so his resurrection and salvation for those that believe in him. Here than we could say the cross indicates to remember the old but be inspired and renewed by that remembered wisdom.
And those crossed hockey sticks. They too are symbolic of the cross. But are tied to a specific cause. Here being hockey.
But as I said above, the knights in the crusades carried on their flag or standard a symbolic cross. And no more famous are those knights than those of the Knights Templar and their association with the order of the freemasons. The freemasons may have been the first to have used other objects crossed (or overlapping) as one of their symbols. They have used the crossed Masonic square (like a carpenter’s square) and compass to create one of their symbols.
The skull and cross-bones symbol that we so readily associate with pirates (and Yale’s secret society) also is of Christian origin. A skull (or several) with a pair of crossed bones were placed at the entrance to cemeteries. It is a symbol therefore of death. On a pirates flag the crossed bones are positioned below the skull. As a symbol for poison the skull is over the top of the crossed bones – meaning the skull is in the foreground and the bones in the background. As with motorcycle gangs and tattoos the skull and crossbones is now an indication of being a bad-ass.
Another common symbol found in cemeteries is marked upon the grave markers or tombstones of soldiers killed in combat. Here the symbol is that of crossed swords or sabers. To “cross swords” is metaphorical to fighting. And to fight can be as equal to - to compete or to be in competition. That being so than our symbol or logo of crossed hockey sticks indicates that we are in the business of hockey competition.
Some other examples of crossed objects used as logos, emblems and badges that I discovered in my research include the following:
Crossed Hammers – symbol for miners, also a hate symbol used by the Hammerskin Nation – a racist skinhead organization
Crossed Keyes – keys to heaven or St. Peter’s keys
Crossed Oar and Saw – the oar symbolizes travel and the saw symbolizes martyrdom – for Saint Simon Zealotes
Crossed Arrows – Native American symbol for friendship, also included in the badge of the bombers of the RAF
Crossed Rifles – military infantry, etc.
Crossed Pistols – used on cowboy belt buckles, etc, also included in the badge of military police
Crossed Drum Sticks – drummer or drum corp
Crossed Baseball Bats – oh yeah you guys know that sport
Crossed Hatchets – the pioneer insignia for the Union Army during the civil war, also used quite often in ancient coat-of-arms, used by the Chicago Blackhawks, and may be found in combination with a skull as a biker symbol
Crossed Hammer and Sickle – symbol for Communism
Crossed Hammer, Hoe and Brush – Korean Worker’s Party
Crossed Pickaxe and Hammer or Mallet – also a miner’s symbol
Crossed Knife and Fork – symbol for a feast (I love this one, ehh – just put it with a beer mug and ….)
Crossed Knives – symbol for impending death
Crossed Tennis Rackets – ahh-yup another summer sport
Crossed Golf Clubs – oh that’s gay, sorry excuse for a sport – but sometimes combined with a skull that has golf balls for eyes (I guess that means that you’re a killer golfer – whatever ….)
Crossed Clubs - a symbol of the exploits of Heracles/Hercules
Crossed Flags – an emblem for the color guard
Crossed Checkered Flags – a racing symbol – the race winner being shown the checkered flag
Crossed Checkered and Chevy Flag – a Chevy Corvette logo
Crossed Lacrosse Sticks – a lacrosse logo – interesting: the sticks are also known as crosses
Crossed Skis – a skier’s logo (don't do that when you're skiing because it'll really mess ay up)
Crossed Mallet and Shepherd’s Staff Behind a Cross – the symbol of a White Shrine high priestess
Crossed Lipstick, Ciggie and Flickknife – symbol for a female prep school delinquent – found on a “bitch blazer”
So, how many other “crossed” symbols, logos or badges can you think of? How many hockey team logo’s can you think of that include crossed hockey sticks? Bunches, ehh?
Are we all tied to the same brotherhood? It seems as though there is that implication with ‘all’ of these crossed symbols.
But how does that heart shaped plaque, the golden cross and the silvery hockey sticks all tie together? Is it a talisman of a remote Wisconsin chapter of the super secret Crossed Stick Society? Or is it something else? Who made it? When was it made? These are all questions that I’m going to have to investigate further. I can only surmise its importance. It is definitely a mystery to be resolved and I’ll have to get back to you guys when I know more.
Jasper here until next time. Skate hard, walk with wood, and take that friggin shot, ehh!
Sunday, February 8, 2009
THIS WEEK IN HOCKEY
A week or so ago we had the NHL All Star weekend. I was home the whole weekend so I put my eyes on the tube and watched all the activities. The skills competition used to fascinate me. This year, not so much.
My disappointment started with the fastest skater competition. The electronic timing system didn’t even work. Sheeeet! What’s up with that? And still nobody gets close to Marian Gaborik’s record time of 13 seconds.
The highlight of my disappointment here culminated in Alex Ovechkin’s dalliance with two sticks, a hat and tourist sunglasses. What a mess. So what if he scored with his off-hand. I thought it sucked. I want to see skill that you would find extraordinary if it was performed in the course of a game, not this horseshit. Gee, I’ve got one of my new friends over at myspace, a spif puckhead from Germany, whose profile photo shows him balancing an upright stick off the palm of each hand. Regardless of the fact that he’s in street clothes and maybe in a rink parking lot instead of the ice, I’m sure next year will see Ovechkin pulling this stunt in the skills competition for no useful hockey purpose. Ha, ha!
The Young Star’s game is a pretty neat thing most of the time since they started it. It gives the first and second year stars a chance to be recognized for their seasonal on ice accomplishments. But, in my opinion, their regular season play is way more exciting than this four-on-four showcase event. Again, I’m disappointed.
So, that was on Saturday and then we move to the big event on Sunday.
I guess that the Hollywood types that produce these things think we need something other than hockey. I’m mean why does the NHL think it needs to create an event along the lines of the Super Bowl. Come on it isn’t even the same and besides who watches football anymore anyway. Well, these producers, they’re fools. I’ve seen Cirque du Soleil once, even paid for it, but once is enough. I want to see hockey. I want to see the best damn hockey ever.
Won’t happen in an all star game, ehh.
These guys that get chosen to play in an all star game are definitely all qualified to walk with wood in my book. But they sure don’t strut it in this game.
Defense? What’s that?
Aggressive? What did we have only one penalty?
And to be picked to play this game as a goalie? Whoa-dogs! That’s got to be the most em-bare-assing thing in the world. Why would ya wanna show up?
But, I watched the game and I’ve got to say that the city of Montreal and the Habs deserved this event. It was their time and their show. And as worthy as it was, it was their MVP too.
In my opinion, the best part of this whole weekend was during the main game, when time was taken out to acknowledge and showcase, live, some of the past Canadian greats. Kudos to Montreal and its great hockey heritage. Now that impressed me.
I’ll tell you though, that no matter how much I complain about this NHL show piece there is one really major quality that is portrayed every single year. And that’s the camaraderie that these normally opposing combatants display during this weekend. They have fun together. Yessirree! I’m always impressed by this aspect of my favorite game. It isn’t just shown here but I tell ya to take a look sometime at the handshakes at the end of a Stanley Cup playoff series as the winning team advances and the loser sadly goes home. Sometimes to me, getting to see that handshake is just as important as seeing the game. This element of hockey is instilled in players from the time that they are kids and the mandatory handshake at the end of every game.
There are those of you that don’t think too highly of this, but even in beer leagues, I never had a real problem partying along with vile opponents after the game. Not to say there wasn’t the occasional turd-ball that I’d just as soon wail on no matter the time or location. But that too is what makes this sport of hockey so great.
NHL rivalries. They are the best. And that’s the part that goes omitted from the All Star games. That’s why this specific game lacks the polish that interests me.
I don’t recommend that this game be scrapped but it sure lacks the luster of a regular season game and hands down is a loser to the Winter Classic. Now that is the best thing that the NHL has come up with in years next to reducing the size of goalie equipment. I love it!
There, you’ve got my biased opinion of things important.
So, here’s the shit that’s going on here.
Last writing, I was invited to do some super sledding over at the hill on D-Pitty’s property. With my injury and all, you may recall, that I deemed it best to just watch. And that I did. Unbeknownst to me, D-Pitty had hired Stinky to groom some channels into the slope and iced them up almost to the point of becoming luge runs. Damn it all anyway if those makeshift sleds of Stinky’s didn’t just haul ass. On the Saturday afternoon that I went to watch, D-Pitty had gotten a hold of Jingles and Bronzy and had them invite all my kids on Norris’ Nightmares to join in the action. Now I don’t know if ya remember from last year that these slobagons that Stinky built were made from the halves of an RV’s holding tank and had partial goalie stick outriggers for steering and that one of these had fallen apart last year about killing us. Well, he beefed these babies up and they were the shit. Most of the kids brought their own gravity operated snow vehicles but opted to stand in line to ride Stinky’s slobagons. Damn I wished I’d a taken some movies of this blasted-ass good time. Would be a U-Tube hit, shit for sure. Luckily the bros recommended almost full hockey gear to anybody shooting the slope or we’d a been hauling kids to the hospital all afternoon.
I’m telling you guys that you shoulda been there. Yup!
I think it was Tuesday or Wednesday that the Sherriff stopped by to give me some news. He said that Tidwilly and the Wanker boys had done their time and were out of jail now. Said that Tidwilly, though, had been commissioned for another six months in a halfway house down in Winona and the Wanker boys had been furloughed to work for an uncle over in North Dakota. He said that it was just a warning, owed me and my bros that, even that these no-goods weren’t back in town you never can trust them to honor their obligations now that their out of the hoosegow. No telling that they might hookup together and show up around here to give us some trouble again. Well, we’ll see about that. I sure don’t need any trouble right now given the shape that I’m in.
I gave the news to Jingles and Bronzy that same day. Jingles said that he’s gonna start carrying that Colt 45 replica that he got at Cabella’s and Bronzy said that he was sticking under the seat of his truck that Ruger 22 mag single six that Dad had given to him. Me, ahh yup, I ain’t in good shape but I think I can still swing a tire iron pretty good, so I’m keeping one handy in the pickup. Hope nothing comes of this but ya never know what those ass-wipes might do. I’ll have to fill D-Pitty in on this action. Don’t think he knows these boys or their nasty rep.
What else???
Oh yeah, really interesting game gonna be on TV Tuesday. Sharks against the Bruins. Should be good being played on Boston ice. Ha-ha and the Sharks have lost three in a row for the first time going into this.
Damn, and what’s going on with that favorite team of mine, the LA Kings? Have they finally turned their game around? We’ll see, ehh.
Well that’s it for today my puckbuddy friends.
Jasper here calling it another one.
Skate hard or get off the ice, ehh!
My disappointment started with the fastest skater competition. The electronic timing system didn’t even work. Sheeeet! What’s up with that? And still nobody gets close to Marian Gaborik’s record time of 13 seconds.
The highlight of my disappointment here culminated in Alex Ovechkin’s dalliance with two sticks, a hat and tourist sunglasses. What a mess. So what if he scored with his off-hand. I thought it sucked. I want to see skill that you would find extraordinary if it was performed in the course of a game, not this horseshit. Gee, I’ve got one of my new friends over at myspace, a spif puckhead from Germany, whose profile photo shows him balancing an upright stick off the palm of each hand. Regardless of the fact that he’s in street clothes and maybe in a rink parking lot instead of the ice, I’m sure next year will see Ovechkin pulling this stunt in the skills competition for no useful hockey purpose. Ha, ha!
The Young Star’s game is a pretty neat thing most of the time since they started it. It gives the first and second year stars a chance to be recognized for their seasonal on ice accomplishments. But, in my opinion, their regular season play is way more exciting than this four-on-four showcase event. Again, I’m disappointed.
So, that was on Saturday and then we move to the big event on Sunday.
I guess that the Hollywood types that produce these things think we need something other than hockey. I’m mean why does the NHL think it needs to create an event along the lines of the Super Bowl. Come on it isn’t even the same and besides who watches football anymore anyway. Well, these producers, they’re fools. I’ve seen Cirque du Soleil once, even paid for it, but once is enough. I want to see hockey. I want to see the best damn hockey ever.
Won’t happen in an all star game, ehh.
These guys that get chosen to play in an all star game are definitely all qualified to walk with wood in my book. But they sure don’t strut it in this game.
Defense? What’s that?
Aggressive? What did we have only one penalty?
And to be picked to play this game as a goalie? Whoa-dogs! That’s got to be the most em-bare-assing thing in the world. Why would ya wanna show up?
But, I watched the game and I’ve got to say that the city of Montreal and the Habs deserved this event. It was their time and their show. And as worthy as it was, it was their MVP too.
In my opinion, the best part of this whole weekend was during the main game, when time was taken out to acknowledge and showcase, live, some of the past Canadian greats. Kudos to Montreal and its great hockey heritage. Now that impressed me.
I’ll tell you though, that no matter how much I complain about this NHL show piece there is one really major quality that is portrayed every single year. And that’s the camaraderie that these normally opposing combatants display during this weekend. They have fun together. Yessirree! I’m always impressed by this aspect of my favorite game. It isn’t just shown here but I tell ya to take a look sometime at the handshakes at the end of a Stanley Cup playoff series as the winning team advances and the loser sadly goes home. Sometimes to me, getting to see that handshake is just as important as seeing the game. This element of hockey is instilled in players from the time that they are kids and the mandatory handshake at the end of every game.
There are those of you that don’t think too highly of this, but even in beer leagues, I never had a real problem partying along with vile opponents after the game. Not to say there wasn’t the occasional turd-ball that I’d just as soon wail on no matter the time or location. But that too is what makes this sport of hockey so great.
NHL rivalries. They are the best. And that’s the part that goes omitted from the All Star games. That’s why this specific game lacks the polish that interests me.
I don’t recommend that this game be scrapped but it sure lacks the luster of a regular season game and hands down is a loser to the Winter Classic. Now that is the best thing that the NHL has come up with in years next to reducing the size of goalie equipment. I love it!
There, you’ve got my biased opinion of things important.
So, here’s the shit that’s going on here.
Last writing, I was invited to do some super sledding over at the hill on D-Pitty’s property. With my injury and all, you may recall, that I deemed it best to just watch. And that I did. Unbeknownst to me, D-Pitty had hired Stinky to groom some channels into the slope and iced them up almost to the point of becoming luge runs. Damn it all anyway if those makeshift sleds of Stinky’s didn’t just haul ass. On the Saturday afternoon that I went to watch, D-Pitty had gotten a hold of Jingles and Bronzy and had them invite all my kids on Norris’ Nightmares to join in the action. Now I don’t know if ya remember from last year that these slobagons that Stinky built were made from the halves of an RV’s holding tank and had partial goalie stick outriggers for steering and that one of these had fallen apart last year about killing us. Well, he beefed these babies up and they were the shit. Most of the kids brought their own gravity operated snow vehicles but opted to stand in line to ride Stinky’s slobagons. Damn I wished I’d a taken some movies of this blasted-ass good time. Would be a U-Tube hit, shit for sure. Luckily the bros recommended almost full hockey gear to anybody shooting the slope or we’d a been hauling kids to the hospital all afternoon.
I’m telling you guys that you shoulda been there. Yup!
I think it was Tuesday or Wednesday that the Sherriff stopped by to give me some news. He said that Tidwilly and the Wanker boys had done their time and were out of jail now. Said that Tidwilly, though, had been commissioned for another six months in a halfway house down in Winona and the Wanker boys had been furloughed to work for an uncle over in North Dakota. He said that it was just a warning, owed me and my bros that, even that these no-goods weren’t back in town you never can trust them to honor their obligations now that their out of the hoosegow. No telling that they might hookup together and show up around here to give us some trouble again. Well, we’ll see about that. I sure don’t need any trouble right now given the shape that I’m in.
I gave the news to Jingles and Bronzy that same day. Jingles said that he’s gonna start carrying that Colt 45 replica that he got at Cabella’s and Bronzy said that he was sticking under the seat of his truck that Ruger 22 mag single six that Dad had given to him. Me, ahh yup, I ain’t in good shape but I think I can still swing a tire iron pretty good, so I’m keeping one handy in the pickup. Hope nothing comes of this but ya never know what those ass-wipes might do. I’ll have to fill D-Pitty in on this action. Don’t think he knows these boys or their nasty rep.
What else???
Oh yeah, really interesting game gonna be on TV Tuesday. Sharks against the Bruins. Should be good being played on Boston ice. Ha-ha and the Sharks have lost three in a row for the first time going into this.
Damn, and what’s going on with that favorite team of mine, the LA Kings? Have they finally turned their game around? We’ll see, ehh.
Well that’s it for today my puckbuddy friends.
Jasper here calling it another one.
Skate hard or get off the ice, ehh!
Sunday, January 11, 2009
HOCKEY – ON THE TUBE
Greetings, my puck buddies!
Gee, doesn’t that sound like something Spock would have said on the old Star Trek TV series, ehh? What a hoot those old shows were. Cap’n Kirk always got the chick. I didn’t ever think about that until one evening a few years back, a young lady that I was dating told me so. It was right after a mighty fine evening, at that, where she kept saying “Way to go Captain”. As I gave her a ride home afterwards I finally asked her what she meant and she provided the simple explanation. Made me feel pretty good – musta been doing something right, for sure.
Yeah, but Spock on the other hand would just raise an eyebrow in his quiet resourceful way and contemplate the situation as completely logical (or maybe illogical). He himself only getting off on some sort of Vulcan specific mind-meld of sorts. Well, whatever toots your horn is what I say. I myself though prefer to stir the pot if ya get my drift.
Gosh durn if it isn’t already 2009. Ain’t that something, ehh? Getting as old as I fool am, I gotta tell ya, I managed to stay up this time to watch the old digital clock on the cable TV box flip over to 12:01. Yup, lots of these years lately I haven’t made it to that point in the evening. Pounding a six pack and some celebratory holiday hard stuff, all combubulated together, just pretty much knocks me on my ass anymore. But in my day, I’m telling ya, I could drink all a ya young whipper-snappers right under the table. And party my fool ass off, you betcha, finishing up every damn good-time evening before going home with some early morning breakfast at Denny’s – the Grand Slam, baby. Uh huh! I was always looking for a good time and any opportunity to get my drink on – didn’t have to be no New Years Eve party, no sirree.
Eating, drinking, TV and turning into a lard-ass right now is all it seems that I’m doing. Being unemployed and recovering from that freakin brain injury has just about turned me into a turd. I need to get my ass out on the ice again and I mean soon.
Damn! I really love hockey. That’s all there is to it. It’s the best dang sport in the world. In my day, the faster that it was and more physical that it was the better it was. Hell, the dirtier the better. And it didn’t matter if it was me and my boys or some opposing rascals that were pulling the high-jinx. It all made it better. That’s what folks mean when they refer to “old time hockey”. Yup, the rough stuff.
Well if I can’t skate right now then I at least can watch a mess of it on the tube. Oh heck, that term is going to be phased out soon enough. All of my televisions are the type with picture tubes. They still work just fine so I’m not about to replace them anytime soon. Now I figure most a ya out there have TVs that are of the newer flat screen technology – LCD or plasma. So what term are we gonna use when “tube” gets retired? Makes ya wonder, ehh.
Since Christmas there sure has been a bunch of hockey to watch though. Gee, I got to see some of a Minnesota high school tournament going on down at the cities, parts of a college tourney coming out of Denver I think, some regular NHL games, the Winter Classic in Chicago (again another one of the best ideas from the NHL in ages), and best of all the World Junior Championships.
I loved watching those national junior teams kicking it. Damn good hockey all around. Those boys, no matter which team, no matter the outcome – they’re all walking with wood for sure. Only draw back in my opinion, of course, is that they restrict them too much from dropping the gloves and really getting rough. Oh well, you can’t have it all. And as a second thought, punching face cages and half shields just ain’t really the same. Is it?
Wayno “D-Pity” Studholm came by the cabin and watched the final with me between Canada and Sweden. It was an excellent game all the way around. Yup. It was more physical than most of the others that I had watched. I had seen Sweden play in a previous game and had really been quite impressed with their speed and play making skill. So I had been expecting quite a bit more from them. I was pretty much pulling for them, didn’t hurt that I’m half Swedish by my ancestral decent. I think that D-Pity might be one hundred percent Swedish, but I ain’t absolutely sure.
So me and D-Pity are pounding the brews and munching on pizza that he brought over while watching the game. We’re cussing and screaming on occasion. High-fiving and such as was necessary to increase the entertainment value of the game. But damn if it didn’t seem that at about half way through the second period the Swedes just started to fuck-up. Well, not all of them. Just the forwards. It seemed to me that each forward didn’t realize that he was skating on a line with two other dudes. What I was seeing from the mid point on was a forward skating with the puck thinking that he could do it all and only working with his defensemen, but not with his line mates. It got so bad that it turned into one of those situations where I wished that I could pick up the phone and call the Swedish coach and tell him what was going on. Have him pull the boys in and give them the “what for” that they seemed to need.
Damn though! It probably wouldn’t have done any good anyway if I could have gotten a call through because the Swedish coach didn’t look like he could understand English very well. And I sure for shit can’t speak a word of Swedish. Oh well, it just got a bit frustrating.
But the game was still great to watch regardless of the victor and late poor play by the Swedes. The beer we drank was cold and the pizza hit the spot. D-pity was good to have around. Ya know, all those years where he just sort of had vanished off the face of the earth have just kinda melted away. It seems as though we’ve been best friends all along – never skipping a beat in our crazy lives. That’s good shit – having close buds and of course having puck buddies are the best, ehh.
During one of the intermissions in the game I got up to take a leak and just a whole shit-load of pizza crumbs fell from my lap onto the floor. I commented, “Oh fuck! The honey’s gonna give me heck over that mess!” She’d gone over to her sister’s earlier to catch up on some gossip and watch a chick-flick that one of ‘em had rented, so she wasn’t around to keep the two of us in line.
D-Pity saw the mess on the floor and started to get up, dumping some from his lap too, saying, “Jasper, I’ll clean this up, but it reminds me of something. I’ll tell you about my trip when you get back from pissing.”
When I came back from the head, he was just dumping a dustpan full of pizza crumbs into the trash. We both sat back down and he grabbed the clicker and muted the tube.
“Those crumbs reminded me of my trip to Cleveland a week or so before Christmas. I generally fly back there every other month or so for a couple of days. I’m majority owner of a business there and just like to stop in to meet with management and make sure everything is on track. It’s just one of the investments that I have from the money I got back then.”
“I fly into Cleveland-Hopkins International Airport and always stay at the Holiday Inn down on Royalton Road. It’s near the airport, the factory and best of all an ice rink. Its pretty nice rink, the Hoover Arena, and only about two blocks from the Holiday Inn. They’ve got pickup games there on weeknights so I’ve got a set of gear that I keep in a locker at the factory and usually get in a game or two while I’m in town. It’s a good skate and I usually don’t have to get up too early any time when I’m in Cleveland. I schedule the times for meetings so I generally can get the skate in, some drinking after and then a good night’s sleep without messing anything up.”
“So Jasper this no shit. I’m telling you the truth. This happened to me. I think it was a Tuesday night and I had gotten in a good game. Even scored a couple of goals. Afterwards a couple of the guys said they were going over to McCarty’s Ale House on Pearle for some brews. It’s pretty much just around the corner and I usually go there and tip a few with the guys. But that night I was feeling a little beat because my travel had originated in California that day instead of up here. Just had seemed like a long day already. So I went back to the hotel instead and stopped in their lounge, Vinney’s, for just one cold one before going up to my room. Most nights that I’m in town and not skating I’ll stop in here after dinner and chat with the bartender. Usually it’s pretty quiet, maybe a couple of other folks at the bar and a group or two at tables or the booths, but pretty subdued compared to McCarty’s.”
“I’m about finished with my first brew and contemplating whether to take one up to my room when two ladies strolled in from the hotel lobby. One looks kinda skanky like a crack whore but the other one was a looker. She had a face and body like Jessica Biel but with kinky dark hair like Amy Irving. They started moving over to a booth when the cute one broke away and bounced off some tables coming up to the bar. I’m telling you Jasper, there was all kinds of space for her to stand at the bar but she squeezed in between me and the stool next to me and called to bartender. Then she sort of leaned away from me and gave me a good look. I could tell that she was looped but she had a sweet fragrance about her.”
“The bartender came over and took her order and then she said to me ‘Hi.’ She twisted sideways and leaned into me and dropped her left hand in my lap trying to keep her balance. Then she said ‘You’re kinda cute’, and gave me a firm squeeze. There was no fumbling, it was quite apparent that her hand knew exactly what it was doing. Then she said to me ‘What do ya want to do, I’m feeling pretty good’, and smiled.”
“I looked back at her friend, she was ignoring us and looked about ready to pass out in the booth. She looked over at her friend too and said ‘Fuck her, she’s been a bitch all night. Are you staying here? Lets go to your room.’”
“I was there Jasper! This was like something you only fantasize about. I waved to the barkeep and told him to put it on my tab as I wrapped an arm around her waist and guided her to the elevator.”
“Once we got up in my room we started to get down to it. A lot of passion and lot of heat. She got up after a while and found her purse and pulled a baggy out of it. I’m thinking ‘drugs’ and shit we don’t need that – not now. Before I know it she squeezes the baggy with both hands, then rips it open over the bed and dumps crumbs all over me and the bed. Before I know even know what the shit is she’s crawling all over me and the bed licking and sucking the crumbs up. All the while just sort of moaning ‘Mmmmm, graham crackers, mmmm I just love graham crackers, mmmm’ over and over again. Well, I’ll tell you, I wasn’t complaining even though that bed was an absolute mess. After a while, quite a while actually, she jumped up after looking at the clock radio on the nightstand and said ‘Oh shit, I gotta go. I gotta get Cindy home before her hubby gets off of night shift.’ She got herself dress and bolted.”
“Best night I’ve had in ages Jasper! Couldn’t believe it. Never even got her name.”
“D-Pity, ya might be thinking that I think that that’s a pile a bullshit. Right? Crazy-ass as it sounds, that graham cracker mess and all, but I had something similar almost happen to me once.”
“Wheats” he says, “you’re full of it. You’re so butt-ugly there isn’t any way that a looker like this woulda ever hit on you.”
I returned with, “Yeah maybe now, cuz I’ve aged and my little lopsided body has shrunk a bit. But there was an evening after a late practice where two sweethearts came in the bar together. Course this was before I ever had met my honey. One chick was hot and the other not. The hotty pulled in between me and whoever the heck was sitting next to me at the bar and grabbed me a bit too. The other girl came over to the bar and pulled her friend away from me before anything more could transpire. Hell, who knows, it could have been crackers in bed for me that night too. Ya lucky son of a bitch.”
With that, I threw an empty at him bouncing off of his shoulder.
The intermission had about ended and the game was going to start back up.
Wayno walked over and picked the can up and said “Ya know Jasper? Ya know? Maybe I believe you. Maybe I don’t. No biggie. Hey! You know we‘ve had enough snow now that those hills by the creek are probably ready for some radical sledding again. You think you and Stinky can come on out for some emergency room action again?”
“Shit, that was such a blast last year. You’ll dig it big time D-Pity. But I think cuz of my brain injury that I’ll have to pass on it this whole winter but I’ll come out and watch you and Stinky hurt yourselves. Ha-ha!”
And we got back to watching hockey on the tube. Sure glad that there’s still half of the regular season left to be played and then there’ll be the terrific second season ehh.
Okee dokee! Jasper here flinging it until next time.
Skate hard ya crazy-ass crunked out puckers.
Gee, doesn’t that sound like something Spock would have said on the old Star Trek TV series, ehh? What a hoot those old shows were. Cap’n Kirk always got the chick. I didn’t ever think about that until one evening a few years back, a young lady that I was dating told me so. It was right after a mighty fine evening, at that, where she kept saying “Way to go Captain”. As I gave her a ride home afterwards I finally asked her what she meant and she provided the simple explanation. Made me feel pretty good – musta been doing something right, for sure.
Yeah, but Spock on the other hand would just raise an eyebrow in his quiet resourceful way and contemplate the situation as completely logical (or maybe illogical). He himself only getting off on some sort of Vulcan specific mind-meld of sorts. Well, whatever toots your horn is what I say. I myself though prefer to stir the pot if ya get my drift.
Gosh durn if it isn’t already 2009. Ain’t that something, ehh? Getting as old as I fool am, I gotta tell ya, I managed to stay up this time to watch the old digital clock on the cable TV box flip over to 12:01. Yup, lots of these years lately I haven’t made it to that point in the evening. Pounding a six pack and some celebratory holiday hard stuff, all combubulated together, just pretty much knocks me on my ass anymore. But in my day, I’m telling ya, I could drink all a ya young whipper-snappers right under the table. And party my fool ass off, you betcha, finishing up every damn good-time evening before going home with some early morning breakfast at Denny’s – the Grand Slam, baby. Uh huh! I was always looking for a good time and any opportunity to get my drink on – didn’t have to be no New Years Eve party, no sirree.
Eating, drinking, TV and turning into a lard-ass right now is all it seems that I’m doing. Being unemployed and recovering from that freakin brain injury has just about turned me into a turd. I need to get my ass out on the ice again and I mean soon.
Damn! I really love hockey. That’s all there is to it. It’s the best dang sport in the world. In my day, the faster that it was and more physical that it was the better it was. Hell, the dirtier the better. And it didn’t matter if it was me and my boys or some opposing rascals that were pulling the high-jinx. It all made it better. That’s what folks mean when they refer to “old time hockey”. Yup, the rough stuff.
Well if I can’t skate right now then I at least can watch a mess of it on the tube. Oh heck, that term is going to be phased out soon enough. All of my televisions are the type with picture tubes. They still work just fine so I’m not about to replace them anytime soon. Now I figure most a ya out there have TVs that are of the newer flat screen technology – LCD or plasma. So what term are we gonna use when “tube” gets retired? Makes ya wonder, ehh.
Since Christmas there sure has been a bunch of hockey to watch though. Gee, I got to see some of a Minnesota high school tournament going on down at the cities, parts of a college tourney coming out of Denver I think, some regular NHL games, the Winter Classic in Chicago (again another one of the best ideas from the NHL in ages), and best of all the World Junior Championships.
I loved watching those national junior teams kicking it. Damn good hockey all around. Those boys, no matter which team, no matter the outcome – they’re all walking with wood for sure. Only draw back in my opinion, of course, is that they restrict them too much from dropping the gloves and really getting rough. Oh well, you can’t have it all. And as a second thought, punching face cages and half shields just ain’t really the same. Is it?
Wayno “D-Pity” Studholm came by the cabin and watched the final with me between Canada and Sweden. It was an excellent game all the way around. Yup. It was more physical than most of the others that I had watched. I had seen Sweden play in a previous game and had really been quite impressed with their speed and play making skill. So I had been expecting quite a bit more from them. I was pretty much pulling for them, didn’t hurt that I’m half Swedish by my ancestral decent. I think that D-Pity might be one hundred percent Swedish, but I ain’t absolutely sure.
So me and D-Pity are pounding the brews and munching on pizza that he brought over while watching the game. We’re cussing and screaming on occasion. High-fiving and such as was necessary to increase the entertainment value of the game. But damn if it didn’t seem that at about half way through the second period the Swedes just started to fuck-up. Well, not all of them. Just the forwards. It seemed to me that each forward didn’t realize that he was skating on a line with two other dudes. What I was seeing from the mid point on was a forward skating with the puck thinking that he could do it all and only working with his defensemen, but not with his line mates. It got so bad that it turned into one of those situations where I wished that I could pick up the phone and call the Swedish coach and tell him what was going on. Have him pull the boys in and give them the “what for” that they seemed to need.
Damn though! It probably wouldn’t have done any good anyway if I could have gotten a call through because the Swedish coach didn’t look like he could understand English very well. And I sure for shit can’t speak a word of Swedish. Oh well, it just got a bit frustrating.
But the game was still great to watch regardless of the victor and late poor play by the Swedes. The beer we drank was cold and the pizza hit the spot. D-pity was good to have around. Ya know, all those years where he just sort of had vanished off the face of the earth have just kinda melted away. It seems as though we’ve been best friends all along – never skipping a beat in our crazy lives. That’s good shit – having close buds and of course having puck buddies are the best, ehh.
During one of the intermissions in the game I got up to take a leak and just a whole shit-load of pizza crumbs fell from my lap onto the floor. I commented, “Oh fuck! The honey’s gonna give me heck over that mess!” She’d gone over to her sister’s earlier to catch up on some gossip and watch a chick-flick that one of ‘em had rented, so she wasn’t around to keep the two of us in line.
D-Pity saw the mess on the floor and started to get up, dumping some from his lap too, saying, “Jasper, I’ll clean this up, but it reminds me of something. I’ll tell you about my trip when you get back from pissing.”
When I came back from the head, he was just dumping a dustpan full of pizza crumbs into the trash. We both sat back down and he grabbed the clicker and muted the tube.
“Those crumbs reminded me of my trip to Cleveland a week or so before Christmas. I generally fly back there every other month or so for a couple of days. I’m majority owner of a business there and just like to stop in to meet with management and make sure everything is on track. It’s just one of the investments that I have from the money I got back then.”
“I fly into Cleveland-Hopkins International Airport and always stay at the Holiday Inn down on Royalton Road. It’s near the airport, the factory and best of all an ice rink. Its pretty nice rink, the Hoover Arena, and only about two blocks from the Holiday Inn. They’ve got pickup games there on weeknights so I’ve got a set of gear that I keep in a locker at the factory and usually get in a game or two while I’m in town. It’s a good skate and I usually don’t have to get up too early any time when I’m in Cleveland. I schedule the times for meetings so I generally can get the skate in, some drinking after and then a good night’s sleep without messing anything up.”
“So Jasper this no shit. I’m telling you the truth. This happened to me. I think it was a Tuesday night and I had gotten in a good game. Even scored a couple of goals. Afterwards a couple of the guys said they were going over to McCarty’s Ale House on Pearle for some brews. It’s pretty much just around the corner and I usually go there and tip a few with the guys. But that night I was feeling a little beat because my travel had originated in California that day instead of up here. Just had seemed like a long day already. So I went back to the hotel instead and stopped in their lounge, Vinney’s, for just one cold one before going up to my room. Most nights that I’m in town and not skating I’ll stop in here after dinner and chat with the bartender. Usually it’s pretty quiet, maybe a couple of other folks at the bar and a group or two at tables or the booths, but pretty subdued compared to McCarty’s.”
“I’m about finished with my first brew and contemplating whether to take one up to my room when two ladies strolled in from the hotel lobby. One looks kinda skanky like a crack whore but the other one was a looker. She had a face and body like Jessica Biel but with kinky dark hair like Amy Irving. They started moving over to a booth when the cute one broke away and bounced off some tables coming up to the bar. I’m telling you Jasper, there was all kinds of space for her to stand at the bar but she squeezed in between me and the stool next to me and called to bartender. Then she sort of leaned away from me and gave me a good look. I could tell that she was looped but she had a sweet fragrance about her.”
“The bartender came over and took her order and then she said to me ‘Hi.’ She twisted sideways and leaned into me and dropped her left hand in my lap trying to keep her balance. Then she said ‘You’re kinda cute’, and gave me a firm squeeze. There was no fumbling, it was quite apparent that her hand knew exactly what it was doing. Then she said to me ‘What do ya want to do, I’m feeling pretty good’, and smiled.”
“I looked back at her friend, she was ignoring us and looked about ready to pass out in the booth. She looked over at her friend too and said ‘Fuck her, she’s been a bitch all night. Are you staying here? Lets go to your room.’”
“I was there Jasper! This was like something you only fantasize about. I waved to the barkeep and told him to put it on my tab as I wrapped an arm around her waist and guided her to the elevator.”
“Once we got up in my room we started to get down to it. A lot of passion and lot of heat. She got up after a while and found her purse and pulled a baggy out of it. I’m thinking ‘drugs’ and shit we don’t need that – not now. Before I know it she squeezes the baggy with both hands, then rips it open over the bed and dumps crumbs all over me and the bed. Before I know even know what the shit is she’s crawling all over me and the bed licking and sucking the crumbs up. All the while just sort of moaning ‘Mmmmm, graham crackers, mmmm I just love graham crackers, mmmm’ over and over again. Well, I’ll tell you, I wasn’t complaining even though that bed was an absolute mess. After a while, quite a while actually, she jumped up after looking at the clock radio on the nightstand and said ‘Oh shit, I gotta go. I gotta get Cindy home before her hubby gets off of night shift.’ She got herself dress and bolted.”
“Best night I’ve had in ages Jasper! Couldn’t believe it. Never even got her name.”
“D-Pity, ya might be thinking that I think that that’s a pile a bullshit. Right? Crazy-ass as it sounds, that graham cracker mess and all, but I had something similar almost happen to me once.”
“Wheats” he says, “you’re full of it. You’re so butt-ugly there isn’t any way that a looker like this woulda ever hit on you.”
I returned with, “Yeah maybe now, cuz I’ve aged and my little lopsided body has shrunk a bit. But there was an evening after a late practice where two sweethearts came in the bar together. Course this was before I ever had met my honey. One chick was hot and the other not. The hotty pulled in between me and whoever the heck was sitting next to me at the bar and grabbed me a bit too. The other girl came over to the bar and pulled her friend away from me before anything more could transpire. Hell, who knows, it could have been crackers in bed for me that night too. Ya lucky son of a bitch.”
With that, I threw an empty at him bouncing off of his shoulder.
The intermission had about ended and the game was going to start back up.
Wayno walked over and picked the can up and said “Ya know Jasper? Ya know? Maybe I believe you. Maybe I don’t. No biggie. Hey! You know we‘ve had enough snow now that those hills by the creek are probably ready for some radical sledding again. You think you and Stinky can come on out for some emergency room action again?”
“Shit, that was such a blast last year. You’ll dig it big time D-Pity. But I think cuz of my brain injury that I’ll have to pass on it this whole winter but I’ll come out and watch you and Stinky hurt yourselves. Ha-ha!”
And we got back to watching hockey on the tube. Sure glad that there’s still half of the regular season left to be played and then there’ll be the terrific second season ehh.
Okee dokee! Jasper here flinging it until next time.
Skate hard ya crazy-ass crunked out puckers.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
HOCKEY ECONOMICS
Oh! Gee you guys, I’m just feeling so friggin rich right now. I’ve got moola squirtin outta my ass if you know what I mean. I’ve got so much shit I don’t know what to do with it. Could you use a little? I’ll send ya some. Just send me $9.95 to cover shipping and handling and it’ll be delivered on your door step before ya know it.
Yah, I tried to sell “Fall Foliage” last year on the internet. It was one of my get rich quick schemes. All I had to do was rake it up outta the front yard and package it in 10 gallon trash bags. For $10.00 plus $9.95 to cover shipping and handling you could get your own sweet decorations just in time for Thanksgiving. What a deal, ehh? Including delivery, that’s less than two bucks a gallon. Cheaper than milk, until two weeks ago it was cheaper than gas. What a deal!
I figured that I’d sell out my own yard pretty quick-like and then hire my services to extract these colorful decorations from the yards of folks in town.
Of course it wasn’t just me, I hornswaggled my old pal and inventor extraordinaire Mr. Stinky Duval to assist with this golden opportunity. Stinky and I sat down towards the end of the summer last year and sorta planned the whole thing out. He a had a couple of industrial vacuums out at the junk yard that he had refurbished with bailing wire, duct tape and Shoe-Goo that we could attach to my yard tractor. Combining that with a hybrid snow blower he had converted we figured that we could harvest a hundred thousand worth of tree droppings in no time flat. Just gather it all up, haul it back to my place in our trucks and one of Stinky’s makeshift trailers, and repackage it out by the barn for shipping.
I checked into the costs for fuel, trash bags, colorful and arty labels, shipping cartons, UPS, and of course internet expenses on ebay. All in all we figured that what we charged for gathering in town plus the shipping and handling fee would cover all of this. The ten bucks a pop would be our pay for doing all the work.
Some things that we didn’t think about included the amount of dog doodoo that we had to separate out of our collection, the other useless and less than colorful fodder that got sucked up, and most importantly that maybe nobody was willing to buy our wonderful “Fall Foliage”. Needless to say we ended up with three piles of stuff out by the barn: one small pile of dog crap (that I have since hauled out into the woods and buried – it was really friggin putrid), a medium sized pile of twigs and other useless fodder, and one humongous pile of leaves that is still sitting there and here it is over a year later. The leaves have settled some but it’s still just as big as a hay mound.
So now I’ve got Stinky trying to figure out a way to convert or compress the leaves and fodder into some sort a very solid cylindrical shape so that we could market the stuff as fireplace logs. Who knows, we maybe could be successful some day.
And then this past fall we had whole bunch a folks that wanted to hire us again to clean their yards. Being pretty pissed off about the whole thing we of course turned ‘em all down. Based on the volume of calls though, it makes me think that we hadn’t charged enough anyway to do the jobs last year.
So Christmas 2008 has now come and gone. The economic situation in the world and especially here in the back woods is just about as smelly as that pile of dog crap I buried. Yup! Kinda sucks. So a get rich quick scheme would suit me just fine.
If you aren’t having problems right now, well kudos to you my friend.
How’s this all going to affect hockey? Well, things might change for a while.
I mentioned recently how the triumphant success of Gretzky in the ‘80’s and 90’s had recently created a growth in hockey. Because he ended up playing in Los Angeles it created a lot of growth there. We also have seen the former North Stars moved to Dallas and several other NHL teams have created homes in locations not conducive to natural ice hockey. These being Phoenix, Florida, North Carolina, Atlanta, Nashville, etc.
So your saying “Jasper, what ya mean ‘conducive to natural ice hockey’?“
Well, I’m talking about pond hockey, of course. The cheap kind of hockey!
Pond hockey is the fundamental, grass roots form of the game we love. It might be on a neighborhood pond, a flooded area in a community park, or a gosh-for-durn big old lake. Is pond hockey organized? Yup there are generally respected rules like maybe no lifts over the knees, no slapshots, no checking, take it behind your own net after a goal, etc. But is it ‘overwhelmingly organized’? No way! That’s what makes it so pure.
Probably the most organized version of pond hockey occurs in the various regional tournaments that are held. Bronzy, Woody and some of the other Outlaws are heading over to Eagle River, Wisconsin for the Labatt Blue 2009 Pond Hockey Tournament starting on February 13th. As of this writing, they have over 200 teams already signed up. Four to six man teams, no goalies, and a minimum of three games guaranteed. Now that’s organized. Bring on the brews, ehh! And ya know it’s gonna be colder than poop over there, but that’s the spirit of good pond hockey. Brings out some good color in your cheeks.
But pond hockey can be nothing more than a game of shinny, two on two; to maybe as big as two pickup teams of ten each with even goalies in the net. But often times there are no goalies, just the nets tipped over or a couple of boots set out to shoot between, and no more than a line each side because everyone wants to skate instead of standing around getting frostbit.
The equipment for pond hockey ends up being a little different too. Generally, you’re never in full gear. If ya have a helmet on, then it’s been adjusted so you can where a stocking cap under it. If you’re gonna be out there for a long time then your gloves might be big enough to wear knit gloves inside of but more than likely you’re wearing big old leather mittens with heavy knit wool liners. Shin pads? For sure, but over your best and warmest long johns. And your skates, they might be size or two bigger than you’d use in an indoor rink because again, you’re wearing something thick and warm – on your feet inside of what ya lace up. The skates won’t be as sharp as you’d have them for perfect indoor use. Nope, no point in that.
Yep, when your playing pond hockey, there’s a good chance you might not be wearing as much gear. It’s more economical than club hockey, that’s for sure. Shit throw out those club dues, ehh. I checked around a bit and if you were playing at the Midget or Junior level in Rochester, MN it would cost ya $645 for the season. The same thing down in Southern California costs ya about $950. Good old neighbor hood pond hockey – zip! And ya can’t play that in Tampa Bay or Anaheim can ya?
So it doesn’t cost a bunch to play pond hockey. And if the pond is near enough to a bunch of houses that can shoot flood lights out there, you just might be able to play out there every night, not to speak of all weekend long. Sure, finding an errantly passed puck is a bit of a bitch at night, but it ain’t no piece of cake during the day either depending upon what type of snow you’ve got surrounding your playing surface.
So these kids that want to start playing hockey in the southern regions are up against some financial road blocks. And like I said with the economy hitting the skids its only going to be more cumbersome to their folks. And will all of the southern youth leagues survive? Don’t know. Will the rinks survive? Again I don’t know.
I dug into the economics of suiting up a player for league play. Below I present the cost of gear showing low end to high end for an approximately fourteen year old male player (non-goalie) with new equipment (in the northern regions there are countless places to purchase good used equipment with considerable discounts – this is not readily available to players in the southern belt area of the USA) using a wooden stick (yup – gotta be walking with wood). These are internet prices (USD) and I don’t indicate the store location or brand. Anyway, you’ll be able to see ice hockey isn’t cheap (and again, you’re saying “Well I coulda told ya that Jasper”). So here it is – in your face:
Helmet $30 to $150
Cage $23 to $130
Mouth Guard $3 to $34
Shoulder Pads $30 to $120
Elbow Pads $16 to $75
Gloves $40 to $200
Jersey $12 to $300
Long Johns $8 to $35
Cup/Shorts w/Cup $10 to $50
Pants/Breezers $30 to $135
Shin Pads $25 to $105
Socks $10 to $25
Skates $48 to $650
Gear Bag $20 to $125
Wooden Stick $13 to $85
Roll of Tape $2 to $4
TOTAL $320 to $2226
Wow! That’s not cheap, ehh! And some of this stuff you have to buy every year because the kid outgrows it. Some things last damn near forever – like shoulder pads (of course they end up smelling pretty ripe and that can be used as a defensive tactic – if nothing more than securing bench space in the locker room). And of course I didn’t include an undershirt, suspenders, garter belt, skate socks, or this or that doodad that ya just have to have. If ya belong to club team add the cost of dues; numbers, names and logos on the jersey and maybe the helmet; travel costs and refreshments. It all adds up.
Because of this and the situation with our economy will we see a major reduction in organized club hockey? I think so. And even the great play of Sidney Crosby and his super skilled teammate Evgeni Malkin, or putting all of the Staal brothers on the ice at once will not help this forthcoming skid.
Yep that neighborhood pond sounds like a good deal. Wish I had one in my backyard, uh-huh.
Maybe I should figure out how to market pond hockey in Florida, ehh. Could be my get rich scheme. Or maybe not. Seems as though they’ve got outdoor roller hockey. Is it the same as freezing your nookies off playing pond hockey? Uh-uh, I don’t think so. Don’t want to rag on that perspective of our sport, but it’s not even close.
In closing I say this to all of my crazed out puck buddies – skate hard always, and play pond hockey as often as you can. Use it or lose it.
Jasper here until next time.
Yah, I tried to sell “Fall Foliage” last year on the internet. It was one of my get rich quick schemes. All I had to do was rake it up outta the front yard and package it in 10 gallon trash bags. For $10.00 plus $9.95 to cover shipping and handling you could get your own sweet decorations just in time for Thanksgiving. What a deal, ehh? Including delivery, that’s less than two bucks a gallon. Cheaper than milk, until two weeks ago it was cheaper than gas. What a deal!
I figured that I’d sell out my own yard pretty quick-like and then hire my services to extract these colorful decorations from the yards of folks in town.
Of course it wasn’t just me, I hornswaggled my old pal and inventor extraordinaire Mr. Stinky Duval to assist with this golden opportunity. Stinky and I sat down towards the end of the summer last year and sorta planned the whole thing out. He a had a couple of industrial vacuums out at the junk yard that he had refurbished with bailing wire, duct tape and Shoe-Goo that we could attach to my yard tractor. Combining that with a hybrid snow blower he had converted we figured that we could harvest a hundred thousand worth of tree droppings in no time flat. Just gather it all up, haul it back to my place in our trucks and one of Stinky’s makeshift trailers, and repackage it out by the barn for shipping.
I checked into the costs for fuel, trash bags, colorful and arty labels, shipping cartons, UPS, and of course internet expenses on ebay. All in all we figured that what we charged for gathering in town plus the shipping and handling fee would cover all of this. The ten bucks a pop would be our pay for doing all the work.
Some things that we didn’t think about included the amount of dog doodoo that we had to separate out of our collection, the other useless and less than colorful fodder that got sucked up, and most importantly that maybe nobody was willing to buy our wonderful “Fall Foliage”. Needless to say we ended up with three piles of stuff out by the barn: one small pile of dog crap (that I have since hauled out into the woods and buried – it was really friggin putrid), a medium sized pile of twigs and other useless fodder, and one humongous pile of leaves that is still sitting there and here it is over a year later. The leaves have settled some but it’s still just as big as a hay mound.
So now I’ve got Stinky trying to figure out a way to convert or compress the leaves and fodder into some sort a very solid cylindrical shape so that we could market the stuff as fireplace logs. Who knows, we maybe could be successful some day.
And then this past fall we had whole bunch a folks that wanted to hire us again to clean their yards. Being pretty pissed off about the whole thing we of course turned ‘em all down. Based on the volume of calls though, it makes me think that we hadn’t charged enough anyway to do the jobs last year.
So Christmas 2008 has now come and gone. The economic situation in the world and especially here in the back woods is just about as smelly as that pile of dog crap I buried. Yup! Kinda sucks. So a get rich quick scheme would suit me just fine.
If you aren’t having problems right now, well kudos to you my friend.
How’s this all going to affect hockey? Well, things might change for a while.
I mentioned recently how the triumphant success of Gretzky in the ‘80’s and 90’s had recently created a growth in hockey. Because he ended up playing in Los Angeles it created a lot of growth there. We also have seen the former North Stars moved to Dallas and several other NHL teams have created homes in locations not conducive to natural ice hockey. These being Phoenix, Florida, North Carolina, Atlanta, Nashville, etc.
So your saying “Jasper, what ya mean ‘conducive to natural ice hockey’?“
Well, I’m talking about pond hockey, of course. The cheap kind of hockey!
Pond hockey is the fundamental, grass roots form of the game we love. It might be on a neighborhood pond, a flooded area in a community park, or a gosh-for-durn big old lake. Is pond hockey organized? Yup there are generally respected rules like maybe no lifts over the knees, no slapshots, no checking, take it behind your own net after a goal, etc. But is it ‘overwhelmingly organized’? No way! That’s what makes it so pure.
Probably the most organized version of pond hockey occurs in the various regional tournaments that are held. Bronzy, Woody and some of the other Outlaws are heading over to Eagle River, Wisconsin for the Labatt Blue 2009 Pond Hockey Tournament starting on February 13th. As of this writing, they have over 200 teams already signed up. Four to six man teams, no goalies, and a minimum of three games guaranteed. Now that’s organized. Bring on the brews, ehh! And ya know it’s gonna be colder than poop over there, but that’s the spirit of good pond hockey. Brings out some good color in your cheeks.
But pond hockey can be nothing more than a game of shinny, two on two; to maybe as big as two pickup teams of ten each with even goalies in the net. But often times there are no goalies, just the nets tipped over or a couple of boots set out to shoot between, and no more than a line each side because everyone wants to skate instead of standing around getting frostbit.
The equipment for pond hockey ends up being a little different too. Generally, you’re never in full gear. If ya have a helmet on, then it’s been adjusted so you can where a stocking cap under it. If you’re gonna be out there for a long time then your gloves might be big enough to wear knit gloves inside of but more than likely you’re wearing big old leather mittens with heavy knit wool liners. Shin pads? For sure, but over your best and warmest long johns. And your skates, they might be size or two bigger than you’d use in an indoor rink because again, you’re wearing something thick and warm – on your feet inside of what ya lace up. The skates won’t be as sharp as you’d have them for perfect indoor use. Nope, no point in that.
Yep, when your playing pond hockey, there’s a good chance you might not be wearing as much gear. It’s more economical than club hockey, that’s for sure. Shit throw out those club dues, ehh. I checked around a bit and if you were playing at the Midget or Junior level in Rochester, MN it would cost ya $645 for the season. The same thing down in Southern California costs ya about $950. Good old neighbor hood pond hockey – zip! And ya can’t play that in Tampa Bay or Anaheim can ya?
So it doesn’t cost a bunch to play pond hockey. And if the pond is near enough to a bunch of houses that can shoot flood lights out there, you just might be able to play out there every night, not to speak of all weekend long. Sure, finding an errantly passed puck is a bit of a bitch at night, but it ain’t no piece of cake during the day either depending upon what type of snow you’ve got surrounding your playing surface.
So these kids that want to start playing hockey in the southern regions are up against some financial road blocks. And like I said with the economy hitting the skids its only going to be more cumbersome to their folks. And will all of the southern youth leagues survive? Don’t know. Will the rinks survive? Again I don’t know.
I dug into the economics of suiting up a player for league play. Below I present the cost of gear showing low end to high end for an approximately fourteen year old male player (non-goalie) with new equipment (in the northern regions there are countless places to purchase good used equipment with considerable discounts – this is not readily available to players in the southern belt area of the USA) using a wooden stick (yup – gotta be walking with wood). These are internet prices (USD) and I don’t indicate the store location or brand. Anyway, you’ll be able to see ice hockey isn’t cheap (and again, you’re saying “Well I coulda told ya that Jasper”). So here it is – in your face:
Helmet $30 to $150
Cage $23 to $130
Mouth Guard $3 to $34
Shoulder Pads $30 to $120
Elbow Pads $16 to $75
Gloves $40 to $200
Jersey $12 to $300
Long Johns $8 to $35
Cup/Shorts w/Cup $10 to $50
Pants/Breezers $30 to $135
Shin Pads $25 to $105
Socks $10 to $25
Skates $48 to $650
Gear Bag $20 to $125
Wooden Stick $13 to $85
Roll of Tape $2 to $4
TOTAL $320 to $2226
Wow! That’s not cheap, ehh! And some of this stuff you have to buy every year because the kid outgrows it. Some things last damn near forever – like shoulder pads (of course they end up smelling pretty ripe and that can be used as a defensive tactic – if nothing more than securing bench space in the locker room). And of course I didn’t include an undershirt, suspenders, garter belt, skate socks, or this or that doodad that ya just have to have. If ya belong to club team add the cost of dues; numbers, names and logos on the jersey and maybe the helmet; travel costs and refreshments. It all adds up.
Because of this and the situation with our economy will we see a major reduction in organized club hockey? I think so. And even the great play of Sidney Crosby and his super skilled teammate Evgeni Malkin, or putting all of the Staal brothers on the ice at once will not help this forthcoming skid.
Yep that neighborhood pond sounds like a good deal. Wish I had one in my backyard, uh-huh.
Maybe I should figure out how to market pond hockey in Florida, ehh. Could be my get rich scheme. Or maybe not. Seems as though they’ve got outdoor roller hockey. Is it the same as freezing your nookies off playing pond hockey? Uh-uh, I don’t think so. Don’t want to rag on that perspective of our sport, but it’s not even close.
In closing I say this to all of my crazed out puck buddies – skate hard always, and play pond hockey as often as you can. Use it or lose it.
Jasper here until next time.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
DUCT TAPE CHRISTMAS
I didn’t actually write this myself. I did edit it a bit to keep it aligned with my other tales though. I’m told that it is an article submitted to a 1999 Louisville Sentinel contest to find out who had the wildest Christmas dinners. It won first prize.
As a joke, my brother Jingles used to hang a pair of pantyhose over his fireplace before Christmas. He said all he wanted was for Santa to fill them. Yeah, right, you guys, he needed a skirt and pantyhose would just get in his way.
What they say about Santa checking the list twice must be true because every Christmas morning, although Jingles’ kids' stockings overflowed, his poor pantyhose hung sadly empty. Needless to say those pantyhose had also gotten a little groaty over the years.
One year I decided to make his dream come true. I put on sunglasses and an old Outlaws jersey and went in search of an inflatable love doll. They don't sell those things at Wal-Mart. No sirreee! I had to go to an adult bookstore downtown. (Actually I had to go down to the Cities cuz there shit as shit ain’t any store like that around here.)
If you've never been in an X-rated store, don't go. You'll only confuse yourself. I was there like an hour or so saying things like, 'What does this do?' 'You're fuckin kidding me, ehh?' 'Who would buy that?' ‘No way, you guys actually sell this shit?’
Finally, I made it to the inflatable doll section.
I wanted to buy a standard, uncomplicated doll that could also substitute as a passenger in my truck so I could use the car pool lane when I drive down in the Cities sometimes during rush hour. Or maybe we could put her in the nets when we needed a goalie during pickup, ehh.
Finding what I wanted was difficult. 'Love Dolls' come in many different models. The top of the line, according to the side of the box, could do things I'd only seen in a book on animal husbandry. I settled for 'Anna Nickel, the Gal with the Big Nips.' She was at the bottom of the price scale, or so I was told, but it still cost me an arm and a leg to get out of the damn store – of course I had to get something for myself too. Now hush your mouth you degenerate fools.
To call Anna Nickel a 'doll' took a huge leap of imagination.
So anyway on Christmas Eve and with the help of an old bicycle pump, Anna Nickel came to life. My sister-in-law was in on the plan and let me in during the wee morning hours (well it was late and I had been kicked out of the bar because they closed early on Christmas Eve). Long after Santa had come and gone, I filled the dangling pantyhose (yeah “dangling” like Crosby douching your defensemen) with Anna Nickel's pliant legs and bottom. I also ate some cookies and drank what remained of a glass of milk on a nearby tray. Damn near threw up cuz I’ll tell ya that warm milk really stirs up a gut full a beer.
Anyway, I went on home, and giggled and puked for a couple of hours.
The next morning my brother called to say that Santa had been to his house and left a present that had made him VERY happy, but had left the dog confused. She would bark, start to walk away, then come back and bark some more. Damn good thing old pooch didn’t sniff and lift a leg, ehh.
We all agreed that Anna Nickel should remain in her pantyhose so the rest of the family could admire her when they came over for the traditional Christmas dinner.
My grandmother noticed Anna Nickel the moment she walked in the door. 'What the hell’s bell is that?' she asked. (They say that my gutter mouth comes from her side of the family – Norwegian-Irish mix the mongrel bitch is!)
Jingles quickly explained, 'It's a doll.'
'Who would play with some kinda shit thing like that?' Granny snapped. I kept my mouth shut but my gut was about to bust.'Where are her clothes? Is she supposed to be some kind of floozy doll or what?' Granny continued.
'Boy, that turkey sure smells nice, Gran,' Jingles said, to steer her into the dining room.
But Granny was relentless. 'Why doesn't she have any teeth? Crappininee Jasper boy” as she turned towards me, “Barbie dolls don’t even have tits that big'
Again, I could have answered, but why would I? It was Christmas and no one wanted Granny to flash her floppy ones again this year!
My grandfather, a delightful old man with poor eyesight, sidled up to me and said, ' Hey, who's the naked gal by the fireplace?'
I told him she was Jingles’ friend.
A few minutes later I noticed Grandpa by the mantel, talking to Anna Nickel. Not just talking, but actually flirting. It was then that we realized this might be Grandpa's last Christmas at home. Yup, might have to put him off the farm next year.
The dinner went well. We made the usual small talk about who had died, who was dying, and who should be killed, when suddenly Anna Nickel made a noise like Pops doing his dooty in the bathroom in the morning. Then she lurched from the mantel, flew around the room twice, and fell in a heap in front of the sofa.
The cat screamed.
I passed cranberry sauce through my nose, and Grandpa ran across the room, fell to his knees, and began administering mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Didn’t know he knew how to do that shit. Nope!
Jingles fell back over his chair and wet his pants.
Granny threw down her napkin, flashed her sagumsush love sacks at her kneeling husband and stomped out of the room to sit in the car with a half-gone bottle of gin.
It was indeed a Christmas to treasure and remember.
Later in my brother's garage, we conducted a thorough examination to decide the cause of Anna Nickel’s collapse. We discovered that she had suffered from a hot ember to the back of her right thigh.
Fortunately, thanks to some all purpose and ever ready duct tape that Jingles dug out of his hockey bag, we restored her to perfect health.
I can't wait until next Christmas.
Have a good one gang!
Jasper here just walking with wood again.
As a joke, my brother Jingles used to hang a pair of pantyhose over his fireplace before Christmas. He said all he wanted was for Santa to fill them. Yeah, right, you guys, he needed a skirt and pantyhose would just get in his way.
What they say about Santa checking the list twice must be true because every Christmas morning, although Jingles’ kids' stockings overflowed, his poor pantyhose hung sadly empty. Needless to say those pantyhose had also gotten a little groaty over the years.
One year I decided to make his dream come true. I put on sunglasses and an old Outlaws jersey and went in search of an inflatable love doll. They don't sell those things at Wal-Mart. No sirreee! I had to go to an adult bookstore downtown. (Actually I had to go down to the Cities cuz there shit as shit ain’t any store like that around here.)
If you've never been in an X-rated store, don't go. You'll only confuse yourself. I was there like an hour or so saying things like, 'What does this do?' 'You're fuckin kidding me, ehh?' 'Who would buy that?' ‘No way, you guys actually sell this shit?’
Finally, I made it to the inflatable doll section.
I wanted to buy a standard, uncomplicated doll that could also substitute as a passenger in my truck so I could use the car pool lane when I drive down in the Cities sometimes during rush hour. Or maybe we could put her in the nets when we needed a goalie during pickup, ehh.
Finding what I wanted was difficult. 'Love Dolls' come in many different models. The top of the line, according to the side of the box, could do things I'd only seen in a book on animal husbandry. I settled for 'Anna Nickel, the Gal with the Big Nips.' She was at the bottom of the price scale, or so I was told, but it still cost me an arm and a leg to get out of the damn store – of course I had to get something for myself too. Now hush your mouth you degenerate fools.
To call Anna Nickel a 'doll' took a huge leap of imagination.
So anyway on Christmas Eve and with the help of an old bicycle pump, Anna Nickel came to life. My sister-in-law was in on the plan and let me in during the wee morning hours (well it was late and I had been kicked out of the bar because they closed early on Christmas Eve). Long after Santa had come and gone, I filled the dangling pantyhose (yeah “dangling” like Crosby douching your defensemen) with Anna Nickel's pliant legs and bottom. I also ate some cookies and drank what remained of a glass of milk on a nearby tray. Damn near threw up cuz I’ll tell ya that warm milk really stirs up a gut full a beer.
Anyway, I went on home, and giggled and puked for a couple of hours.
The next morning my brother called to say that Santa had been to his house and left a present that had made him VERY happy, but had left the dog confused. She would bark, start to walk away, then come back and bark some more. Damn good thing old pooch didn’t sniff and lift a leg, ehh.
We all agreed that Anna Nickel should remain in her pantyhose so the rest of the family could admire her when they came over for the traditional Christmas dinner.
My grandmother noticed Anna Nickel the moment she walked in the door. 'What the hell’s bell is that?' she asked. (They say that my gutter mouth comes from her side of the family – Norwegian-Irish mix the mongrel bitch is!)
Jingles quickly explained, 'It's a doll.'
'Who would play with some kinda shit thing like that?' Granny snapped. I kept my mouth shut but my gut was about to bust.'Where are her clothes? Is she supposed to be some kind of floozy doll or what?' Granny continued.
'Boy, that turkey sure smells nice, Gran,' Jingles said, to steer her into the dining room.
But Granny was relentless. 'Why doesn't she have any teeth? Crappininee Jasper boy” as she turned towards me, “Barbie dolls don’t even have tits that big'
Again, I could have answered, but why would I? It was Christmas and no one wanted Granny to flash her floppy ones again this year!
My grandfather, a delightful old man with poor eyesight, sidled up to me and said, ' Hey, who's the naked gal by the fireplace?'
I told him she was Jingles’ friend.
A few minutes later I noticed Grandpa by the mantel, talking to Anna Nickel. Not just talking, but actually flirting. It was then that we realized this might be Grandpa's last Christmas at home. Yup, might have to put him off the farm next year.
The dinner went well. We made the usual small talk about who had died, who was dying, and who should be killed, when suddenly Anna Nickel made a noise like Pops doing his dooty in the bathroom in the morning. Then she lurched from the mantel, flew around the room twice, and fell in a heap in front of the sofa.
The cat screamed.
I passed cranberry sauce through my nose, and Grandpa ran across the room, fell to his knees, and began administering mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Didn’t know he knew how to do that shit. Nope!
Jingles fell back over his chair and wet his pants.
Granny threw down her napkin, flashed her sagumsush love sacks at her kneeling husband and stomped out of the room to sit in the car with a half-gone bottle of gin.
It was indeed a Christmas to treasure and remember.
Later in my brother's garage, we conducted a thorough examination to decide the cause of Anna Nickel’s collapse. We discovered that she had suffered from a hot ember to the back of her right thigh.
Fortunately, thanks to some all purpose and ever ready duct tape that Jingles dug out of his hockey bag, we restored her to perfect health.
I can't wait until next Christmas.
Have a good one gang!
Jasper here just walking with wood again.
Monday, December 15, 2008
SOMETHING DIFFERENT
Christmas is almost here and I have decided to write about it more so than the humor of hockey in this edition of my blog.
For those of you that don’t really know me, my real name is Bob O’Dea. I currently live in California along Interstate 80 between Sacramento and San Francisco. You can find me on myspace where my tag is Hockey Bob. If you’re a member on myspace then you can send me messages or comments there and I’ll usually respond. If you want you can email me at hoduhn@sbcglobal.net also. Again, I’ll usually respond.
But the humor of hockey is usually my trade in words. I’ve lived in places where this sport can be played on frozen ponds as well as the indoor rinks that are so prevalent now days. There are rinks all over the place now and I believe that we can thank the superstardom of the Great One for the growth of hockey over the past two decades and of course the current cream of the crop hasn’t hurt anything as I now write this.
So Christmas – this is the celebration of the birth of Christ our savior. It is a Christian celebration. Yup, that includes me. Check out my page on myspace. It says that I am and I certainly don’t deny it.
“What?” you're saying. “Hockey Bob, the writer of Jasper Wheats stories and all that tom foolery and swearing; he can’t be a Christian. No sirree!”
Well truth be told I sure am. Handed myself over to the Lord back in the seventies. And ever since than, this season has inspired me immensely. Much more so than the decorations, trees, lights, Santa Clause and gift giving ever can. Those are all nice things mind ya but they are so much more so if we remember and acknowledge the reason why we celebrate.
I said that Christmas is a Christian celebration. It is for sure, but Christ, who we celebrate, is for everyone. With this in mind I just really want to wish all of my readers to have a really great and Merry Christmas.
I say bah humbug to that ridiculous “politically correct” requirement of not using this terminology. I’m not trying to stuff my religion down anyone’s throat. I’m just trying to share my joy of the season with all of you great folks regardless of your personal beliefs.
Enjoy it. Love it. And hopefully don’t turn your nose up because of it.
So there are a lot of things going on where folks are celebrating this season. This is not just in my neck of the woods, but yours to I’m sure. So get out there and be entertained and enjoy the things being offered.
Saturday, my honey and I went downtown to our little community center and got to see some very, very young kids performing some Christmas songs and dance numbers. So much joy and so much fun for all involved. And then last night we got to see Faith Hill singing just a whole bunch of my Christmas favorites. What a beauty and what a great voice! Kinda makes my heart all purr like a great big old fuzzy pussy cat.
Our church has a children’s Christmas program. We’ve been to these just for the joy of them. Our own grandkids our clear across the country and we will miss them dearly again this year. Don’t miss your kids’ programs.
I’ve been through the malls and have seen all the decorations and the folks shopping.
Nice!
And I’ve driven through the neighborhoods and have seen how the yards are decorated and the houses are all lit up. Hmmm … doesn’t seem to be as many of them this year. Our lights aren’t going up – a little tough on my financial status this year – but it’ll get better. I have faith!
So maybe it’s a tough time for you this year too, or maybe for someone you know. Don’t let it get you down. Put a smile on your face anyway. You’d be surprised how much that will lift the spirits of others that get to see that smile. And give someone a hand. Volunteer yourself to someone less fortunate. It will warm your heart!
And if ya really want to have a blast you can always organize a group of folks to go around singing Christmas carols in your neighborhood. Don’t worry if you’re like me and can’t carry a note. So what. It just gives ya something more to laugh about between houses, ehh.
Last year we visited a house in the Sacramento area that had just scads of lights all synchronized with a computer to Christmas songs. It was a blast to see this, but I wonder, did the people that arranged it really know what they were celebrating? I sure hope so.
Well it’s tough to close a Christmas tale, but I’ve got to now anyway.
The Sheriff came by yesterday and said that Tidwilly and the Wanker boys were going to get released from the county lock-up later this week. Great, I’m thinking – just in time for Christmas. Sure hope that they don’t act up like the toads that they did last year.
Ok you guys!
Have a Merry Christmas!
And skate hard all of you sweet little puckers!
Jasper Wheats
For those of you that don’t really know me, my real name is Bob O’Dea. I currently live in California along Interstate 80 between Sacramento and San Francisco. You can find me on myspace where my tag is Hockey Bob. If you’re a member on myspace then you can send me messages or comments there and I’ll usually respond. If you want you can email me at hoduhn@sbcglobal.net also. Again, I’ll usually respond.
But the humor of hockey is usually my trade in words. I’ve lived in places where this sport can be played on frozen ponds as well as the indoor rinks that are so prevalent now days. There are rinks all over the place now and I believe that we can thank the superstardom of the Great One for the growth of hockey over the past two decades and of course the current cream of the crop hasn’t hurt anything as I now write this.
So Christmas – this is the celebration of the birth of Christ our savior. It is a Christian celebration. Yup, that includes me. Check out my page on myspace. It says that I am and I certainly don’t deny it.
“What?” you're saying. “Hockey Bob, the writer of Jasper Wheats stories and all that tom foolery and swearing; he can’t be a Christian. No sirree!”
Well truth be told I sure am. Handed myself over to the Lord back in the seventies. And ever since than, this season has inspired me immensely. Much more so than the decorations, trees, lights, Santa Clause and gift giving ever can. Those are all nice things mind ya but they are so much more so if we remember and acknowledge the reason why we celebrate.
I said that Christmas is a Christian celebration. It is for sure, but Christ, who we celebrate, is for everyone. With this in mind I just really want to wish all of my readers to have a really great and Merry Christmas.
I say bah humbug to that ridiculous “politically correct” requirement of not using this terminology. I’m not trying to stuff my religion down anyone’s throat. I’m just trying to share my joy of the season with all of you great folks regardless of your personal beliefs.
Enjoy it. Love it. And hopefully don’t turn your nose up because of it.
So there are a lot of things going on where folks are celebrating this season. This is not just in my neck of the woods, but yours to I’m sure. So get out there and be entertained and enjoy the things being offered.
Saturday, my honey and I went downtown to our little community center and got to see some very, very young kids performing some Christmas songs and dance numbers. So much joy and so much fun for all involved. And then last night we got to see Faith Hill singing just a whole bunch of my Christmas favorites. What a beauty and what a great voice! Kinda makes my heart all purr like a great big old fuzzy pussy cat.
Our church has a children’s Christmas program. We’ve been to these just for the joy of them. Our own grandkids our clear across the country and we will miss them dearly again this year. Don’t miss your kids’ programs.
I’ve been through the malls and have seen all the decorations and the folks shopping.
Nice!
And I’ve driven through the neighborhoods and have seen how the yards are decorated and the houses are all lit up. Hmmm … doesn’t seem to be as many of them this year. Our lights aren’t going up – a little tough on my financial status this year – but it’ll get better. I have faith!
So maybe it’s a tough time for you this year too, or maybe for someone you know. Don’t let it get you down. Put a smile on your face anyway. You’d be surprised how much that will lift the spirits of others that get to see that smile. And give someone a hand. Volunteer yourself to someone less fortunate. It will warm your heart!
And if ya really want to have a blast you can always organize a group of folks to go around singing Christmas carols in your neighborhood. Don’t worry if you’re like me and can’t carry a note. So what. It just gives ya something more to laugh about between houses, ehh.
Last year we visited a house in the Sacramento area that had just scads of lights all synchronized with a computer to Christmas songs. It was a blast to see this, but I wonder, did the people that arranged it really know what they were celebrating? I sure hope so.
Well it’s tough to close a Christmas tale, but I’ve got to now anyway.
The Sheriff came by yesterday and said that Tidwilly and the Wanker boys were going to get released from the county lock-up later this week. Great, I’m thinking – just in time for Christmas. Sure hope that they don’t act up like the toads that they did last year.
Ok you guys!
Have a Merry Christmas!
And skate hard all of you sweet little puckers!
Jasper Wheats
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!
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!
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