A Lert

So what’s a lert?

Sure, it’s a really stupid question that we used to ask when we were kids after Mom would tell us to be alert.

“Be a lert!” she’d scream at us.

Dabnabit. I didn’t even know what a lert was so how in the world was I supposed to know how to be one. My older sisters must have known cuz they didn’t get yelled at half as much me and my younger siblings did.

About the time that Jingles and Bronzy had started playing hockey it become sort of a family joke. She and Dad would be standing along the boards behind the fishnet and she’d yell at them “Keep your head up and be alert!” and then laugh a little or pat Dad on the back. Jingles had a habit of looking at his skates and Bronzy was usually playing with much bigger kids so the advice was not only, by then, a bit funny but also some good hockey advice.

Of course there were kids that I’ve coached and guys that I’ve played with that used another phrase of similar ilk (yeah, like I never used it myself) when appealing to a ref for his lack of a lertness – “Pull your head out Ref!!!” Kids will get a trip to the box for that shit.

Anyway.

Look you guys. I woke up about a week ago.

I mean, I woke up about a week ago and not from an overnight sleep. Not from a nap. Not from a lapse of attention. But, sheeesh, from a friggin ding-dang coma.

And my first bit of awareness was thoughts of Mom yelling at me to be alert.

No, she had not visited me in the hospital and said that to me in my unconscious state. She’s been up in heaven for few years now, bless her soul. But her memory and lessons live on and apparently quite heavily in my twilight subconscious.

Pretty weird, ehh? Kinda spooky if you ask me.

Does anybody have a take on this kinda crap? I’m mean, I’m sort of curious if she wasn’t, like communicating with me from the other side or something.

Your now asking, “Jasper how in the world didja end up in a freakin coma?” Right?

Well, I don’t remember any of this. It was related back to me by the good folks that have stopped by to visit since I woke up.

The medical staff said that I kind of waivered for a few hours coming out it. I moved a little vigorously they said and nodded back out. Then a bit later I moved again and wretched out of my dry throat “Honey could ya get me another cold one.”

Yup, thinking about being a lert and needing a brewski. Some would probably say that that’s just natural Wheat’s instinct – some sort of traditional family response kind of thing. I don’t know.

So the nursing aid called the honey and she came down right away. I guess I kind of waivered in and out for about a day or so. What I do remember was that the honey looked a wreck. My condition had just about put her away too.

I came home from the medical facility two days ago and can’t talk real well yet but I can punch this laptop keyboard ok I guess. (You guys wouldn’t have been able to read this if I hadn’t done some editing and typo correcting – “The Honey”) They moved me out of the hospital after about two weeks to a minimal care facility cuz of my insurance coverage. Seems as though the company I worked for went under while I was out of it. Guess they couldn’t function without me and our insurance coverage kind of went on the light side.

She’s filled me in on a lot, but so has Jingles, Bronzy, Stinky and Wayno. They were all with me when it happened.

I guess I wrote last about Wayno coming back to town, wealthier than shit. Right? Yup the dude’s for sure walking with wood. Do you recall that he had gotten better at hockey since I had last seen him? Hmmm. Let’s see, he had really sucked, but when he found me at Culla’s that night he claimed he was pretty good now, had taken lessons, been to hockey camps and had played all over the world. Ehh?

Me, being the way I am, I had taken that all with a grain of salt. But apparently the next evening, Wayno had called me at the cabin and said he had rented the rink for a couple of hours and could I get a hold of enough guys real quick like to ice some pickup. Curious about his skills, I was game and put some calls out to the Outlaws and the kids I coach on the Nightmare. I didn’t make all the calls but asked the ones I did call to call others.

At nine o’clock we had a good turn out with around twenty of us and three goalies. It was about an even split between kids and old farts so we decided skate that way. Wayno told me that those kids skated great and gave me kudos for their development. It’s not important but those kids were whooping our asses. Wayno said it was blast.

Jingles said that he was playing defense with me, he on the right and me covering left when Stinky lost the puck at the blue line on a breakout. Wayno said he was playing a sleeper out near their blue line so was completely out of the play. Stinky took a big sweeping old fart curve to get back into the play while the kid that stole the puck moved towards the boards on Jingles’ side. He passed cross ice to a kid that was just crossing into the zone. Bronzy shifted over towards him while Jingles dropped back into the right side of the high slot trying to stay with the kid that had made the pass. Meanwhile this big kid, I can’t remember any of their names (the doc said I might always have this problem now) was parked in front of our net and I was trying to move him. The kid crossing the blue line took a one-timer that Bronzy unfortunately got his shaft on. It gave it more loft with no loss of speed. The big oof in front of the net shoved back and I turned right into the slapper. The puck, apparently, hit me below my helmet on my left ear and skull as I was reacting and turning away from the shot at the last instant. It dropped me like a sack of potatoes as the puck jammed a small chunk of my skull into my brain.

I was out. I mean way out and I stayed in that fool coma for almost two months. What a weenie I’ve been, ehh.

Yup, out for two months and now awake for a week.

SHIT! What in the world did you guys let happen while I was out of it?????

Paul Newman passed away. Goodby Reggie, we'll miss you.

The NHL’s season just started for 2008/2009. That’s good.

The Republican Party’s got a hockey mom as their vice-presidential candidate. That’s good. And she’s attractive in glasses besides. That’s good again.

But what the HEY did you guys do to the economy? The honey says that our cabin and our woods are worth about half of what they were before I got bashed in the ear. And Wayno’s been working with her reviewing our savings and retirement accounts and he figures that their combined value has dropped like forty-seven percent or something in this same freaking time frame. This is so not good.

Not good! Not good! This is really bad. No job and an economy that sucks. Maybe I’m still in a coma, ehh?

Dudes and dudettes – that’s the shit that happens when you’re not being a lert!

New season, new start. Skate hard and keep your heads up, ehh!

Jasper here ‘til next time.

Well Ain't That a Damn Pity

It’s been a heck of a busy week. Work and all just kickin my ass. I hadn’t had a planned day off in over a year until I finally took a vacation day Friday, giving me a four day weekend.

Dabnabit if I didn’t deserve it. ‘Specially now as it’s coming to a close here on Monday night.

Ehh? You guys agree? Right?

OK, so it’s sort of like the end of the summer too. Just means hockey season is around the corner then. That’ll be some good shit to get that going again.

The honey and me went for pizza and beer Friday night. Went to an end of the summer country music concert in the park on Sunday and just kicked it easy today and Saturday. I tell ya, me and the honey danced our little drunken asses off this summer with those concerts in the park with some damn fine music, friends and family. Love our little cultural community if ya know what I mean.

Now, Thursday night if I didn’t have just one surprising evening.

I told the honey that I was gonna stop into Culla’s to watch the end of the game on my way home. Last of the pre-season, and the Vikings let the Cowboys take it away 10 to 16. Shit! Well they’ve got all season to make amends, ehh.

Culla’s ain’t such a bad little hole in the wall. I been going there since the ‘70’s – back when you could get a pitcher of draft for sixty cents and a pickled egg for a dime. Damn if prices haven’t changed over the years – sheeeet! To say the least. The bar had to move twice since back then due to municipal construction. But the beer’s just as damn good – same with the pickled eggs and all the new shit you can get there now.

Culla passed away a long time ago now and her grandson runs the place. He’s put in some big sports screens in three of the corners and one behind the bar – so there ain’t a bad seat in the place.

I’m basically drinking by myself tonight. I mean, I know most of the old hacks like myself in the place but usually don’t know any of the young college twerps. Their girls are sweet to look at but if the young-ons ain’t pucksters, then they got their fool heads right up their asses. (Sorry about that guys – but that’s my after-work-attitude coming through – until at least I’m juiced up or laid.)

So, I’ve got a couple a pitchers in me, several of them green eggs, peanuts, chips, popcorn, pretzels, and greasy little sausage links on toothpicks – damn If I’m not going to be foul tomorrow I’m thinkin calling this dinner. But I’ve got the vacation day, so what the hell.

Culla’s starts getting pretty filled up. I got a seat at the bar and folks are standing behind jabbering away and hooting and hollering at the appropriate times as the game goes along. Except for one fucking ass-hole who’s just saying the most inappropriate things inside of a frigging Viking’s bar. And he ain’t being none to subtle with it either. At one point when it sounds like it gets really rank I turn around and glance at the guy. He’s just some old codger like me, really tan though and wearing some sort of south-seas getup like Jimmy Buffet or something. One of the college kids is starting to give him back some “What the fuck?!?!” shit and I’m thinking here we go another damn bargument, why don’t you guys take it to the street.

Before it escalates into shoving and shit the Jimmy Buffet dude yells out over the noise of whole damn bar, “Hey Wheats, ain’t that a damn pity the way the Vikes are playing?”

Well, like I said most the old folks know me in this bar and I guess I’ve got a reputation with the young-ons too, cuz the place got real quiet. Like you could hear the TV it was so hushed.

Now what the devil? This surfer looking dude knows who I am and seems sure as shit to be calling me out. So I spin my stool around real slow like and plant my feet wide (though lopsided) getting ready to rumble. “What’s that you say ass-hole?”

“I said, “Ain’t that a damn pity….” he growled at a few decibels above a whisper as the crowd splits an opening between us.

He had one of those shit eatin grins on his face like Jingles gets when it’s time to drop the gloves. I’m guessing its one of Tidwilly’s friends from the joint – so I’m just about ready to give it a go when he says again “Damn pity!”

Wait a bloody second …… I’m thinkin again. The gears are spinning upstairs but the beer’s impeding engagement. Damn pity, damn pity, ummmm, damn pity???? What the …? Come on Jasper – I’m starting to sweat as I stand up off the barstool. What’s going on? My memory banks have peeled into overdrive. Damn pity, damn pity …. D-Pity.

Oh for goodness sake.

I shut my bad eye to get a better look at this dude and I say “Wayno Studholm?”

And he responds “Abso-friggin-lutely! At your service, Jasper Wheats, you old coon’s ass!”

We each took a step towards each and then both reached for an embrace like long lost friends will do and the bar crowd got lively again.

Dang, I hadn’t seen him twenty or thirty years. He had gone to school with me, played hockey with me and then just disappeared a year so after high school. His parents had named him Wayno Edward Studholm, but back when we were playing Midgets some wise ass on the team started calling him “Damn Pity’s Boy” and eventually just abbreviated it to “D-Pity”. And it stuck.

Wayno’s dad had been in a bad accident before then and had had some minor (I think it was minor anyway) brain damage. When he’d come watch Wayno play (oh shit and Wayno played sooooo bad) he’d always be yelling after a bad play or lots and lots of times after we’d lose a game, “Ain’t that a damn pity?”

So we back off from our man-hug and the guy in the seat next to me points at his stool and moves on.

So me and D-Pity sit down to the bar and the barmaid, Heidi, brings us a fresh pitcher on the house. I’m sure Culla’s smiling down from heaven. You know, when we were eighteen, after high school, you could legally drink around here and me and D-Pity tipped our share of brewskies while she was still pulling drafts.

Well, you can’t really get completely caught up on twenty to thirty years of living while you’re trying to get your Vikings to win a game. But D-Pity gave me his high points while I shared some of mine.

His dad had been hurt much more seriously than any of us ever knew. His lawyers had secured one hell of a hefty sum which Wayno inherited after his dad passed away about two years after we got out of high school. He’d gone off to college in the east somewhere and got a PhD in some zoological subject that nobody’s ever heard of (I’m sure of this – no way, no how, nobody’s ever …) that led him to a stint in the South Pacific and making his home for a while in Australia. But now he’s back and looking for a place to hang his hat for a long time in the back woods.

The shit is though, he asked me if I was still skatin. Said he’d been going to hockey camps for a few years now and could pretty much hold his own on the ice as opposed to his lack of skills back when we were kids.

Damn, we’ll see. D-Pity might just be walking with wood, ehh?

I’m sure there’s a story or two to pull out of his ass for you folks that read this garbled shit of mine.

Until, next time, Jasper here just tellin ya to skate hard ya roudy puckheads!

The Penalty Time-Keeper

Ya, the days are gone by where bench clearing brawls were the norm. The game of hockey has been revised considerably from the time where the sticks were up and elbows were flying. Hell, you can’t even tap a guy with your stick anymore without getting two minutes – I think that they’re calling that “hooking”.

Hell, I’ll show you “hooking” any day of the week and twice on Tuesdays.

Hockey has always been a rough sport. Lots of bruises, stitches, knocked out teeth, an occasional broken bone or dislocated joint is standard fare from a season on the ice. I’ve certainly had my fair share of injuries from playing the greatest game in the world. Lets see, this has included stitches from pucks and sticks to the face (had my lower lip completely split in half and took a stick blade to my right eyeball to name a few), broken wrist, broken humerus (that’s the upper arm bone ya noggin heads) from a cross check, torn knee cartilage, separated shoulder, and complete right hip joint replacement (my demise).

And I have played some dirty hockey too. The sin bin has been my refuge upon occasion. It is the bane of many a determined player too. You play your ass off and you still get beat in your own end; so you trip the guy to stop him from going in one on your goalie.

Was it worth it?

Ohhhhh ….. you’re damn tootin it was Olie!

So you’re doomed to the box for two minutes again. Your teammates give ya shit later for letting the guy beat ya. Yeah ya hear them say “Wheats, ya get beat on the right side every time. Ya gotta move em to your left before they cross the blue line you dumb-ass!”

What’s worse the box and maybe a missed shift or the razzing?

Fuck the razzing. It’s that missed time on the ice, baby.

Oh yeah and how about the intensity of getting a little rowdy and taking coincidentals only to jump back onto the ice and take up where the two of ya left off a couple of minutes ago? The fans love that shit, ehh?

I coach a bit ya know. I teach the kids to go in high, keeping their elbows up. Sure don’t want them skating like a damn Texas armadillo with their noses down to the ground now do ya? Keep your head up, go in hard and come out with the puck.

The worst of all penalties, though is too many men on the ice. Man, that is just a mistake to get that kinda shit-ass call. Whoever is running the bench should have to eat two donuts or something to serve that fool penalty.

Another one of my gripes is that goalies don’t serve penalties. Now to me, that is a real crock of shit. I think it would really open the game up. Ehh?

Have ya ever wondered about the guy that’s taking care of the box? In the NHL, he’s an official and has to keep track of the time and other sorts of pricy shit (that’s why ticket prices are so high – it ain’t the players’ salaries). In youth hockey this person is usually one of the parents that volunteers or is coerced into the position by the domineering team mother. In the infinite number of beer leagues out there it’s usually just an interested fan that just wants to help out – maybe loves the game but can’t play anymore – maybe never played but is the biggest wanna-be in the world. Kudos to these folks cuz they walk with wood too.

I’ve got a story to tell about the penalty box official at the tournament I played in last week. Got to play in the Snoopy games out in Santa Rosa, California. Wild Bill knew some guys down in Marshall, Minnesota that needed a couple of players to fill the roster for the over 45 team they were putting in the tournament. We decided that it’d make a fun little vacation, so we coughed up the bucks each and told the guys that we’d hook up with them out west. Wild Bill was coming down from the northwest with his wife and daughter and I’d be heading out of the back woods with my honey. All to play a minimum of three games with the Marshall Meat-Packers.

The honey and I flew into Sacramento, rented a car and drove over to Santa Rosa via Napa and Sonoma Valleys so that she could do some mighty fine (and awfully damned expensive) wine tasting. You guys know that I don’t drink the stuff (brewskies brothers – pour me another!) but if it makes her happy it makes me happy.

The Meat-Packers had made arrangements for all of us to stay at the same hotel which gave us a fair discount over normal rates – and I’ll tell you that’s awfully danged important when your staying in a hotel for over a week. Good group of folks, those Meat-Packers, though they were a little disturbed that Grain Belt wasn’t on tap at the hotel pub and that they couldn’t find it in the liquor stores either. We had a team meeting the first night to get introduced to all and lay down some strategies and shit. As I figured most didn’t play on the same team but had gathered for the tournament from a beer league in southern Minnesota. I brought a couple of cases of Moosehead to the meeting to appease their Grain Belt withdrawal. I had found it at a Bevmo liquor store that we had driven past and turned back to as we had driven over from Sacramento (sheeeet – I was looking-out for myself cuz the honey – I just knew – was gonna be really wined up). The meeting went well and it seemed like the dude, Mike, that was running the team, was afraid that we all would spend too much time in the penalty box. Warned us to play “nice” and kept referring to all of us as “ya bunch of brawlers”. The first time he used the phrase I glanced over at Wild Bill and gave him the thumbs up. Our kinda guys. Could be this whole team was composed of close relatives of the Hanson brothers, ehh?

Wild Bill and I told them that we’d prefer to play defense mainly. Bill had been a forward from my days of playing with him back a generation or so ago but had now maybe slowed down to my pace or something. I really think that he wanted to skate as my partner – which was really cool. Our first game was going to be Sunday evening and Mike said that we’d be wearing numbers 2 and 3, he’d bring the jerseys and socks.

I don’t know, but we really didn’t click in that first game. It’s about ten or twelve minutes left in the third and were down 6 to 2. Wild Bill’s playing left and I’ve got right de. The opposing team’s center whipped the puck back into my corner from the opposite side outside the blueline as their left week jammed in skating like a Junior A allstar. I turned and skated like hell to try to cut it off behind the net. Wild Bill was tracking their rightwing as he came in hard too. I realized that I couldn’t make the cutoff and turned to the slot as their center started to pick a perch high. Wild Bill must have had the same thoughts as me as we both punched to the high slot to pick this guy – both of us clobbering him full blast in an ass sandwich like the old days (got to do something to rile the old team – cuz right then we sure for shit hadn’t been skatin with wood). Oh and don’t you know it - the fuckin whistle blows.

Both of us get called for roughing ………….

Running time: three minutes each. It’s the shit!

The gate keeper at the box opens the door and Bill goes in first; swearing up a storm. I jump in and sit down with my stick out in front of me and start to take my gloves of when the dude shuts the gate and turns to us, (damn if he doesn’t look just like Ernie Rucks from the old days of skating Sunday pickup – in retirement, Ernie was an NHL goal judge down in LA and came from the Canadian north woods) oh yeah lost my train of thought there, ok so he turns to us and says “You boys ought to play nice now”, taps the right side of his nose two times with his index finger and ………….

Holy shit its cold! I look over at Bill and he’s looking back at me. What the fuck????

We aren’t in Santa Rosa anymore. Were outside and it feels like it’s about 50 below. Were standing next to the gate at a crude outdoor rink with some sort of antiquated equipment on. Our uniforms are harsh wool sweaters and socks with about twenty stripes on them. My gloves have got hardly no padding or length to them and on the jersey it says “St. Paul Hockey Club”. And my skates are pretty wobbly feeling – all leather it looks like.

In and instant, I knew it and I know Bill knew it too – that we had been somehow transported back in time. To another era, to another game. Utterly amazing. But we had a game to play and we knew that we both had to jump on the ice.

And off we went, skating our asses off playing with sticks that looked like they had been made from a single piece of wood. The game was seven on seven with a rover. Somehow we knew. It all came together in an instant. Our rover was Francis “Moose” Goheen, probably the second best if not best American hockey player of the time, next to or equal alongside of Hobie Baker. What a deal. This guy’s was from White Bear Lake, Minnesota – Herb Brooks’ hero when he was growing up. Silver medalist from the 1920 Olympics. This dude was good! And he walked with wood from one end of the ice to other. Untouchable.

I figure its got to be somewhere around 1925 based on the way the folks were dressed that were watching and the looks of cars that we could see over at the street.

Wild Bill skates across my lane and yells at me as he passes, “Jasper do you see who’s skating rover for Boston over there?”

Bewildered I look around and astonishingly realize that the visitors’ rover was none other than Bobby Orr. Damn if this ain’t something. He musta been somehow transported here from the late ‘60’s or ‘70’s. And oh, could he skate. He was made for the position of rover!

The scoreboard, being manned by a guy with a handlebar mustache, fur coat and the weirdest hat that I’d ever seen, said that we were tied at 4 to 4.

Game on kids!

The puck skittered up the boards on the rough ice to Wild Bill and he took off on a meandering journey into the opposing end. Shit he was skating damn near as good as young Moose Goheen. He got in about 40 feet out – and I could tell – he tried to take a slap shot. No dice – it couldn’t happen – the slap shot wouldn’t be invented for another forty years or so. Bill fell flat on his chest like he’d been close-lined.

Orr picked up the puck and took it behind his net to apparently regroup and eye the up-ice layout and off he went. Smoothly left, smoothly right … Goheen swooped in to cut him off and Orr just went horizontal in flight mode or something with the puck almost slipping through Moose’s skates. He kicks it forward and heads after it. Orr, still horizontal, spins in midair and takes off superman style after Goheen, sweeps in with outstretched downward angled stick and takes it off Goheen only to come back down to ice behind his own net again smooth as silk.
Orr eyes up ice again and takes off through the center. I pick him up as he cuts to the boards to my right. Again the smart bastard goes airborne to my left and picks up the puck off the boards on the other side of me. WTF! I’m all over myself and Orr’s on net. Oops, did he lose the puck on the rough ice or is it a deke. Wham – bam – thank you mamm– if he didn’t stuff it in the puck from between his own legs and he’s off flying again.

The fans start booing as Orr keeps flying around celebrating his goal but the game is different. No face off after goals – just pull the puck out and take it behind the net while everyone gets on side and take off skating again. Mr. Moose Goheen picks up the puck while Orr is still celebrating. He seems pumped, the crowd’s booing now sounds excited rather than angry. A teammate skates by and yells “Watch him now. His family calls him “Boo” and that really riles his ass!”

He weaves, he dekes, elbows out, he stiff arms one guy like a running back and goes in on net like a bull in a matador’s outfit. He’s putting a little drift to the left and I can tell he’s got it set to pull the goalie with him with quick plans to go upstairs in the right corner.

Its in my mind – I know it …. And poof – Wild Bill and I are back in the box in Santa Rosa. Ghosts of Charles Schulz or what. Damn! I look over to Wild Bill. “You go on first.” He’s white as a ghost and as the penalty box time keeper opens the gate he steps on the ice and falls flat on his face. Not realizing what happened I stumble over him as I hit the ice. Both of us out there like a big pile of shit.

Bill twists his bloodied up face back towards me and asks “Wheats, what the fuck just happened?”

“Sheeeesh! I don’t know, but we better get back in the game, ehh.”

The center that we had crunched getting our penalties stopped in front of us and tapped us each on our helmets with his stick and laughed as he said “You turkeys, ya might as well head back to Marshall and get back to that business of packing meat.”

Ya know you guys – some days ya walk with wood and some days you sure for shit don’t.

Jasper here. Skate hard! Stay out of the sin-bin ….. or not.

ULTIMATE ROAD TRIP BREAKFAST

Oh what a great week it’s been! The sun has been out just a whole bunch and it makes ya think that spring might be around the corner. And ya know what that means ehh? Hockey Playoffs.

Yup, they’re just around the corner. I’d figure that most teams have got less then fifteen games to play this season. My Kings couldn’t wish it to last any longer. Sad, I gotta tell ya. But I’m a blue sky kinda guy and man, the only way’s “up” for them.

I’ve got the Caps versus Penguins game on the tube right now. Sidney Crosby and Alex Ovechkin in the same game. Yessirreee! This is some good shit this morning.

Fifteen or so games can change a lot of things. So can four rounds of playoffs. But I’m going to pick Detroit versus Montreal going into this year’s Stanley Cup Finals. What do you guys think?

Hey, what do you guys think of hockey fund raisers too? I like to help out with the local club team and we had our fund raising breakfast yesterday morning. Seems like just last week or so my Norris’ Nightmares had their fan appreciation weenie roast. I like to call the Nightmares kids, but they’re really young adults, you know. But the breakfast was for the rink’s club teams – Mites to Midgets. All are really good kids, with great parents supporting them and a good staff of coaches bringing them along. I pretty much expect every one of my Nightmares to participate by helping coach two to five practices a year with the rink club. Hell, that’s where their roots are, ehh. It actually helps them too, because they begin to think about the game from a different perspective.

As usual when I help out with these things I get put on the grille. I cook way better then I serve or cleanup I guess. Yo – Breakfast Chef Deluxe – that’s me. Ok, ok … greasy-spoon fry cook would be a more appropriate title. But I do a good job and enjoy it too. I’m flipping pancakes, scrambling eggs, crisping up bacon and turning sausage links like a dad-burn breakfast factory. And I didn’t hear a complaint from a single soul. Nope, not even any whiny kids today. Everybody chowed down like there was no tomorrow.

I got a chance to take a break around 10:00 when my good bud Jason showed up. He threw in some coin for about a hundred breakfasts or so I figure. Said he had just closed a big business deal and was feeling philanthropic for his home town community. He never played hockey, was a baseball and football dude through college, and now does his share of fine boarding out in the western states through the winter.

I was curious why he was in town and he let me know that it was really to follow up on some business with me. Earlier he had told me that he had a lead on some narrow box culvert precast concrete product that would work for my tunnel from the basement to the barn. Seems as though my price has dropped again because the plant needs the yard space that this stuff is taking up. It didn’t move last year and the plant has some sort of big contract for something else that they’re going to start producing and store until shipment starting in June. I could probably get what I need for the price of shipping alone.

Damn! I think that I just got myself one hell of a good deal. I’d need to take delivery by mid April so Stinky and me have got some work to do before then with finishing the excavation of the basement and trenching between it and the barn. Yup I hope the thaw is coming soon now.

Jason asked me if I could use a vault too. Said the plant also had a big old leftover vault setup with an HVAC unit to allow for underground occupancy. Said it was built for a phone company or something and I’d need a crane to offload it and set it in the ground. He said if nothing else you could put it in line with the box culvert and use the HVAC system as ventilation for the tunnel. He mentioned that I could look into writing off the crane cost as adding a tornado shelter to my property or something. I’ll have to look into that, I guess, but this is what I’m thinking … This is on the hush you guys (keep it a secret, ehh) I could maybe convert that vault into the new Crossed Sticks Society secret storage facility for all of our prized hockey antiquities and meetings. Hmmmm. Maybe. I’ll have to think about this and try to work something out with the Outlaws.

That’s just like Jason, being able to mix business with pleasure. Dude’s walking with wood for sure. And he sure mac’d on those pancakes and sausages I’d made. Between mouthfuls he says, “Jasper ya gotta see this stuff. It’s the greatest thing since spray cheese. The call it Batter Blaster. It’s pancake batter in a pressurized can like Redi-Whip. You just shoot it out on the griddle, no mess, no fuss. Damn you can really easy like make shapes, animals, spell things you know it’s really cool. And the dang things taste every bit as good as these ones you made.

You’ve gotta try it.

You know I’ve got that place out in Tahoe and I hate having to clean up and shit, would rather be out on the slopes, in the sack, or in the clubs right? Well I’ve been using this Batter Blaster all this winter for a quick hot breakfast before going out snowboarding. It’s great!”

“Your yanking my chain, ain’t ya?” I quizzed.

“Nope. Check out their website, www.batterblaster.com, when you get home. It’s for real. Some boys out in San Francisco came up with it. Supposed to be natural stuff too. I’m telling you, you’ll like it. Beats toaster waffles by a long shot.”

“Damn, it sounds like the ultimate road trip breakfast if it’s for real. I bet you could fix pancakes on the burner plate of those little coffee makers they put in the hotel rooms. This could really be the shit, ehh? Damn, maybe they’ll come up with a bacon shooter too, huh. Or maybe some sorta way to shoot mashed potatoes that could fry up crispy like hash-browns. Wouldn’t that just beat all, ehh Jason?”

“Wheats, you’re just nuts with your flamin imagination. You ought to be a fuckin inventor or something. You just take a good idea, dress it all up and make it better. You ever start up a company, I’m investing in ya. Can’t lose! What’s that ya say? Your walking with wood – you old fart!”

He finished his breakfast, made a mess as usual, talking between mouthfuls, and got syrup all over his signature orange t-shirt. Yep, that’s Jason – business with pleasure, eat and run. Probably won’t see him for a month or two, now, but sure glad he stopped by.

He’s the shit, walking with wood and all!

Wheats here until next time. Remember: Skate hard!

GRAVEL

There is a place on the other side of town that provides sand for the county highway department. We just call it the gravel pit. I guess you could say that it’s a working business that is mainly busy on-site not during the winter. I’m not saying that nothing goes on out there during the winter, but there ain’t no excavating going on. They dig up and sort the sand and gravel during the warmer months to stockpile during the winter. The highway department comes by and loads up sand to put down on icy sections of road. The county keeps one of their front loaders over there next to one of the sand piles.

The gravel pit is a pretty barren part of the area. I guess the glaciers ages ago dumped all this sand and gravel here and the excavating process has pretty much scraped away most of the vegetation. So it works out for a damn good spot to do some high speed snowmobiling. You could say that it’s been set up sort of as a winter race track over there. I’ve been over to watch a few times but I’m not too much into racing. Lots a folk do, I guess, and it looks like a lot of fun – I just got other things to spend my money and time on.

Way back, when I was in high school we used to have the homecoming bonfire over there. Hella good time! I figure the kids still do that. Hell, we even used to pull off the road over there and cut the lights at night with our dates and make-out. Sure for shit the kids are still going over these days to hook-up. Don’t want to be doing that right now unless you got a pretty heavy-duty four wheel drive. Get your ass stuck in there tonight and you and your honey are gonna be walkin home. Prolly be the last little piece you get from her for pulling a dipshit stunt like that.

Yesterday, after our morning game, Norris’ Nightmares held a weenie roast over there for our fans. We had gotten permission from the owners to have our own bonfire and they closed it off from public snowmobiling – so we sort of had it too ourselves for a great party. Some of the folks brought their own snowmobiles, sleds, saucers, toboggans and stuff like that, but we kept it kinda mild. Stinky came by with his get-up and towed kids around. We held a little raffle too and gave away some nice stuff that our sponsors had put up. I really think everybody had a great time and it didn’t hurt that we had won the morning game.

The honey had made about five gallons of her hot-fire-kick-ass chili and there wasn’t any left at the end of the day. It’s some good shit! But I gotta tell ya, there’s a damn good chance that half the town has got themselves some burning bung holes today. Yup.

These kids are the best damned bunch of hockey players that I’ve worked with in awfully long time. Sure, on occasion each and every one of them pulled some damn assed stupid thing. But what the hey? Been there, done that!

Some of them flaked on the ice on occasion but they really worked well as a team. They have had enthusiasm and heart all season long. They jelled way before I thought they would. It makes me feel good just thinking how far they have come. At the beginning of the season I had just a whole bunch of scatter brained selfish puck wangers. Now, I think I’ve got a TEAM.

These kids have tied-on to something that’s going to hang with them for a lifetime. Friendships, skill sets and a sense of belonging, all enduring. They did it themselves. My complements to them and every team out there that has been able to do the same thing. They’re all walking with wood, ehh!

It hurts to think back to tryouts. I had so many dudes and dudettes show up that wanted to be a part of this team and not enough room on the roster. I hope that those that didn’t make it on my team, found another club to play for. I hope that they didn’t give up on the great sport of ice hockey. I wish I could clone myself so that I could do more things at the same time and that I could run more then one team.

Sheeeeet!

You think about it …… with all the traveling I did this season, I got to thank my bro’s, Jingles and Bronzy, for all the help they did covering for me too.

Yep. I certainly love ice hockey. Best damn game in the world! Ehh?

We must have had about four hundred people at the weenie roast. And I know that each and every one of them loves hockey too. Even though my kids are just an amateur team, it still adds a lot to the economy and entertainment for our small little community here. If it wasn’t for the bars, a couple of restaurants and Wal-Mart, there wouldn’t be too damn much other shit to do around here through the winter. So, I’m telling you, that’s why we had a descent crowd yesterday.

The gravel pit owner, Jack Snyder, came by for a bit too. He got real interested in the get-up that Stinky had brought and chatted with him some. Seems Snyder could use someone with a good mechanical aptitude. Offered him a job yesterday if he could drive a dump truck too. Well, Stinky can drive anything. Yup. He can fix anything too. Regular old McGyver.

Snyder, hired him on the spot and said that even though tomorrow being Sunday (today). He needed a load of gravel taken over and spread on that long drive up the hill from the highway to Miller’s place. Old man Miller has been parking down the hill cuz of the ice. He can’t get up the hill to his house, even with his four wheel drive.

Stinky, I’m telling you guys, was in heaven. A real job. Working for somebody, in the winter yet. Not hustling for snow plowing excursions. Shit he’d still be able to do those in the evening.

Looked like a good deal for him.

Yup. Looked like it. But it didn’t pan out that way. He’s gotta have the worst damn luck of anybody in the world.

Here he is making that first run of gravel using Snyder’s dump truck when the gate accidently opens just enough for him to drop a speck a gravel; but more than enough to bust the windshields of three cars that were following him.

Dabnabit if that ain’t the shits.

Snyder’s insurance would pay for it all and Miller did get a load a gravel on his drive-way but Stinky lost his job before two o’clock this afternoon. I don’t know if it was his fault or not that the gate of that dumper didn’t stay shut but he caught the flack for it. I’m sure that if it’s a mechanical problem, that Stinky’d be able to fix it for sure, if given the chance. But Snyder wasn’t up for any of that after his Sunday early dinner I guess. Maybe he’ll read this and give Paul back his job. Maybe not. But Stinky’s pretty damn handy and I’ve never known him to be malicious. For the kinda work that Snyder does, I think that Paul’s the man for the job.

I guess we’ll see.

But Stinky was pretty broke up over this whole shit, lost opportunity and all, when he showed up at my cabin around 3:30 this afternoon.

Well the honey’s got some spaghetti about ready for our dinner. Figure that she probably spiked it up a bit with some of that chili that she set aside from yesterday. Have to wake Paul up to partake of this feast, I guess. He got a little snockerd over the whole ordeal and passed out in front of the TV earlier.

He’ll be ok. He’ll be walking with wood again in no time at all. I’m sure of it. If anybody can bounce well, he can.

Jasper here, just capping off another one of Jingle’s home brews and retiring until next time.

Skate hard, keep your elbows up when you go into the corners and keep your fool ass sticks on the ice, ehh!

I APPROVE THIS

Hey puckheads! How’s your week been? Enjoy the NHL All Star game last Sunday? Yup, me too. It was a lot of fun to watch from my living-room at the cabin on my small-screen non-HD TV. Didn’t miss it this year like I did last year, nope.

Sheeeet! I’d like to #@#*%#% former President Clinton for passing that piece of legislation. Do you know how many stinking non-HD TVs there are at my place between the cabin and the barn? I’ve got five of them puppies. It’s gonna cost me a bunch to replace them with High-Definition versions and then they’re gonna kick my ass as I go out the door – oh forgot to tell ya that you’ll get charged for disposing you’re old sets too dumpkoff. Well kiss my ass. The TV’s I’ve got work just fine. WTF do I need HD? Shit my vision ain’t that great anymore so why would I want some new fangled piece a shit, ehh. The economy is on the skids and this bull crap is just gonna make it worse.

The weather has kinda sucked through the week. Pretty much has been snowing constantly which has made my drive to and from work one hell of a mess. It’s a shame how many dipshits don’t know how to drive in this winter wonderland. Damn, I learned how to drive in the snow. Did my driver’s training way back when in it. Slid into a plowed over ditch taking my practice examine with my high school driver’s-ed instructor. Kids in the back seat laughed their fool asses off, but I’ve never done it since. Passed my first driving test to get my license while driving on top of snow-packed and iced over roads in mid March back before most a your parents even knew how to do the nasty. Yup. Why can’t you guys learn how to drive in winter weather?

But this fowl weather has kept Stinky busy shoveling out driveways and parking lots. He hasn’t been by since last weekend when we went out and did some fool-ass stink-agagoning and crashed myself all up. It was a blast but I’m still sore.

Without Stinky’s help, the honey has been doing the drive way. She’s pretty hardy for the teensie little thing that she is. She takes good care of me and feeds me well. Keeps the cabin damn near spotless which pretty near amazes me cuz I’m such a turdball messy old fart. But she pretty much does it all and is cute as a button besides. So I can’t complain too much. She’ll sit in some times when we need a goalie for pickup. But her one weakness is that she ducks on high shots, and being as short as she is, especially in her goalie crouch, those damn high shots go in over her head. Craziest damn thing. She’s pretty good in the nets otherwise.

Thursday she had to clear out a deadfall in the driveway so that she could go into town for groceries. Didn’t even complain about it much. Said she was glad the chain saw worked fine in the cold temp but didn’t enjoy trying to find a long enough chain in my mess in the barn so that she could pull the cut up outta the way. Oh well … she did just fine and I love the little honey just a whole mess.

Tonight, she and I are sitting in front of the fire just enjoying a sittin around the fire drink. Nope I ain’t havin a beer and I ain’t tellin ya what it is I’m drinkin cuz you’d laugh your fool heads off. She fixed up some special dinner earlier tonight that she had seen while watching Rachel Ray on the tube. It was a potato-leek soup with a pound of bacon in it. Damn it was yummy! More like spiced up thin green mashed potatoes then a soup – but hit the spot on a cold winter night.

The craziest thing though happened during dinner. The phone rang and the caller ID said “OUT OF AREA”. The honey had picked it up and normally would not answer unless the ID said it was someone that she knew. She took a chance and answered this time thinking it might the daughter calling from a friend’s that she was visiting over in Washington or Oregon somewhere like that. Well it wasn’t.

Damned if it wasn’t John McCain. Nope, it wasn’t some canned message that John McCain had recorded, but was the presidential candidate himself. I started laughing thinking it was canned (she had the phone on speaker) because I had answered one from Hillary earlier in the week (Oh, don’t I wish that that call had been her live – she’d have caught an earful from me on Bill and the HD shit, ehh.).

I’m telling you it was really John McCain and the honey starts chatting him up. She tells him that, yup, she’s going to vote for him in the primary and in the fall too. She told me she was last week so I wasn’t too surprised. She gets him going about Vietnam and flying fighter jets. She’s working him pretty good I’m tellin ya and after getting him into talking about the jets and all she just pops out “Well ya must have some pretty big balls, ehh?”

I’m hearing this right? He picks up on here accent and not missing a beat says to her, “Honey, where are you from?”

She says, “Well Mr. McCain I live up here in the north woods with my husband Jasper. And if you’ve got such big ass balls why don’t you come on up here some time and play some puck, I mean hockey, with me, Jasper, and the rest of the guys. Oh heck, maybe you don’t skate being from that snowbird destination, Arizona, and all. But we’d sure like to have you at least come watch sometime. (She’s getting all embarrassed a bit now.) You know I’d like to meet you sometime. You could pass for Garth Brooks’ younger good looking brother. Oh my goodness. Shit! I didn’t say that did I? (Really embarrassed now.)”

Well old John McCain said that he’d love too. Seems he has some puckster blood in him. Said he wasn’t worth a shit – was more of a windmill then a winger.

The honey about shit. I didn’t interfere one bit, no sirree. They exchanged cell phone numbers and he’s got our address now. So will see. So wouldn’t that be great if sometime we have a president that likes to lace em up skate a little puck.

So, regardless of the weather it’s been a damn fine and an interesting week.

Guys, just remember to skate hard and gals to skate your little asses off cuz sweat is sweet.

Yup, I’ll be walking with wood until next time.

I’m Jasper Wheats and I approve this.

TIP-TOE’N THRU THE TULIPS

Yup, a couple of weeks have gone by since I managed to write any crazy shit here. Sure hope that none of ya minded my vacant brain space that I’ve had for a while.

Actually, that hasn’t been the case, you guys. I’ve really been awfully damn busy and I’ve been writing my ass off for a U – NI – VER – SI – TY class that I’m gonna be teachin in a couple of months. It’s just flippin amazing how much work ya have to do to prepare to teach 48 hours worth of lessons to a bunch of nincompoops. That’s what they are now but by the time I get done with em they’re going to be some real ass smart heads, ehh.

But I did get some nice tournament viewing last weekend. Wasn’t the big kids playing, just the youngins – Mites, Squirts and Peewees. Good stuff though. I’ve seen a lot a hockey over the years and I’ve probably played as much as I’ve watched. There’s nothing like the enthusiasm of parents at a tournament though. You know it’s road games all the way around except for the home teams, and if a kid shows up to play then you damn well know that there is an enthusiastic parent or two that brought him or her there. That’s dedication!

It was a double rink facility that had a public session going on over at the other sheet of ice so there was a whole slew of folks running around in the snack bar and lobby areas. Kids lining up at the snack bar getting their dose of gourmet rink grub and walking around in ill-fitting plastic skates that probably smelled worse then my gear ever has. Oh well, you got get an interest in the ice and sport some how, ehh. The local club was running a raffle for a mess of gift packs and shit. Mostly stuff for the ladies – I think – wines, cheese and cookies – that kind a stuff. I might a bought some tickets if I’d a seen some prizes that were like a couple of cases of brew, pro tickets or a nice Sherwood or something – but nah – didn’t see anything of the likes.

Looked like all the kids were just having a blast while each individual game was being played but just a little down after the game if they were on the losing side. Its good to lose once in a while – builds character and protects ya from others maybe thinkin that you’re all aliens (kinda tough to check the urinals after these little guys cuz most of ain’t tall enough yet to reach the rim – uh huh, maybe you ought to read a previous tale if that went over your head).

During one game there were so damn many red heads in the stands that I started looking for Anne of Green Gables out on the ice. Must have been a team from PEI I figured. Chatted up a local dad, Chris Gregg, that was counting shots for the stats. He had two boys that play and the younger of the two would be the goalie for the Jets in the next game. I stuck around to watch the start of it.

Before the first period was over the Jets were down four to nothin. Didn’t say anything bad about young Gregg in the nets, he was getting a good workout for a beginner. Showed signs of having some future good skills. Maybe he’ll want to skate for Norris’ Nightmares in a few years or maybe when he reaches legal drinking age he’ll come on board with the Outlaws. Who knows. Just damn glad to see passion in all of these kids and the support that there parents give. Yep, walking with wood all around. In recognition of the Jets, I thought I’d just list the roster here: Cunningham, Gauldin, Graves, Gregg, Larson, Merrick, Morton, Nadasdy, Schamoni, Sprague, Whitney and no-name #97 – HOOYAHHH!!!!!

Stinky showed up around the start of the Jets game. He had brought his nephew along, Tyler – but everybody calls him Grits. Good kid, his folks are poor as dirt like Stinky but he wants to play some hockey some day on a real team. Plays some street puck now but hasn’t ever had a new pair a skates even, Paul confided.

Grits was in awe of the game and since we were talking with the goalie’s dad he got to hear an earful of netminding bragging. All good for shit for sure.

I had to get back to the cabin to work on my teaching stuff but stood in the snack line with Stinky and Grits before I left. Picked up a couple of coffees and a hot chocolate for Grits. We chatted a bit more as we all headed out. Paul said that he was gonna spend most of the rest of the day with the kid. That’s a good deal.

The next day Stinky comes over to my place and tells me that Grits thinks he wants to be a goalie now and not to dampen his interest he took him over to Dick’s Sporting Goods to look at and try on some gear.

Paul tells me, “I’ll be damned Jasper, if that goalie gear isn’t really, really expensive. Even for a little guy like Grits. Shit and those sales guys over at Dick’s are just all a bunch of dicks tahoot. I’m bending over to try to see the price on some pads, you know they got them damn bar code tags and ya can’t tell how much things are until they scan them. Right? Well I have a little gas leak about then; the same time I say out loud to myself “I wonder how much these are?” Grits starts giggling a bit and says to me, “Uh, Uncle Paulie…” Shit Jasper, there was this smart ass dipshit sales kid standing behind me that heard me pass gas, you know I’m always doing that unintentionally. Right? Well he says to me “I’m afraid of what might happen if I tell you how much they are if you did that just looking at em.” Errrrr! I was pissed and I grabbed Grits by the shoulder and walked on out of there”

“We got out to the truck and I could tell that I had maybe saddened the little guy a bit. So I turned up the radio real loud once we got on the road and damned if Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap didn’t come on about four or five minutes into our drive back to the yard. We just screamed along to that tune at the top of our lungs and when it was over some Barry Manilow shit came on so I turned if off and we kept on screaming like we were earlier. It was nuts but he loved it. Crazy kid!”

I agreed with him on that and told him that he was little wacko too - “Must run in the family, ehh?”

“Yeah, right Wheats. Like you and yours ever got your shit together all the time. Damn, you gotta come see what I brought over. It was bitch of a find.”

We walk on over to his truck and I’m beginning to smell something pretty ripe. “Paul, you cutting the cheese or what? Damn that’s foul!”

“Nah, nah, it ain’t me and it ain’t that bad,” he says. “I scrubbed this stuff with some soda water and shampoo. You’ll dig it.”

He opens the tailgate and there’s a couple of big old black plastic tray shaped things in the bed. I examine them a little closer and realize that they’re the two halves of shit tank from a motor-home or something.

“Paul, what the fuck is this???”

Damn if he isn’t getting all excited. “Jasper, when me and Grits were heading down the road I saw this in a snow bank off the road there at Willow Creek. You know how the road dips and then bumps when you come off the bridge? Somebody must have bottom out and lost it. I pulled it out and slid it in the truck. Took it back to the yard and me and Grits cleaned it out and cut it in half. They don’t smell half as bad as they did yesterday.”

“Well, if you say so,” I tell him. “But I still want to know whacha got here.”

“I turned each half into a steerable, well somewhat steerable, sled or toboggan thingy. See how I added the rudders that I made from some broken sticks. Drilled a hole through the shaft about eight inches up from the blade and screwed them on to each side of both of the halves. They just kinda float until you pull back on one and it digs into the snow on that side, slowing ya down over there and that causes ya to turn in that damn direction. It’s a blast! Ya gotta try it. Me and Grits road em over at Turner’s hill all afternoon until I had to take him home. Maybe you and me could make some more and sell them. We could call them sloboggans.”

“Somebody probably already uses that name. Cuz a how they smell I think a more appropriate name might be shit-house-slammers, ehh.”

“Come on, we’ll go back to Turner’s hill and you give it a shot. Go tell your wife that you’ll be gone for about an hour.”

Done and gone were over towards Turner’s property and Paul says, “You know this is pretty mild over here. Kind of a kiddy slope if you know what I mean. No trees or nothing. Let’s try the deer woods over where the tracks cross Willow Creek. Will have to hike a bit but we can follow the tracks in. It won’t be so bad. The hill is steeper and we’ll have some trees to dodge. What do ya say?”

“Sounds like the spot. But ain’t so sure that this old stocking cap is gonna give my noggin enough protection in case I hit tree. Probably got to be a bit careful.”

“Nuts to that Jasper. I planned to get us over here and packed a couple of old Cooper helmets to wear. And I think that you’ll want to pay a little demolition derby against me out there. Dodging the trees will be like tip-toe’n thru the tulips, you’ll see. We’re gonna need to liven this up a bit – give it the old hockey pazzazzz. Ya know. You’ll be walking with wood after the first run!”

So off we went and I gotta tell you it was a blast. I felt like a dadgum kid again. Except for the next few days when I was sorer then shit. On one run, Paul had angled off to the left and I figured that he’d sweep back to the right and cut me off so I swerved hard to the left too, almost going back up hill and I clipped a damn tree knocking off one of my hockey stick rudders. It spun me all around and I ended up heading pretty much straight down hill with just a little directional control from the opposite side. I caught air and had no control at all and was heading right-on into some old big ass tree. Right when I hit the tree Stinky came right over the top of me too. Fuckin double ass wammy. Better air-lift me out of this one boys. I survived, sure enough. But tip-toe’n thru the tulips – my ass. Felt like Dave Schultz had just clocked me.

I think Stinky, just might have something here. He just needs to refine the design a little bit and beef up the attachment of those rudders. Its some good shit.

The worst of this whole fun fuckin time was getting back home and have the honey cuss me out over the stink and making me strip down out in the barn and bathing up out there before she’d let me back in the cabin. She wouldn’t even give me any fresh clothes cuz she was afraid the stink would get on them too. Damn that was a cold walk back to the cabin bare-ass naked. Sure got to get that tunnel built before next winter.

Later, puck-heads. Until next time, Jasper Wheats here; telling ya to skate hard.

CHRISTMAS TOADS

Hey you guys, here’s a Happy Good Holiday to you!

It’s been a fair week so far for me. Been back home for most of it instead of being on the road. The company Christmas Party is tonight, so I’ve got that going for me, which is nice. Me and the honey will get dolled up and have some fun. She bought me some nice dress slacks and had them tailored so that my short leg doesn’t have a damn pile of fabric hangin on my boot. It helps to look spiffed up for these things ya know. She’ll look stunning as usual - damn I love that lady!

So being in town I got a chance to coach a couple of games with my Norris’s Nightmares. Jingles and Bronzy have been doing wonders with them. They looked tight and are two games out of first place in their division. They split the games with the Red Dogs over in Wateca. The Red Dogs have got that hotter then shit girl goalie. She’s got that glove hand that every guy is looking for around midnight if ya know what I mean - fast. Tanker bullnosed through the slot for a couple of goals in the second game knocking her on her keister both times. Just a tiny bit of fisticuffs erupted as would be expected. But the bitch is tough, and takes her teeth out when she plays. She knows what she’s up against every night. Our defense finally looks like their working as team-mates now when they’re out on the ice. Seem to know where each other is at or at least where they’re supposed to be at. It looked good. I was real pleased. These guys have really been working hard and I gotta say that they’re walking with wood right now.

I also managed to hook up for a game with the Outlaws last night. Woody moved out of state earlier in the season so I played as him. He’s my drunken twin to most folks who have ever seen us together, ’cept his short legs are both the same length. I don’t have his skills either, but who cares - nobody gives a rats ass. It was fun. We went over to Maggy’s and closed the place like old times. Nothin like chugging brewskies and having the barmaid bringin ya free shooters, ehh. I hadn’t hung out with these guys for a while so It was the tits of a good time.

Maggy’s parking lot is gravel and this time of year ya can’t see much of it due to the snow. Stinky comes over and plows it out for her and gets free lunches a couple a times a week for helping out. So anyway ya gotta kinda watch your step out there cuz one step ya take might be on some packed ice or re-melt with a bit of a slip and the next ya might hit exposed gravel grabbin your foot fo a nose dive. It’s a little dicey.

We call it a night inside but Jingles and Bronzy continue some small talk as we head towards my truck. I pull my gear out the cab to throw into the bed when out of the dark Tidwilly and the Wanker boys jump me. Oh shit! What a mess that was. Jingles just about ripped Tidwilly apart. He picked him up at one point and threw him completely over the hood of my truck. The dude just has an Irish mean streak that comes out sometimes and when he’s pumped there’s some unbelievable strength lurking beneath that mellow nature of his. Bronzy, too, don’t believe I ever seen him fight with such vigor. Me, I slipped on the packed snow at the first blow but by the time I was up, Jingles was on Tidwilly. So I squared off with one of the Wanker boys, I can’t tell em apart. They’re both just no good sons of a bitches. We took our blows but I truly believe we pretty much pounded the shit outta them before the sheriff deputies showed up.

Deputy Skolyan took charge of the situation and had dictated cuffing us all. Man was I pumped! After a few minutes while he was on the radio we sat in crusiers waiting to get hauled in. Then he came over to the car that me and my brothers were in and said “Un-cuff the Wheats’. Jasper, you, and your brothers, head-on on home now. Don’t get in anymore shit. These dirt bags that ya whooped on have got some recent warrants against them. I ‘spect that they’ll do thirty days or so. Gonna be Christmas Toads back at our little county lockup. Now git outta here.”

I looked over at Jingles and he had one of his shit eattin grins on and was looking at his bloody knuckles and then I looked over at Bronzy. The dude looked like he was on speed or something. His eyes were so dilated - I realized he was just as torqued as me.

I said, “Hey, sleep ain’t gonna come easy tonight. What say we go down to Denny’s for Grand Slams?”

Jingles smirks, “I think we just had one, but that suits me just fine, Jasper. Lets roll.”

Over to Denny’s we get our chow and like Jingles likes to say “The thousand assorted jellies.” Damn it’s good to be hangin out with my brothers.

Jingles is eight years younger then me. He was born in early January and I like to think that he is one of the best late Christmas presents I ever got. I had been the only boy in the family until he came along - shit having five sisters up until then. I remember how proud I was of him when I was just a kid. I remember the first Christmas present that I bought for him. Cost me a whole dime. It was a blue plastic bear, about five or six inches long. I thought it was just the coolest thing to give your baby brother. Yup, you ain’t real smart when you’re just a kid yet. But he was special to me. Seems as though in fourth or fifth grade I took him with me on the last day of school for show-and-tell. Damn, using your brother as a show-and-tell piece. Crazy, ehh?

We jabbered about all the old time shit while we ate our breakfasts. I told em that watchin Jingles throw Tidwilly reminded me of the time when Bronzy was snooping around under the Christmas tree as a kid and it pissed me off so much that I picked him up and took him outside and threw him into junipers in the front yard.

Bronzy responds, “Yeah, Jasp, you’d go a little crazy now and then didn’t ya?”

Jingles joins the chew on me and says “Shit, remember when I was your jinx whenever you were working on your car. I remember you throwing me around a bit too.”

“Fuck you, you guys. Nobody knew it back then, that I had a blood sugar problem that would make me damn cantankerous if I didn’t eat with regularity. That’s what most of the problem was. I’ve come to figure out that that’s why I’d get so angry about having to wait to eat dinner after Dad got home from work.”

Bronzy about spews his Tabasco’d eggs, “Nine o’clock?”

“Yeah, nine o’clock, Jasper! You still got that clock that Lori and Jim gave you for Christmas that year that only has nine’s on it? Shit, you always were screaming at Mom, “When are we gonna eat, nine o‘clock?“”

“Damn right I still have it. Keep it in my office at home along side some other treasured stuff. I replace the battery in it every year or so and never had any problem telling what time it is with it.” And I jab back, “Ya still got those Nuclear Briefs that I made for you that one Christmas?”

We had made Christmas lists back then and he had written "Nuclear Briefs" on his list. So I made him some. Bought a jock strap and spray painted it gold and threaded an electrical cord into the waist elastic. Made a semi-professional label for a box and wrapped it all up for him. It was hilarious.

“Did anybody ever take a picture of you wearing it? I’d love to post that on a website.”

“Eat shit Jasper. I have no idea what happened to that thing. I figure that one of these years Ry-Ry will surprise me with a new pair.”

We carried on for some time talking about the old days.

Family is something great and I gotta tell ya (not tryin to be all mushy and shit) ya gotta cherish every single moment. Like country singer, Kenny Chesny‘s song “Don’t Blink.” It all goes so fast and every moment can create a hell of a memory for ya. Hang on to them. Tell the stories later and you’ll be walking with wood in the eyes of your future kids or grandkids.

I think back at Christmas’s when I was a kid and the few gifts that I got. We weren’t rich and there sure were a bunch of us in the family. As I recall these items mentioned next were my main gifts in any particular year.

A model airplane, Navy Trainer, made of thin webbed plastic with a rubber band driven prop. Dad could make it fly further then I could. Guess it was because of his height - the plane had more altitude to start with. Me, I’d just wind the rubber band as tight as I could to help it out. Broke the rubber band a few times. Took forever after breaking this gift for me to figure out how to fix things.

An orangish-yellow sweatshirt that had either Daniel Boone or Davy Crockett on it. I’ve never had a yellow sweatshirt since then but wear grays, blues, blacks and whites all the times now days.

An eighty power Gilbert reflecting telescope. Still like looking at the sky at night and all sorts of other heavenly bodies.

Mark Twain’s book “Tom Sawyer”. Probably this tale has had more influence on me then much else. Am I not a little Tom Sawyer or Huck Finn myself, ehh? Could I become the new Mark Twain?

‘Course I got to pick out a new hockey stick one year and we know where that took me.

Oh yeah, those past holidays of gift giving and receiving were great times. Are the physical gifts more lasting then the emotional ones? Nah I don’t thinks so.

What kinda memories of your past holidays can you dig up?

Like I mentioned earlier, I want all of you to have a great Christmas. There’s no point in moping about over bad times. Make your own good times. Have a blast! You just gotta skate hard and walk with wood.

Don’t be a Christmas Toad, ehh.

Now I got some knuckle bumps to heal and some sleep to catch up on before tonight’s company party. So I’ll see ya later.

4 DAY WEEKEND

Apres Thanksgiving

Jasper here - just sittin around the fire, the honey and me, enjoying the end of a fine four day weekend. Our Thanksgiving was great, stuffed myself like a durn fool and crashed out way to early for a man of my young age. One of my nephews on my honey’s side of the family had us over where his wife and her mom put together one heck of a nice meal. Turkey, ham, spuds, dressing, beans, dinner rolls, pies and cookies with ice cream and wine. Could a had brews but no one else was drinkin them so I stuck with the beverage of the evening.

I collected a mess a deadfall during the summer - ya know just a random assortment of hardwoods and pines - and split it up for the winter nights. Feels purty good to have the heat from the fireplace warming your soul. Sure brings back so many great memories of sittin around the campfire, drinkin brews and shootin the shit on all those fishing trips with buds before I met my honey. Course her and me have done our share of some damn fine enjoyable camping together too. Just really like sitting by the fire as ya let it burn down to just coals before crashing and looking up at the stars and wondering about the immensity of our universe.

Speaking of that, have any of ya seen that new comet that exploded? I’ve spotted it twice so far. From my local at about 9:00 pm its maybe 10 to 15 degrees north and 5 to 10 degrees east of my zenith (that means directly overhead for you dim wits out there). It’s looks like a small circular cloudy spot fairly near a yellowish star. I read somewhere that after it exploded it became larger then our sun making it the largest celestial body in our solar system. Of course it is so damn far away right now that you’d never know it, ehh.

Pretty cool stuff, that astronomy and sky watchin. I keep hopin that I’ll get to see a flying saucer, maybe, before I die. I just know that there is other intelligent life out there. The Good Lord didn’t just create his kind here on this planet, I figure.

I remember one time I got so caught up in star gazing around a dying campfire that I munched up a whole box of cinnamon graham crackers all by my lonesome. I’ll tell you, you guys, that is not something that ya want to do when you’re out camping away from civil facilities. Damn if I didn’t get the worst case a the shits that I can ever remember. If ya don’t believe me then you go eat a whole family size bag of teddy grahams all by yourself and see what happens.

Hey, I just wanted to say “Hi!” to all my friends over at myspace.com. You’re all good puck heads, ehh! Dudes and dudettes just living for the best sport in the world …. hockey. You guys have gotta just keep on skating hard and walk with wood when ya can. Ok?

Some a ya are probably still wondering about the continued activities involved with those bones that were found while hand excavating my basement, ehh. The sheriff still has it cordoned off and they braced up the end wall of the cabin like he said they would. We haven’t moved out cuz most a the work they do is during daylight hours and me and the honey are away that time a the day anyway. We’re both still having our weird-ass dreams or nightmares though. Shit, them puppies might never stop happening.

The sheriff and the county have put a pretty strong case together so far against Mr. Oscar Pederson. I guess that they’re going to try to extradite him from Argentina with the help of federal authorities. I’m wondering if they would take me on as a short little lopsided sheriff’s deputy. If they’d bring me on board to bring him back in, tear him away from that little hoochie mama down there, and hold him in the local pokie here I’d just be bejiggered with joy to do it. Shit howdy! Maybe I could get in a little side trip to cast a fly for some a those trophy browns that they got down there around Patagonia. Wouldn’t that be something, ehh, you guys?

As I know more - I’ll tell ya more. No secrets and no bull shit here, ehh.

Thanksgiving is over and that means we’re on the home stretch to Christmas. I gotta tell ya I went out and did some shopping early Friday morning. Nah, I ain’t no fool spending all day doing early Christmas shopping. Just needed some things for myself. Saw that K-Mart had flannels on sale for six bucks. Shit ya can’t beat that, ehh. So I headed over at 6:00 am and got four extra-large ones before they sold out. Already, that early in the morning, what a nut house that place was. Yup, I figure that these guys are going to shrink after washing so I’m just going to wear them as dab-gone long as I can before that happens.

I’ve been thinkin about getting the honey some perfume for Christmas but that went to hell in a hand basket since Thanksgiving night. That night her sister gave her a whole stack of women’s magazines that she’s apparently got subscriptions to and every one of them fashion mag’s has got about five or six perfume ads with them foldover scent page doo-hickies. She just tore those right out and folded each page up and put it separately into individual baggies for future use.

Shit, she’s set for the year, ehh. Now what am I going to do? You guys got any ideas?

I always try to put something together for the county’s children’s center this time a the year. Doesn’t seem to be as many parentless kids over there as there used to be but I still like to do something for them for Christmas. This year I had, what I thought, was a heck of a good idea. I’d make them sock puppets. Shit, I figured, I’ve got just whole slew of old hockey socks that I could use and the honey could help me. So, the night before last, I dug em up. I had some Ranger’s, Bruins, Golden Seals, North Stars, Blues and no-name socks. We ran em through the washer to make sure they were nice and clean. Then we started trying to put them together. Crap, some of these old socks had stirrups but that wasn’t the worst of it. Ya know ya can’t make a decent sock puppet from an open ended sock! Cripes did I feel like one stupid shit. Guess I’ll either have to give these old socks to Stinky or use em as car rags.

Another Christmas idea down the drain, ehh. I’ll have to figure something else out to give these kids.

The fire’s going down, guess I’ll have to stoke it up cuz the night's still young.

Speakin of stokin-up, shit, who lit the fire under my LA Kings last night? They went and beat the San Jose Sharks 2 to 1. Nice! Very, very nice! Its been a while coming. I’d really like to see them turn this season around and quit hanging out in the cellar. And shit, how about that goalie that Gretz picked up from Anaheim for his Coyotes. I think he’s got four wins in a row now. And the Caps are maybe turning it around too as they’ve got two wins in a row for their new interim coach.

You know, I’d just like to see some things spin in the NHL once in a while

Back to the duties of a Thanksgiving four day weekend. I put up Christmas lights today. I got sap on me up to my damn earlobes. Used to be so easy to hang them lights on the house when we lived in town. Now you can’t hardly see the cabin from the road so we light up two trees that we got out at the end of the drive. They’re kinda nice shaped and all so they look real good when I get done, but holy mackerel if them pups weren’t just coated with fresh sap for some un-natural reason. And me too for a while. Had to use turpentine to get most of it off. But like I said these trees look awfully damn nice. Its sure helps that when I had them run power for the cabin that I had them put a 100 amp pedestal out along side the drive. I’ve had to use that for all sorts a shit and it works just fine when ya got ten strings of lights on each tree, ehh.

How about you guys? Did ya have a great Thanksgiving weekend? Keep up traditions from your past? Damn I hope so.

I really wanted to get in some holiday pond hockey like the old days. Just some sweet pickup - three on three would a been fine. But it’s been so mild though so far that we haven’t had a decent freeze - nothings frozen over yet and if this global warming crap is for real then maybe nothing will ever again. Who knows, ehh?

Alrighty, enough for this week. Appreciate all of ya that read this north woods humor that’s been spiced up a bit with hockey and other tidbits of wisdom that ya can … never …. take to the bank.

Keep the snow outta your boots by staying on the shoveled path! Walk with wood and skate hard!

OSCAR'S BITTY

Damn if my basement to be or as the honey says “your old root cellar” ain’t still all taped off by the sheriff yet.

Shit, shit, shit!

Them damn bones down there have just about taken the wind outta my sails ya know. I really wanted to get that baby closed off before the real chill of winter set in.

I did a little negotiating with the local public works department while I was outta town this week to get my hands on some used narrow box culvert that they’d dug up to be replaced with some wider shit. They’re replacing it out by Ledgewood Creek that overflowed last Fourth of July and closed off access to the northwest corner of the county for about a week. I’ll have to arrange to move and set it over here at the cabin, but I figure that it’ll work good for that secret tunnel I was tellin ya about earlier that’ll run from the barn to the basement. It’s about a hundred foot run so it’ll be ten sections and lids of that used shit. I figure that I can get Moyer to help me out with this shit - he knows most the local contractors that do underground utilities and stuff like that.

Our local county building department is kinda lenient out here and we most the time can do what we want as long as it ain’t living space that we’re messin with so this will just be pretty damn slick.

Back to them bones. The honey said that a deputy and Flagg came out on Monday and Tuesday. Didn’t chat with her much but she said that when they left they had two heavy black plastic bags of probably bones.

So, you guys, I got home around 8:30 last night from my train ride and was just bushed. Stayed up for a bit watching some TV with the honey and chatting a bit about the usual domestic stuff and then just hit a wall and excused myself to go to bed. Guess I’m damn glad that Norris’ Nightmares were playing away games this weekend over the state line and that Jingles and Bronzie are running them. I’d a died trying to keep up with the beers afterwards for shit for sure.

So I crashed hard like you guys do the net on a two on one bitch of a break. Goalies pain for your gain, ehh.

At about 3:00 am I wake up sweaty and hot and it sounds like Husongs Cantina in my head. Was that Spanish or just a garbled up midnight brain fart??? Then it comes back to me I’d been dreaming. And oh fuck! It was that same dream I had when I was outta town looking at resort property up by Duluth. The night I got thrown in jail for throwing rocks. The night the Staal brothers were in there with me cuz of their bachelor party.

It all came back to me so clear.

I’d been dreaming that I was walking up to an arena with my gear bag and sticks over my shoulder. It was a big place, I mean something big enough for an NHL game. I’m feeling a little nervous - kinda like when ya get the shits before the first couple a games a the season, ya know.

And outside the arena were all these vendors pushing carts and hawking their goods like the guys ya see downtown selling ice cream and cold treats with bells ringing and shit. ‘Cept these guys were selling stuff called Durdy Deeds. I walk by one vendor and he yells at me “Wut ya want kid? I got sum Hi-Stix, But-Ends and Cros-Chex left. Ya gonna neeeed em! Anything ya buy comes with a get outta jail free card.”

What the fuck is this ??? I’m trying to get my head on straight.

Another’s yelling “Get ya hooks right here! I got elbows, come on guys, I got elbows! Get ya hooks! Right here, right here, now!”

A vendor over to the left is hawking “Stitches, get your stitches, sutures here, you’re gonna need em! Get’m here! Going fast! Stitches!” Catches his breath and he starts again “I got knuckle bumps and black eyes, it’s all good shit guys, gettttemmm here!”

I look close at the guy and he’s got no front teeth - just a crunked out shit eatin grin with two black eyes.

The dream continues and I’m feeling really queasy as I head through the doors of the arena.

Inside the music is screaming over the loud speakers of the public address system. So loud and so strong are the bass notes that again I feel like it takes my breath away … “DURDY DEEDS DUN DURT CHEAP … DURDY DEEDS DUN DURT CHEAP …” I walk through the mezzanine with the adrenaline now coursing through my veins and look down at the ice surface below.

No glass, no fish nets for the crowd’s protection - just from the top of boards to a structure of steel framework that runs all the way across the rink - nothing but chain link fence! Yup, I think, this is gonna be old time hockey. Hockey at its rawest - inside that cage. The teams go in and they can’t come out. It’s the lions den, in the style of ancient Roman gladiators. A fight to the death; where only one man remains skating and his team (in name only - I guess) will hoard the glory as being victors of it all.

That was it again. That’s when I woke up thinking that all this noise in my head was maybe the crowd in that famous cantina down in TJ. I was sweating like crazy I tell ya and this time I could get up to take a pisseroo, cuz I’m home and not in some dab gone holding cell like the last time I had this crazy dream.

I tell the honey about the dream and she tells me, “Jasper I’ve been having crazy dreams too. Maybe this place is haunted. Damn them bones!”

Now she’s not prone to cursing so I better figure out what’s going on and get this resolved. I like this place and I sure the shit ain’t gonna let no haunt run me or the honey out a here.

After takin care of some morning chores I head over to the sheriff’s office to get the latest scoop.

First he tells me that they have identified the bones as being from one adult female and one child female possibly, too, of maybe eight to eleven years old. They think that it might be Oscar Petersen’s wife, Elizabeth but went by Bitty, and daughter, Shelly.

The sheriff said that they had a report from a couple of years back from Shelly’s teacher at the time, Annie Winslow, that Oscar had come in one day and said that they were moving and she wouldn’t be attending class anymore. The report said that Annie was quite suspicious because Oscar had acted really weird - “like a little boy dancing around trying to holding his water and he couldn’t look me in the eye. Wouldn’t say where they were moving to nor how this had come about.”

The sheriff filled me in some more. “We had done some investigating at the time - nothing too deep. Just checked at the bank and down at his office. Bank said he had asked them to transfer all of his funds to a federal bank in Argentina. And his office said that he had been working on a deal down there for about a year with lots of travel back and forth. It had come to fruition and he was transferred there to set up an office. Seemed ok at the time.”

“Well, in the last week we went back to his local office and chatted with his previous co-workers some more. Several of them said that they thought he had hooked up with a hot hoochie while he was on his trips. I won’t go into the details on that. But we quizzed some of Bitty’s friends and neighbors and none of them had ever been told that they were going to move. It was a real surprize when they just up and disappeared. Most knew that Oscar had been traveling to South America but that was about it.”

While we were chewing the shit a fax came into the sheriff’s office. He let me see it. It was from CODIS and confirmed that the bones were Bitty’s and Shelly’s.

Sheesh! Murdered bodies right there on my property. I figure that they’ll have to work up evidence and shit and then extradite Oscar’s sorry ass back up here to the back woods for a trial and all.

“But dab gone, when can ya free up my basement?” I asked.

“I’ll tell ya Wheats. We might have to continue excavating for a while now looking for additional evidence. I’ve got to get someone out there to shore up that side a your cabin ‘cuz I think were going to have to dig that whole side out and sift through it all. Still looking for a couple of slugs and the weapon and anything else. Were gonna need to interview you and your missus pretty heavy too about what ya can remember about the place at the time ya moved in. You guys might want to think about stayin with someone for a while cuz it’s gonna be messy out there at your place. Maybe through Christmas time.”

“Well ain’t that horseshit! I ain’t stayin somewhere else. It’s bad enough that I’m outta town so much as it is. The honey might want to stay with her sister for a while. She thinks the place might be haunted. You guys … get your shit done as quick as you can so we can get on with our lives, ehh.”

He says, “Yeah Jasper we will. Now you go on and skate hard ehh. And walk with a little wood if ya can.”

The man’s all heart I know - got a tough job a head a him.

Later dudes!

Wheats here. Keep your head up. Leave em dangling and work the corners. Walk with big wood and skate hard always!

Arguments for California Hockey

Jasper here folks. Howdy!

I’ve been kinda bored to the point of wonderment here now that the Stanley Cup Finals are over. For those of you that are debilitated to the point of being only spectators now, suck it up. The withdrawls are tough but remember you’ve only got about five months until the season starts up again. Hang in there with me and we’ll make it through this slow time.

Well, I sure wanted to see Buffalo versus Detroit in the finals. Those of you that follow my shit know that already. I admire the play of Chris Chelios and the determination of Chris Drury. Both of those boys will be walking with wood until the day they die I figure. Ehh, ya agree with me? But ya got to hand it to the Ducks and Senators. They eliminated all comers to get to the final. Each team is very well qualified with great goal tending, great management, great forwards, great fans, great owners and great defense.

Here then is my complement to the Ducks as they now can hoist the cherished cup – HURRAH, HURRAH, HURRAH !!!!

Way to go Teemu! You come into the league and score seventy-six goals as a rookie in 1992/1993– leading all and now you finally get to have your Finnish name engraved on Lord Stanley’s gift to the world of hockey. Put that baby in the passenger seat of your Ferrari, ehh!

My fellow puckheads, what do you think that this is going to do to California hockey?

When Gretsky came to the Kings, the state or more specifically Southern California saw a major increase in the interest of hockey. New rinks were built and those that couldn’t get on the ice started playing roller hockey. How many of you guys out there got your first hockey stick for Christmas during Gretsky’s time with the Kings? I mean Cali boys and girls.

So what’s this going to do now with the Stanley Cup being won by a Cali team? Sure the Ducks came close a couple of seasons ago and the Kings went to the finals with Montreal in the early ‘90’s and the Sharks have been real contenders the last few years, but this is the absolute best.

Just a bit of hypocrisy from me now.

Come on guys this is the Stanley Cup. The most revered trophy in all of sports! Get a little excited! Ain’t happening, ehh?

I just saw a news report on the Ducks web site that said 15,000 fans showed up to celebrate the team’s accomplishment. Shit guys, my old Outlaws could draw that many to a beer bust. Sad, sad, sad …..

If the Redwings or Sabres had won, you could bet that an easy 60,000 would show up to celebrate.

This is weak and it’s sure going to make my following supposition look flawed. But what the hell – this is supposed to be hockey humor, right? Yup! I’m going to get at it and publish this BS ‘fore the sun goes down. I’ve got to do some fishing and shit tomorrow so I want to get this off my chest so as not to waste a good day tomorrow.

There are about sixty-eight major or minor league professional sports teams in California. Besides the three NHL franchises there are five Major League Baseball teams, three NFL teams (missing from LA – very, very strange), four NBA teams, some soccer teams, indoor football, baseball farm teams and four ECHL franchises.

The Ducks, Kings and Sharks in the NHL and the Fresno Falcons, Bakersfield Condors, Stockton Thunder and Long Beach Ice Dogs make up the hockey entry in this group of professional sports teams. The Ice Dogs might not make it through the summer. We’ll have to wait and see.

That’s seven or maybe only six pro hockey teams for over 36 million residents. Spread that out that’s a little over 5 million residents per team. Minnesota’s got one NHL team for a little over 5 million total residents so that sounds about right, ehh? Sure but Minnesota’s got college hockey and high school hockey too.

As a low level comparison let’s look at my home state of South Dakota. Its got a whopping population of 782,000 folks. No NHL team. The Sioux Falls Stampede tier I junior hockey team playing in the USHL suits up for home games at the Sioux Falls Arena. Shit the whole state only has about thirteen ice rinks. That averages out to about one rink for every 60,150 residents.

And the state of South Dakota has around 184 or so high schools. This is an average of one high school for every 4250 residents or looking at high schools to rinks you’ll note about 0.07 rinks per high school.

Gee whiz kids, lets compare that to California. There are over 1500 high schools in California. That’s over 24,000 residents for every high school. California unfortunately only has around ninety rinks. This means that there are only about 0.06 rinks per high school. Or looking at it compared to the overall population of the state there is one ice rink for every 414,290 residents.

You’d think that California with three NHL teams would fare better then South Dakota that has none; but no that’s just not the case. California has worse representation all the way around.

Now let’s go back and look at Minnesota again. Minnesota has over 460 high schools. They have approximately one high school for every 11,160 residents. Now your thinking, “OK Jasper how many rinks does Minnesota have?” Yup, they’ve got a bunch. Over 500 rinks in this fine state. It works out to about 1.1 rink per high school. Shit howdy, that’s impressive!

I’m telling you guys my brain is just sizzling thinking about all of this. Sure hope the numbers don’t confuse none of ya. But it just brings up some other points for discussion.

Lets turn California into a hockey state. Think about it. Thirty-six million residents with over fifteen hundred high schools to develop into hockey hot beds. In the future when the NHL breaks down where the players hail from it will be California, USA (less Cali), Canada, and Europe. Hell folks, California’s got three million people more then all of Canada. We sure the shit could turn out some hockey stars if we could get this thing rolling.

OK, lets say we don’t need a rink at every high school but lets say that every school district had a rink. Or at least every city with a population of over 50,000 had a rink. If this was the case California would more then double the number of rinks it has. But some of these cities are much larger then 50,000. Seventeen are greater then 200,000 with San Diego having over a million and LA with over three million. These of course would require more. Think about it folks – full blown hockey programs at your local high school. Sure you’d still have your youth club programs, but at high school you’d have a choice of staying in it or joining the school program.

Those of you adults that are out there playing now could become coaches, officials, team boosters, and most of all fans. And guess what? Ehh? These teams would become feeders to junior hockey, college hockey and maybe even NHL drafts.

Sure ice rinks aren’t cheap. Depending on the negotiated contract and amenities a rink would cost between $3 million and $7.5 million in California. Because Minnesota gets a little cooler (requiring different refrigeration equipment for winter operation only) then most of California and that labor rates are lower there you’d expect them to be paying around $2.3 million to maybe $6.4 million for the equivalent rink. But they’ve spent it on five hundred some rinks, right? Why can’t California manage the same shit on say only about half that many rinks? Ehh?

So again I’m playing the numbers here. California builds another 160 rinks or so for somewhere in the $500 million to $1.2 billion range. Samueli the Ducks owner is worth what $2 billion or something? Ehh? That’s a lot a fucking money! Doesn’t he give a lot to charities or something? Well this would be just as good a deal. He’d be investing in the Ducks future. Maybe we could get the Anshutz and Roski Kings team to kick in some bucks too. Why not Compton of the Sharks while we’re at it. Hell why not all the owners of the California high tech companies to kick in some big bucks. I mean come on guys – what’s more important – being able to program a computer or winning the Stanley Cup?

So like I said my poor little pea brain is sizzling. Why stop here? Ehh? Lets put a rink in every kid’s backyard. I had a patch of ice to skate on in South Dakota when I was little squirt (well it was in the next door neighbor’s back yard) and had a neighborhood pond to skate on while in junior and senior high that was only two houses away, even though both schools had two outdoor rinks each.

All of you puckheads are now thinking “Jasper you’re really nuts. That just won’t work in California.” Well, yup I agree. Natural ice would never happen in Cali. But who’s to say that small refrigeration units couldn’t be developed that froze over all those damn swimming pools that they have in California. They aren’t even using these in the winter when the honeys go under cover. Those high tech guys that Samueli knows could come up with an economical design – you know make an insulated skin cover with expansion pads around the perimeter then freeze three or four inches over the top. Provide a insulation blanket to reduce melting when not in use. Power the damn thing with solar cells or something creating a dang fangled “green product”. Too small for the big guys I’m thinking except on those Hollywood sized pools but this shit would be perfect for the little tikes to practice on. Crap, make it convertible, if ya don’t have a pool then just lay this pup out on top of the yard. Oh yeah, and don’t forget that you could resurface this ice with the Zamboomba I talked about in an earlier blog.

Maybe I’ve got my fool head up in the clouds. I don’t know. Could we see a doubling of rinks in California because of the Ducks winning the cup? Could we see California developing high school hockey programs because of the 2006/2007 Ducks? Could portable backyard ice surfaces hit the home improvement market because the owner of the Stanley Cup winning team is a tech geek? I don’t know.

What do all you guys think?

The Ducks are for sure walking with wood! Samueli’s sporting some too. Southern California, especially, and California as whole – ya better be ready for some growth in your residents’ interest in hockey. How ya gonna handle it, ehh?

Jasper here – signing out. Skate hard guys! Do a little fishing now and try to stay away from the golf courses – they’re filled with losers.

ZAMBOOMBA

I’ve written some previous BS about a valuable early hockey stick that was worth an immense value in US dollars (ya not too much Canadian though). At the time of that writing I figured that some of my old sticks were probably worth a good bit of moola too.

Here’s an update on that story: I haven’t had single ding dang offer for my old wood. What’s the deal with that, ehh? I mean shit howdy if I didn’t get some good play out of these ancient puppies. And they’ve got my signature on them besides. What more d’ya want? That “Wheats” script is worth a couple a thousand bucks right there and several of em have a few notches indicating goals and noting that they’re some good wood. Ehh? You guys are just really pissing me off with this lack of interest.

Shite!

So today I’m reading Tim Wendel’s Sports Collectable article from today’s paper in the USA WEEKEND magazine insert and there are a couple of high priced hockey items listed.

The most valuable item is worth $400,000. Its one of the original Montreal AAA club’s sweaters from 1893. If your sweetheart can find one of these in her hope chest handed down from her great-great granny or if you’ve been using it as a car rag - big mistake. Ehh? Cash it in now before the moths get it. The Hockey Hall of Fame, where Cheever’s gear resides, is looking for one or two of these jerseys. Rumor has it that there were only nine players on the team that won the first Stanley Cup. Chances are that you don’t have one of these, but check your gear bag and if ya got a sweater that smells real, real bad ya better give it a good look-see.

The item of lesser value that was mentioned in Wendel’s article was a three wheeled Zamboni that was used to clean the ice at the 1960’s Olympics. They don’t know where this contraption ended up. The article says that it would be worth about $175,000 but I don’t know who’d cough up that kinda cash for a dilapidated piece of shite. Crap it was missing a wheel back then. Bet they had to add some ballast to the opposite side so it could take a fairly even cut. What were those guys thinking at Zamboni? Here they are having a chance to use their machine for the first time during the Winter Olympics and they send a defective unit. Shit for brains - I hope they fired the marketing guy behind that plan.

I’ve skated a few times at the rink down in Paramount, California that the Zamboni’s owned. It’s been ages since I was there so I can’t remember if they just had pictures or the real things, but I recall how much the early units looked like farm equipment. Maybe they converted this one into a combine, blew it up, or salvaged it for fixing other units. Who knows, ehh?

So that’s a hint to you ‘mers out there. Take a look out behind the barn or one of the corn silos, heck check your neighbor’s property (more then likely they don’t live on it anyway) and see if ya see some really strange piece of equipment that’s missing a wheel. If ya see something that’s got some hen scratches on it that look like names then ya might have something. A really stupid rumor is that the entire USA Gold Medal Team etched their names on this Zam. Stupid, ehh? Story goes that they used their skate blades. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Well if that’s the case then I can see that it might be worth the bucks that I mentioned earlier.

I’ve got an idea for a new ice cleaning machine that I’d call the Zamboomba. “Zam” of course because I’d get Zamboni to manufacture it and to market it with their current fabulous network. The first one could end up being pretty valuable so after it gets used a few times I’d snag it back and store in my garage to sell later and use to pay for my grandkids’ college.

Got your interest in this, ehh? Want to invest? Need some more information to convince you? Are you questioning Jasper Wheats’ ingenuity?

The wifey got a chance to hear this when I was proofing it and she says to me at this point, “Jasper, these guys that read this probably don’t think you got it in ya for grandkids.” Well, EAT SHIT AND DIE – JASPER WHEATS IS WALKING WITH WOOD!!!!!

First of all the Zamboomba would be computerized. It would be set up to operate like them damn sneaky little vacuum cleaners that cleanup by themselves. The commercial version would contain a big old rechargeable battery that would run the motor for the scrapper blade and a heater to melt the snow for rewetting the ice.

Yup, your thinking, “How’s this little piece a shit going to clean the ice between periods?” Ehh?

Well, you’d use about a hundred of them at one time. All scurrying around on the ice, just tidying up the place. They’d all be preprogrammed to hit every spot but they’d also be programmed to add some damn good entertainment.

When they first come out on the ice they’d be programmed to act like they didn’t know what the heck they were doing. They’d be scurrying around and running into each other, smacking the boards, flipping over, etc. Kinda like robo wars on late night cable. Then they’d get their act together and get the job done. Of course a couple of times in the middle of this ice resurfacing they’d take off into wee bit a synchronized shit and makes patterns and spell things out like some hot for shit marching band with each unit programmed for sound to be a specific musical instrument. Lights and all, too, for a damn fancy lightshow.

Yup, the commercial version of the Zamboomba will be walking with wood.

So now you’re wondering what the standard retail unit is like.

Well, it would be a bit bigger and wouldn’t have all the bells and whistles. It would have a solar cell array on its back to keep the battery charged up. You could use it for your backyard rink or the cleared area out on the pond. Just set that baby loose when ya leave for school or work in the morning and when ya come home later ya got a damn nice patch of ice. No more gettin the shovels and hoses out to get yourself and your buddies some good ice.

Jasper here with his Zamboomba - just trying to make your ice time just a little bit better.

Skate hard! Keep walking with wood!