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!
Showing posts with label road trip. Show all posts
Showing posts with label road trip. Show all posts
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Saturday, January 26, 2008
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.
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.
Sunday, January 6, 2008
REDZONIANS
Everybody get off to a good start so far this year? Shit, you can count on it here that I’ve done damned good-ok so far. Yupper and the year is only six days old, uh huh.
I pretty much figure that there were a few holiday tournaments that some of ya played in. You guys know how I feel about them. They’re right up there with pond hockey and road trips in my book (crap, over half of ‘em are road trips, ehh). Love every minute of them. Ya meet some cool folks and if ya get in a winning bracket you definitely get your share of games played. Hooie, maybe ya even play more then one game a day. Your gear doesn’t get a chance to dry and ends up smelling pretty ripe and all. You juggle your eating and sleeping habits a bit – all for some great days of playing.
I guess it doesn’t really matter throughout the year if it’s a holiday tournament, summer tournament or an invitational – they’re all good times. Ehh?
You win some but mainly you end up losing. It’s a select few that manage to hang together for the final victory and get to take home the trophy.
Hell, I’ve played in tournaments where we played in that final game only to lose. The teams that I’ve played on of course haven’t take losing lightly. On occasion, we’ve taken offense to that final handshake with just a smattering of fisticuffs instead.
Don’t shake your head at that. You know as well as I do that a good donnybrook is as memorable as a win. I’m thinkin that if ya disagree still, it just means that ya ain’t been there and ya ain’t done that.
Over the past few years I’ve done some researchin about why we have had so damn many losses along the way. More often then not there has been one team that just plain ass kicks tail on everyone else. Why? I mean, really, why? You know the usual responses that ya hear are “They’re a stacked team” or “They’re all former pros.” I’m sure you guys have heard the same questionable comments.
Yah, occasionally that may be the case.
But I’ve determined through some highly scientific analysis that that just ain’t true most a the time. If ya got just one particular team that just whoops on everybody, then ya got yourself a team of aliens playing in that tournament! No shit! No shineola! Aliens, dab-nab-it! And I ain’t talking about them illegal aliens that have jumped the fence to enter our borders. Nope. These dude’s are outer-space type aliens.
You’re thinking: that dude Jasper, has got a gear loose.
But I don’t. I’m tellin ya. I got the inside scoop on some classified government files that a friend of my brother’s friend’s friend, etc. managed to illegally extract off the internet. Its some valid honest to goodness shit.
These winning teams always show up and are registered from some far distant land that ya can’t even pronounce and have even less of a chance verifying. Like Skukumchuck, or Khatanga, or Olekminsk or maybe Thibaudeau. Where the hell are these places? How’d these guys get here to this hockey tournament, ehh?
I’m tellin ya that they aren’t from those places. They’re from someplace beyond our solar system. Guaranteed, that if you played in a tournament where one team overwhelmingly kicked everybody else’s ass then you’re also going to have some local reports of UFOs. Check it out. Do your own research, ehh. You’ll see.
According to the classified files, these weenies have been showing up for some years to compete in our sporting events. They like the competition I guess and as of late with all the identity theft issues and the modern security controls in place the tournaments are the only places that they can play. They’ve had a few guys that have played in the NHL over the years but they don’t really excel individually. This wasn’t discovered until Gretzky was in the league. The NSA thought that he might have been an alien that had been implanted in his family as an infant. Their reasoning for the study was that he was such a superstar yet was really a physical weakling (everybody knows that his upper body strength was always the weakest of any player on the teams that he played on). They couldn’t figure it out, but used him for some of the initial testing experiments.
The government has spent many years now developing an accurate test to determine whether someone is an alien or not. It used to be a blood test but most of the time you couldn’t get a decent blood sample unless there was a high stick injury or the results of an errant puck and a player’s face. I mean ya just can’t arbitrarily ask some one for a blood sample, can you? So they developed something else. Something that could be a little more indiscernible in its administration. They came up with a urine analysis.
All government employees and contractors that have security clearances now have to daily take this test to ensure that aliens haven’t infiltrated our secure ranks. The modern device is fairly similar to an EPT (early pregnancy test) and all ya have to do is piss on it. The chemical activation system on test strips, kind a like litmus paper, unfortunately, also indicates if you’re on steroids. If your piss turns the strip a shade of blue then, honey, you’ve been doing the juice. But if a red hue appears then you’re an f’n alien.
Like I said though, this handy little testing device is used within government ranks. When they want to check on the common public then they use a version that looks like a toilet bowl deorderizer. It comes in a couple of different forms: one with a wire hanger that can be hung over the edge of the bowl and one that looks like a hockey puck that is generally just dropped in urinals. Both version, prior to testing, are just a milky white color. But once they’ve been activated they either turn pinkish if an alien pissed on it or bluish if someone doing steroids whizzed on it. If I drizzled all over one of these detectors not a damn thing would happen.
So the next tournament that ya play in you might just be able to tell if you’ve got aliens or guys on steroids playing against ya by just checking in the can. If the NSA guys are on to some alien leads, and one team in the tourney is just creaming everybody else, then chances are you’ll notice the detection devices in use.
Word is, from that friend of a friend dude, that the government guys refer to the filthy rich pro athletes on steroids as “Bluebloods” because of the revealing color on the indicators.
“Redzonians”, apparently is the nickname that they’ve given to the aliens. The only time that I actually heard the term “Redzonian”, I thought he guy talking was referring to a guy on the ice that was playing just balls out with no fear. Guess I was wrong, ehh.
I pretty much believe all this shit and I don’t give a rat’s ass whether you do or not. But I’ve got one thing that I can’t figure out about these “Redzonians”. I mean they’re sure walking with wood, ehh? Kicking our asses from one end of the rink to the other. So here it is: How’d they learn how to play so damn good?
Jasper here walking with wood, but just bloody bewildered.
I pretty much figure that there were a few holiday tournaments that some of ya played in. You guys know how I feel about them. They’re right up there with pond hockey and road trips in my book (crap, over half of ‘em are road trips, ehh). Love every minute of them. Ya meet some cool folks and if ya get in a winning bracket you definitely get your share of games played. Hooie, maybe ya even play more then one game a day. Your gear doesn’t get a chance to dry and ends up smelling pretty ripe and all. You juggle your eating and sleeping habits a bit – all for some great days of playing.
I guess it doesn’t really matter throughout the year if it’s a holiday tournament, summer tournament or an invitational – they’re all good times. Ehh?
You win some but mainly you end up losing. It’s a select few that manage to hang together for the final victory and get to take home the trophy.
Hell, I’ve played in tournaments where we played in that final game only to lose. The teams that I’ve played on of course haven’t take losing lightly. On occasion, we’ve taken offense to that final handshake with just a smattering of fisticuffs instead.
Don’t shake your head at that. You know as well as I do that a good donnybrook is as memorable as a win. I’m thinkin that if ya disagree still, it just means that ya ain’t been there and ya ain’t done that.
Over the past few years I’ve done some researchin about why we have had so damn many losses along the way. More often then not there has been one team that just plain ass kicks tail on everyone else. Why? I mean, really, why? You know the usual responses that ya hear are “They’re a stacked team” or “They’re all former pros.” I’m sure you guys have heard the same questionable comments.
Yah, occasionally that may be the case.
But I’ve determined through some highly scientific analysis that that just ain’t true most a the time. If ya got just one particular team that just whoops on everybody, then ya got yourself a team of aliens playing in that tournament! No shit! No shineola! Aliens, dab-nab-it! And I ain’t talking about them illegal aliens that have jumped the fence to enter our borders. Nope. These dude’s are outer-space type aliens.
You’re thinking: that dude Jasper, has got a gear loose.
But I don’t. I’m tellin ya. I got the inside scoop on some classified government files that a friend of my brother’s friend’s friend, etc. managed to illegally extract off the internet. Its some valid honest to goodness shit.
These winning teams always show up and are registered from some far distant land that ya can’t even pronounce and have even less of a chance verifying. Like Skukumchuck, or Khatanga, or Olekminsk or maybe Thibaudeau. Where the hell are these places? How’d these guys get here to this hockey tournament, ehh?
I’m tellin ya that they aren’t from those places. They’re from someplace beyond our solar system. Guaranteed, that if you played in a tournament where one team overwhelmingly kicked everybody else’s ass then you’re also going to have some local reports of UFOs. Check it out. Do your own research, ehh. You’ll see.
According to the classified files, these weenies have been showing up for some years to compete in our sporting events. They like the competition I guess and as of late with all the identity theft issues and the modern security controls in place the tournaments are the only places that they can play. They’ve had a few guys that have played in the NHL over the years but they don’t really excel individually. This wasn’t discovered until Gretzky was in the league. The NSA thought that he might have been an alien that had been implanted in his family as an infant. Their reasoning for the study was that he was such a superstar yet was really a physical weakling (everybody knows that his upper body strength was always the weakest of any player on the teams that he played on). They couldn’t figure it out, but used him for some of the initial testing experiments.
The government has spent many years now developing an accurate test to determine whether someone is an alien or not. It used to be a blood test but most of the time you couldn’t get a decent blood sample unless there was a high stick injury or the results of an errant puck and a player’s face. I mean ya just can’t arbitrarily ask some one for a blood sample, can you? So they developed something else. Something that could be a little more indiscernible in its administration. They came up with a urine analysis.
All government employees and contractors that have security clearances now have to daily take this test to ensure that aliens haven’t infiltrated our secure ranks. The modern device is fairly similar to an EPT (early pregnancy test) and all ya have to do is piss on it. The chemical activation system on test strips, kind a like litmus paper, unfortunately, also indicates if you’re on steroids. If your piss turns the strip a shade of blue then, honey, you’ve been doing the juice. But if a red hue appears then you’re an f’n alien.
Like I said though, this handy little testing device is used within government ranks. When they want to check on the common public then they use a version that looks like a toilet bowl deorderizer. It comes in a couple of different forms: one with a wire hanger that can be hung over the edge of the bowl and one that looks like a hockey puck that is generally just dropped in urinals. Both version, prior to testing, are just a milky white color. But once they’ve been activated they either turn pinkish if an alien pissed on it or bluish if someone doing steroids whizzed on it. If I drizzled all over one of these detectors not a damn thing would happen.
So the next tournament that ya play in you might just be able to tell if you’ve got aliens or guys on steroids playing against ya by just checking in the can. If the NSA guys are on to some alien leads, and one team in the tourney is just creaming everybody else, then chances are you’ll notice the detection devices in use.
Word is, from that friend of a friend dude, that the government guys refer to the filthy rich pro athletes on steroids as “Bluebloods” because of the revealing color on the indicators.
“Redzonians”, apparently is the nickname that they’ve given to the aliens. The only time that I actually heard the term “Redzonian”, I thought he guy talking was referring to a guy on the ice that was playing just balls out with no fear. Guess I was wrong, ehh.
I pretty much believe all this shit and I don’t give a rat’s ass whether you do or not. But I’ve got one thing that I can’t figure out about these “Redzonians”. I mean they’re sure walking with wood, ehh? Kicking our asses from one end of the rink to the other. So here it is: How’d they learn how to play so damn good?
Jasper here walking with wood, but just bloody bewildered.
Saturday, February 24, 2007
Warroad's Olympians
One of my friends has a hockey blog that is pretty much devoted to hockey in the
I remember watching that team as they won games and the Gold Medal in Men’s Hockey for the 1980 Winter Olympics played at
Myself, never having been good enough for Olympic play, I still feel free to air some of my opinions. I miss the Olympics where the players are still “amateurs”. When you throw together a team composed of players from various NHL teams and give them a week or so to skate together, they’re never going to gel, not even in time for the last game of the series. The true Olympic team is a team that plays maybe fifty to one hundred games together. It’s a team that maybe starts out with forty or fifty guys competing together and against each other for the top spots to be carried on into the Olympic play. Some will make it and some will get cut. Some will get called back up because of injuries or what have ya – but it becomes a team that’s tight!
So that’s what the 1980 USA Olympic Hockey Team was. A group of amateurs that stuck together through all that shit, got tight and became champions – became heroes! In my book those boys were walking with wood. You know I’ve got a nice poster of those boys that I bring to work during the Winter Games as an object of inspiration. It’s big, about four and half feet wide by three feet tall and has everybody jumping on each other to the left of Jim Craig’s net. My sister won it at a 7-11 and gave it to me. Bless her heart. After 911 I put a little sticker in the left hand corner that says “UNITED WE STAND”. Ain’t that the truth, ehh?
I think about thirteen of those Olympians went on and became NHL pro’s. That’s the right way to do it, ehh. Not the other way by becoming a pro and then an Olympian. Sheeeeeet no!
One of those guys was Dave Christian. He signed on as a Winnipeg Jet and for about three years he averaged almost a point a game. His best season was 1985-1986 where he scored forty-one goals. All tolled he played in 1009 regular season games; scoring 340 goals and 443 assists. He also had over one hundred post season games with thirty-two goals and twenty-five assists. Not bad for a former Olympian, ehh?
Dave came from a hell of a hockey family. His uncle Roger played on the 1960 Olympic team that won gold also. That was in
The brothers, Bill and Roger, formed a hockey stick company in 1964 – Christian Brothers. “Hockey sticks made by real hockey players” was the marketing slogan that one of their friends used to inspire their decision to start the business. They made sticks, in the old days, from wood. Wooden sticks, yup – I’ve owned a few! The company was sold a few years back and I’ve kinda lost touch with what they’re doing with the original company.
But shit, Dave, his dad and his uncle were from
Ya can always snag something to eat from the Main Street Bar and Grill or the Lakeview Restaurant. If you’re in town during the off season for fishing and boating then ya can get a sundae at the Dairy Queen. Not bad, not bad at all.
Their still kickin out some good hockey here. The boys high school varsity team this season went 16 – 8 – 1. And the girls team went 20 – 4 – 0. Pretty damn good if ya ask me. Back in 2005 the boys won the Minnesota State Class A Championship. That’s talking wood my friends!
If ya check into Warroad anytime soon ya still might want to get yourself some traditional wooden hockey sticks. www.buildastick.com will give ya the “Tradition” and build ya “Full Length Wood Custom Hockey Sticks”. What more do ya want? So maybe this company is what became of the original Christian Brothers stick company, I don’t know.
But if ya are up in the North Woods near Warroad be sure to stop in and tell the folks that they’ve got a mighty fine town and that Jasper Wheats say’s “Howdy you guys, ya got me walking with wood again!”
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Road Trip with T-Ball
Boom Boom – Bernie Geoffrian – what’s that tell you?
The Golden Jet – Bobby Hull – blondie, ehh?
The Golden Brett – Brett Hull – like father, like son – you betcha.
The Pocket Rocket – HenriRichard – couldn’t be Rocket Richard could he?
Chopper – Al MacGuinnis – should have been Radar with that slapshot.
In some of the other sports ya got Catfish Hunter, the Babe, William The Refrigerator Perry and on and on and on. Ehh – what’s it all mean? Shit I don’t really know.
And then you’ve got nicknames that are some sort of abbreviation or modification of the player’s name. These I can understand a bit better. They sound like they mighta come from the guys on the bench or back in the locker room. Like what’s wrong with Grets for Gretzky? Here’s a few of them that I can think of:
Ziggy – Zigmund Palffy – great with the Kings.
O – Gerry Odrowski – I coached his boys.
The Flower – Guy Lefleur – yo Habs!
Cheesie – Gerry Cheevers – shit I thought he was in a museum.
Rogie – Rogatien Vachon – Habs and Kings goalie, but with a nickname that you’d give a dog.
Ollie the Goalie – Olaf Kolzig – hey in the Northwoods if we call ya Ollie its cuz your last name is Olson, ehh?
Beezer – John Vanbiesbruck – a nickname every want-a-be goalie wanted.
Cujo – Curtis Joseph – sounds like a damn mutt’s name again.
So being from the Northwoods and all maybe I don’t know shit about nicknames, ehh? I mean, I’ve had a few over the years, like Bobby-O (I’ll never figure out where they came up with that) and the Team Bleeder (the season I got stitched up a few too many times). A lot guys just call me by my last name, Wheats – shit it’s what’s on the back of my jersey dabnabit. My brothers generally go by Bronzy and Jingles. Bronzy’s just a jazzed up version of Brian and I guess that even a rock band or media head could come up with that. But Jingles is a definite bench derived name for Jimmy. During his years in juniors, Jingles would get sent out on the ice (pretty….damn…..often…..folks) to take guys out the game, but when he was a midget he really knocked the socks outta some jackoff. When he came back to the bench, I believe it was the back up goalie that said “You really shook the jingles out of that guy”. And it stuck.
So some guys get named by their team mates and some get nicknamed by the fans or media muthas.
Well T-Ball got nicknamed by his buds. I ain’t real sure whether it was his on ice antics or bar room charisma that led to his naming – but it fit. His real name was Tim (I won’t use his last name here ‘case he wants to sue me for some shit or other) so the “T” was for that. And he lived hockey and life like it was just a non-stop speed ball (Not to say that he didn’t have to get rushed to the hospital few times due to extracurricular activities).
He was from
T-Ball wasn’t always an Outlaw. I think when I first met him he played for the Rangers in our league. Really tough guy to play D against. He’s about 6’-2”; I’d guess and maybe 210 – 220 pounds of solid muscle. All speed and good puck control – balls out sort of business and yappin at ya all the time. The league got all changed around and eventually fell apart which was when we joined up with a semi-pro league and T-Ball joined us.
He was good acquisition and I was coachin the boys by then. He was loud but daggone stimulatin if ya know what I mean. The guys needed a charge in their shorts and T-ball could bring it.
He could be damn down to earth though too. If he’d a been my son he would a made me proud. Give ya an example here. I had season seats to the Kings back then and they made the Stanley Cup finals against
T-Ball jumps up out of his seat and says he’s got to get out to the lobby. I figure he’s got to take a leak cuz we’d really been chuggin em. But it was game on and you gotta hold it during play. Didn’t make any sense to me. I think the Kings scored while he was gone cuz it got really, I mean really loud. After a bit T-Ball comes running back up the stairs taking two or so at a time. He was beamin if ya know what I mean – thought maybe he’d just done a toot or two. But he yells at me “I just called my Dad back in
Yeah, he was ok.
On road trips he ruled.
Road trips are good hockey. Ya win some and ya lose some, but if ya got enough guys to ice a team its hockey at its best. Ya got rubber legs from the travel and ya got butterflies to counter that by pumpin ya full of adrenalin.
Secondly, road trips are partying. Folks, I’m telling ya, there ain’t no better partying then that of road trips. First thing that you do is designate whose hotel room gets the beer. That done then ya fill their tub with beers and ice. This shit is for casual thirst quenchin, gut bustin after last call and breakfast of course. Serious drinkin will be done at the bar after the game.
So the third thing is to scope out the neighborhood for a decent bar or two. You couldn’t always trust the local team’s recommendations and sometimes game results dictated that you really didn’t need to win in the bar too (though damn if we couldn’t if we had too).
On this particular road trip that I’m thinking of we were all set up at the hotel and had gone on to the rink to suit up. T-Ball dumps his gear out on the floor in front of himself. Kicks it around a bit and grabs a t-shirt and sniffs it then throws it in the trash. Grabs another one, sniffs it and throws it in the face of one our wingers. Kicks his gear some more and reaches out and grabs another t-shirt. He sniffs this one too and says “Aw, fuck they all smell like shit – what’s the dif? Probably’ll give me a little maneuvering room out there.” I’m telling ya that his gear just reeked.
Game on. Game over. Shower up and time to partaaaaaaaaaa!
T-Ball comes up to me before we head to the bar and says he’s got to run back to the hotel cuz he left his wallet there. Wanted to know if I could give him a ride. I thought about it for a sec – thinkin – he’s the chick magnet, I’ll look good walkin into the bar with him. So I tell him, “Yeah, lets scoot.”
We get back to his room and he snags his wallet off the top of the chest of drawers. He gives it a quick peek for cash and says to me “Wheats, ya need some protection? Grab a couple of those.” I look over at the chest and see that he’s got like thirty condoms of maybe five different varieties spread out on top. Holy shit, is he ready for the game later tonight, or what?
Good hockey! Good partying! Good night!
That was T-ball. That was road trips. That was walking with wood.
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