This week has been especially good. I accepted a job offer and start a new position on Tuesday, August 7th. Last week’s blog story Durty Deeds (dun durt cheap) was especially good so I chuckled about that all week long. The honey’s sister’s bird went back home so the cabin was quiet again. Went to a concert in the park Friday night and a small beer fest/microbrew tasting event Saturday.
Now buds … I mean … let me tell you guys … that beer fest was a good event. For twelve bucks you got a commemorative glass and eight tickets for samples. And damn if they weren’t drawing full twelve ouncers. Got a good buzz! Favor the ambers myself - good stuff! And the whole while that me and the honey were there we listened to live bands - first a nice little jazz gang then some boys playing some good blusey rock. Wooot - Wooot !!
So how the hell was your week, you guys? Kick some shit? Chill with the guys or gals? Snake a little ass? Hope it was good for all a ya.
Anybody payin any attention to the trades and contract offers going on in the NHL? Ehh? There’s a lot a shit going on and by that I mean a lot a controversy.
Teams are scramblin to get their key guys resigned again - or not. They’re getting draft picks under contract and dosing the dudes that have hit the free agent market. It’s all interesting and adds to compassion that we have for this sport and our favorite teams.
You guys, know that I’m a die-hard LA Kings fan, right? Recently, they really suck but I still gotta love em, ehh? My own opinion, over the years, all-in-all, they don’t know jackshit about building a team or how to maintain it once they have something good. In particular I wanta go back to February before the playoffs started.
As usual the Kings weren’t a contender for the playoffs. And they did what so many hack teams do - they traded away players to teams that were going into the second season. Some of these players that vanish have been stalwarts and others may not have been - just journeymen grinders. But what really pisses me off is when they dump fan favorites. Sure, sometimes it’s good for the player, cuz he might end up finally gettin his name scribed on the Stanley Cup. Talk to any Bruins fan about that issue, ehh.
But wtf makes a fan favorite? Being a super star, helps. Being beefcake, hunk material helps. Being charitable and able to handle the media helps too.
Well, cuz I’m a fan of old time hockey (yeah I even advertise that shit wearin an NHL hat and hero’s jacket that sports that trademarked phrase) - blood and guts, bench clearing brawls, the whole fuckin shebang - I think the guy that acquires team agitator status is a fan favorite. Shit, from my point of view, he just might be “the fan favorite.” Who gets your team pumped up? Who rallies the fans into a screamin bunch of idiots? Who throws the opposing team off of their pace? Who do the opposing fans just hate? The agitator!
The Kings traded their agitator, Sean Avery, to the Rangers on February 5, 2007. I loved the guy. Hated him when he played for Detroit. Gonna hate him again if the Kings get a chance to play the Rangers this year. But what did he do after the trade?
Became a Ranger fuckin fan favorite, that’s what he did. And we all know that Ranger fans are old time hockey fans. Ehh? Some of his Ranger teammates say he was their post season catalyst. The sportscasters during the playoffs mentioned him almost every shift that he was on the ice. The little pain in the butt Avery was some kinda attention getter for fans and players alike.
But Sean Avery is not just a pain in the ass, he can play the game too. Ranger fans got to see that early on. He had a four point game on St. Patty’s Day against the Bruins and had a Gordie Howe hat trick (goal, assist and fight) on April Fools Day against the Leafs. That’s some good shit, ehh, you guys! This guy is walking with wood and I think he probably was from day one. He popped outta his momma’s womb back on April 10, 1980 sportin a stiff one I’m sure.
This past week Sean and the Rangers went to arbitration. Avery wanted $2.6 million and the Rangers only offered $1.3 million. The arbitrators split the diff and awarded him $1.9 million for the coming season. Nice jump of $800,000, over the contract he brought over from the Kings, for a guy that got eighteen goals and thirty assists combined for both teams last year. Noted, he had much fewer penalty minutes last year (only 174) compared to his two previous seasons but still enough to show his worth. Ranger management tried to weaken his worth by saying that he’s both a benefit and a detriment to the team. WTF????
Just look at your bottom line buck-o’s - how many Ranger fans are going to be wearing Avery jerseys this season, ehh?
But what makes a player an agitator? Well, this is key, he’s got to get in the face of the other team. He’s got a be talkin some shit down there on the ice. And not backin down too often. Take the other team off their game and sending some guys to the box. I think that’s why Sean’s penalty minutes were lower this year. He’s matured in technique. Previously he carried his agitation a little too far and ended up going to the sin bin himself. This past season, many times I saw him push until the opponent drew a penalty and then he’d just get back into the flow of the play instead of retaliating. Smart shit, that is.
My younger brother, Jingles, can play a good agitator. He’ll get in your face, smilin all the time, and take you out. I remember watching one game when he was playing juniors where his coach sent him out to take a certain opposing player off the ice. Jingles went out in that one shift and took not only the specified player out with a penalty but a second one too and did it without even drawing an infraction himself. That’s some shit! Hell, in a recent game, he told me that some guy had parked in the slot and wouldn’t budge. So ticked off and protective of his goalie he just picked the guy up by his upper arms and moved him outta the way - with that shit eatin grin and all. Got a holding penalty, but wtf, stirred up the other team a mess a horse shit for sure.
So the agitator is gettin in your face and talkin shit. He’s talkin about your momma, your wife, your girlfriend, your sister and even your ancestry. Hell, your anatomy sure the shit isn’t safe from comment either. He’s calling you an asshole, craky, nigga, fuckface. He’s commenting on your hockey skills and the fag color of your team’s jersey. He’s not being delicate having a parlor discussion with you. While he’s gettin his elbows up in the corner he’s being as damn derogatory has he can be. And at faceoffs he’s slappin your ankles and whisperin sweet nothings in your ear. He’s playing dirty and he’s playing mind games. The fans see the outcome but don’t know the reality.
They love it.
Sean Avery, we know, does it all. Truth or false, he got fined about a thousand bucks for calling Georges Laraque a monkey. My opinion, that’s lightweight verbalization - not worth the money nor the press. It’s just part a the game and part a the job. Penalty minutes, he’s had his share. Over 322 NHL regular season games he’s had 913 penalty minutes. Being a statistical sort a guy that I am, that works out to around 2.84 penalty minutes per game. How’s that rate compared to others?
Tie Domi, another guy that I loved to hate, had an average of about 3.45 penalty minutes per game. But he couldn’t put up the goals and assists like Avery can.
Here’s a little list of the lifetime NHL regular season stats of some other former LA Kings. Some you’d call agitators and some you’d call enforcers. But take a look and see how Sean compares.
Gerry “King” Korab - 1.67 penalty minutes per game
Ian Laperriere - 1.74 penalty minutes per game
Tony Granato - 1.84 penalty minutes per game
Rick Tocchet - 2.60 penalty minutes per game
Larry Playfair - 2.63 penalty minutes per game
Dave Hutchinson - 2.65 penalty minutes per game
Sean Avery - 2.84 penalty minutes per game
Stu Grimsom - 2.90 penalty minutes per game
Kenny Baumgartner - 3.35 penalty minutes per game
Warren Rychel - 3.50 penalty minutes per game
Marty McSorly - 3.52 penalty minutes per game
Dave “Tiger” Williams - 4.12 penalty minutes per game
Dave Schultz - 4.29 penalty minutes per game
So you can see, Avery, fits in there pretty good with some of the heavy weights from around the league over the years and is out penalized compared to the guys that I remember as being real agitators while with the Kings, like Granato, Tocchet and Laperrier.
Take a look a Avery, he’s not all that big. He lists out at 5’-9” and 185 pounds. He’s not the most handsome dude, looks more like a boxer then anything. But he’s been rumored to have chilled with some babes in his day. Take Rachel Hunter, Rod Stewart’s former flame, that he hung with for about a year. Back in the day, she was always one of my favorite Sports Illustrated’s swimsuit models. So he hangs pretty good off the ice too.
Is he getting the credit that he’s due? Is he being allowed to play up to his potential? I think not on both counts. He wasn’t even originally selected in an NHL entry draft. During the lockout season he ended up playing for the Motor City Mechanics along with Chelios and several other NHLers. He’s the only player in their history to record two hat tricks in one season and he did that over less than twenty games played. I think that he’s got waaaaay more potential then what we’ve seen. But I think that the Rangers and any of his future teams will continue to utilize him as an agitator. He’s become extremely skilled at this and few players in the league can compare. In a recent poll, of a big chunk of the current NHL players, about two-thirds of them have ranked him as the most hated player in the league.
The Ranger fans will give him the credit and appreciation that he’s due!
Sean Avery, of Pickery, Ontario, Canada, has attained agitator status! He walks with wood.
Me, I’m just a has been. I’m your favorite old fart hockey humorist taking a look this week at a part of hockey that inspires the sport. Let those from the NHL governing body never take the spirit of the game away! Long live those that love the old time hockey.
Until next time, this is Jasper Wheats, over and out.
Skate hard !
Sunday, August 5, 2007
Sunday, July 29, 2007
DURTY DEEDS DUN DURT CHEAP
Gosh, guys its been a really fun week. As much as I love hockey season, I can’t really disagree too much with the advantages of the summer season.
I’ve been thinking for a while that I might try to buy a little place in northeastern Minnesota that I could use later after I retire to spend my springs, summers, and falls. I figure that it could be a pretty damn nice place to invite my hockey buds where we could spend some time fishin, huntin, feedin the skeeters and all the usual bullshit that goes along with those activities. Sorry guys but I’m tellin ya my arthritis in my right shoulder is gettin so bad that I figure I’m gonna be turnin into one a them snowbirds by then and will probably have to winter somewhere down in Mexico.
I did some real estate investigatin and made some appointments for last Saturday and Monday.
I flew into the Twin Cities and then got a little shuttle fight up to Duluth and rented a car there.
In my younger days I had done a six day canoe trip in Boundary Waters out of Ely and this part of the world, I’m telling you guys, is civilized enough to get brews when ya need them but wild enough to avoid your neighbors if ya have too. You guys know what I’m talking about, ehh?
I made my base camp for the trip at the Cascade Lodge and Restaurant in Grand Marais. Stayed in room 5A of their motel up the hill into the trees a bit where the parking was close. Unfortunately the walls were thin and I could hear the shabanging during the nights from the room next door. Aw hell, the price was right and I got a forty dollar discount for the four night stay that I had arranged. That was enough for beer money I figured for a couple a the nights.
The place is right on Highway 61 (Hey you guys, Bob Dylan made this highway famous before most a ya were born.) with Lake Superior on the other side of the road. It’s got a decent enough little restaurant that’s open from 8:00 am ‘til about 8:30 pm where you can get beer and wine with your dinner.
I went out Saturday and covered a couple a hundred miles looking at some places; hoping that they had access to a stream or other body of water. Not bad. They call this area round about here the Iron Range, so its hills and low mountains and such are home to some of the taconite (iron ore) workings. I never was much into skiing but I know that, nearby, Lutsen that I had driven through on the way up and again while heading back to the lodge had been a destination for many from my high school days. They’ve got a place there that had been a little out of my price range, the Lutsen Resort and Sea Villas, that I stopped at on my way back to checkout because they also advertise real estate. It was mainly “resort” properties. Not what I wanted. But they’ve got a place to wet your whistle, the Poplar River Pub, where I grabbed a cold one (damn that was good), another one and a case for Sunday. While the bartender went in back to get the case I grabbed one of the resort brochures from the counter by the cash register and stuck it in my back pocket. A little quiet in there right then, but I thought I might come back down after dinner.
I jumped back in my rental and made the seven or eight mile drive north back to the Cascade Lodge, cleaned up and went to dinner at their restaurant. Had a good pork chop plate with three cold ones and pulled the brochure from Lutsen out of my pocket and read through it as I was finishing the last beer. In the brochure they described some of the fun activities available back at their place. You could fish, kayak, ski (in season), throw rocks, hike and watch wildlife. Ya the typical stuff.
I left the wholesome waitress of Scandinavian descent a fair tip and went back to my room to get ready to go back to the Poplar River Pub and to give the honey back home a call to describe the progress I’d made for the first day of looking. We chatted for a bit and closed with “I miss you” stuff. Damn if I hadn’t pounded another three beers while I was talking to her and I had to piss like a horse now. Got that taken care with my tool in one hand and another brew in the other.
Shit, I think I’ve got a buzz on now. I go over to the mirror above the bureau take my glasses off and try to focus on myself. No dice - can’t do it. Maybe I better not drive anywhere I’m thinkin. Damn, I feel good but my overwhelming, almost senior citizen, common sense says “uh uhh, nope, no-way, nada.” Now what, the night’s still young?
I decide to go down and across the road to the lake and sit like an old fart on one of the bigger boulders. So I stick four brews in my pockets and continue on with the one in my hand down to the lake. At this rate I’ll only have half a case left for tomorrow and you can’t buy here on Sundays. Aw shit, what the heck!
Down at the lake I’m just watchin the sky, lookin back at the resort, watchin the cars pass by, checkin out the water and all that crap. Just enjoying it all and enjoying the brew that’s now not so dang cold. Ah, just chug em and move on I think. There’s just tons of rocks here, its not a sandy shore that’s for sure. What did that brochure say? Throwing rocks? Yeah, I haven’t skipped stones in ages. So I start tossin pebbles out across the water and pretty soon that old right shoulder of mine gives me a rowdy stinkin ouch.
Ok - lets try this with my left hand.
Booger if I don’t feel like some sorta spasmo-taz. I’m so f’n uncoordinated doing this I gotta look like some kind a fool. Sure hope that nobody’s watching me, ehh.
Oh, yikes! Someone’s coming down from the road. Shit, it’s a cop too. He says to me “What ya doing there buddy?” as I notice my empties tossed about in the beam of his flashlight. I tell him that I’m just tossing some rocks. Then he says that that ain’t allowed here. (What the fuck???) He says the only place it’s allowed is back down to Lutsen. I tell him, with a hell of a slur in my voice, “Ya gotta be kidding”
Then he says “Ya been drinking buddy?”
No denying that I guess so I said “Yeah a little.”
“Let’s go up to the side a the road there. Ya got ID on ya? Let’s get it out.”
So we scramble back up to the road by his squad car. “Cook County Sheriff”, I can sort of read.
Shit, shit, shit I’m thinkin.
He scrapes out a straight line with his boot, about twenty feet long, along his car in the pea gravel shoulder of Highway 61 and says “I want you to walk that line.”
Crap! I’d have a hard time doing that even if I was sober I’m thinking because a havin that one leg so much shorter then the other. I give it a shot though and just about spin a complete circle, almost falling down.
He now tells me that he’s gonna have to take me in for throwing stones and public intoxication. Knowing that I’m from outta state as shown on my license he asks me where I’m staying. I let him know that its just right across the highway.
He thinks about that a bit and says to me “I’d let ya go back to the motel if you were only drunk but because you were throwing stones you’re gonna have to come down to Cook County Law Enforcement Center with me and fill out some paperwork and post a bond for fifty bucks.”
I’m thinking “fifty bucks Esther, maybe this’ll be easy except for the fine“.
So he has me get in the back of his cruiser, no hand cuffs - thank you, and takes me in. We get to station and I post the bond money and start filling out the paperwork and I’ll be damned if I didn’t fall asleep or pass out drunk, ehh.
I wake up inside a cell on a bunk to all kinds of commotion outside the holding area that I’m in. I look around and get myself kinda cognizant of where I am, seeing that I’m the only one in here.
Damn what is going on out there and what was that crazy dream that I’d just had?
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 game of 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 get outta jail free cards.”
What the fuck is this ???
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!”
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 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 upon 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! This is old time hockey at its rawest - inside the cage. You go in and ya can’t come out. It’s the lions den, in the style of Roman gladiators. A fight to the finish; where only one man remains skating and his team will hoard the glory as being victors of it all.
That’s it. That’s when I woke up to all this damn commotion. I was sweating like crazy and really needed to take a wiz.
I got that taken care of and the sheriff that had popped me comes in through the far door and sees me standing in the cell. He says “Good, Mr. Wheats, glad to see your up. You passed out up front when we had you filling out the paperwork, so we put ya back here to sleep it off. We gotta get ya out of here though, need the room, cuz we got several carloads of rowdy asses that we gotta put away!”
Still feeling a little toasted, I ask him what time it was and what’s all the noise.
He lets me know that its past 4:30 going on 5:00 am. Says they had to bust up a bachelors party down at the Lutsen Resort. Says it was Eric Staals’ party and that he’s getting married in couple weeks or something. He and his brother Jordan and bunch of cousins and such had come down from Thunder Bay and they’d all gotten out of hand and they’d have to spend a little time in the poky.
I’m thinking to myself, why’d these boys (A couple a them were NHL stars, ehh?) come down here into the States to party. Eric’s maybe legal age here, but Jordan sure the hell isn’t yet. And how about those cousins? For my own dollar I’d rather party in Canada. The clubs up there are often times pretty good too.
Crazy man, just absolutely crazy!
So the Staals are walking with wood, doing a little time in this here sin-bin. Me too, done my time. Crazy dreams! And great Minnesota surroundings. The beer had been cold, the skeeters weren’t biting too bad and I had all of the rest of Sunday to get my shit together before I went looking at properties again.
Jasper here until next time.
Hey, skate hard you guys!
I’ve been thinking for a while that I might try to buy a little place in northeastern Minnesota that I could use later after I retire to spend my springs, summers, and falls. I figure that it could be a pretty damn nice place to invite my hockey buds where we could spend some time fishin, huntin, feedin the skeeters and all the usual bullshit that goes along with those activities. Sorry guys but I’m tellin ya my arthritis in my right shoulder is gettin so bad that I figure I’m gonna be turnin into one a them snowbirds by then and will probably have to winter somewhere down in Mexico.
I did some real estate investigatin and made some appointments for last Saturday and Monday.
I flew into the Twin Cities and then got a little shuttle fight up to Duluth and rented a car there.
In my younger days I had done a six day canoe trip in Boundary Waters out of Ely and this part of the world, I’m telling you guys, is civilized enough to get brews when ya need them but wild enough to avoid your neighbors if ya have too. You guys know what I’m talking about, ehh?
I made my base camp for the trip at the Cascade Lodge and Restaurant in Grand Marais. Stayed in room 5A of their motel up the hill into the trees a bit where the parking was close. Unfortunately the walls were thin and I could hear the shabanging during the nights from the room next door. Aw hell, the price was right and I got a forty dollar discount for the four night stay that I had arranged. That was enough for beer money I figured for a couple a the nights.
The place is right on Highway 61 (Hey you guys, Bob Dylan made this highway famous before most a ya were born.) with Lake Superior on the other side of the road. It’s got a decent enough little restaurant that’s open from 8:00 am ‘til about 8:30 pm where you can get beer and wine with your dinner.
I went out Saturday and covered a couple a hundred miles looking at some places; hoping that they had access to a stream or other body of water. Not bad. They call this area round about here the Iron Range, so its hills and low mountains and such are home to some of the taconite (iron ore) workings. I never was much into skiing but I know that, nearby, Lutsen that I had driven through on the way up and again while heading back to the lodge had been a destination for many from my high school days. They’ve got a place there that had been a little out of my price range, the Lutsen Resort and Sea Villas, that I stopped at on my way back to checkout because they also advertise real estate. It was mainly “resort” properties. Not what I wanted. But they’ve got a place to wet your whistle, the Poplar River Pub, where I grabbed a cold one (damn that was good), another one and a case for Sunday. While the bartender went in back to get the case I grabbed one of the resort brochures from the counter by the cash register and stuck it in my back pocket. A little quiet in there right then, but I thought I might come back down after dinner.
I jumped back in my rental and made the seven or eight mile drive north back to the Cascade Lodge, cleaned up and went to dinner at their restaurant. Had a good pork chop plate with three cold ones and pulled the brochure from Lutsen out of my pocket and read through it as I was finishing the last beer. In the brochure they described some of the fun activities available back at their place. You could fish, kayak, ski (in season), throw rocks, hike and watch wildlife. Ya the typical stuff.
I left the wholesome waitress of Scandinavian descent a fair tip and went back to my room to get ready to go back to the Poplar River Pub and to give the honey back home a call to describe the progress I’d made for the first day of looking. We chatted for a bit and closed with “I miss you” stuff. Damn if I hadn’t pounded another three beers while I was talking to her and I had to piss like a horse now. Got that taken care with my tool in one hand and another brew in the other.
Shit, I think I’ve got a buzz on now. I go over to the mirror above the bureau take my glasses off and try to focus on myself. No dice - can’t do it. Maybe I better not drive anywhere I’m thinkin. Damn, I feel good but my overwhelming, almost senior citizen, common sense says “uh uhh, nope, no-way, nada.” Now what, the night’s still young?
I decide to go down and across the road to the lake and sit like an old fart on one of the bigger boulders. So I stick four brews in my pockets and continue on with the one in my hand down to the lake. At this rate I’ll only have half a case left for tomorrow and you can’t buy here on Sundays. Aw shit, what the heck!
Down at the lake I’m just watchin the sky, lookin back at the resort, watchin the cars pass by, checkin out the water and all that crap. Just enjoying it all and enjoying the brew that’s now not so dang cold. Ah, just chug em and move on I think. There’s just tons of rocks here, its not a sandy shore that’s for sure. What did that brochure say? Throwing rocks? Yeah, I haven’t skipped stones in ages. So I start tossin pebbles out across the water and pretty soon that old right shoulder of mine gives me a rowdy stinkin ouch.
Ok - lets try this with my left hand.
Booger if I don’t feel like some sorta spasmo-taz. I’m so f’n uncoordinated doing this I gotta look like some kind a fool. Sure hope that nobody’s watching me, ehh.
Oh, yikes! Someone’s coming down from the road. Shit, it’s a cop too. He says to me “What ya doing there buddy?” as I notice my empties tossed about in the beam of his flashlight. I tell him that I’m just tossing some rocks. Then he says that that ain’t allowed here. (What the fuck???) He says the only place it’s allowed is back down to Lutsen. I tell him, with a hell of a slur in my voice, “Ya gotta be kidding”
Then he says “Ya been drinking buddy?”
No denying that I guess so I said “Yeah a little.”
“Let’s go up to the side a the road there. Ya got ID on ya? Let’s get it out.”
So we scramble back up to the road by his squad car. “Cook County Sheriff”, I can sort of read.
Shit, shit, shit I’m thinkin.
He scrapes out a straight line with his boot, about twenty feet long, along his car in the pea gravel shoulder of Highway 61 and says “I want you to walk that line.”
Crap! I’d have a hard time doing that even if I was sober I’m thinking because a havin that one leg so much shorter then the other. I give it a shot though and just about spin a complete circle, almost falling down.
He now tells me that he’s gonna have to take me in for throwing stones and public intoxication. Knowing that I’m from outta state as shown on my license he asks me where I’m staying. I let him know that its just right across the highway.
He thinks about that a bit and says to me “I’d let ya go back to the motel if you were only drunk but because you were throwing stones you’re gonna have to come down to Cook County Law Enforcement Center with me and fill out some paperwork and post a bond for fifty bucks.”
I’m thinking “fifty bucks Esther, maybe this’ll be easy except for the fine“.
So he has me get in the back of his cruiser, no hand cuffs - thank you, and takes me in. We get to station and I post the bond money and start filling out the paperwork and I’ll be damned if I didn’t fall asleep or pass out drunk, ehh.
I wake up inside a cell on a bunk to all kinds of commotion outside the holding area that I’m in. I look around and get myself kinda cognizant of where I am, seeing that I’m the only one in here.
Damn what is going on out there and what was that crazy dream that I’d just had?
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 game of 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 get outta jail free cards.”
What the fuck is this ???
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!”
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 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 upon 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! This is old time hockey at its rawest - inside the cage. You go in and ya can’t come out. It’s the lions den, in the style of Roman gladiators. A fight to the finish; where only one man remains skating and his team will hoard the glory as being victors of it all.
That’s it. That’s when I woke up to all this damn commotion. I was sweating like crazy and really needed to take a wiz.
I got that taken care of and the sheriff that had popped me comes in through the far door and sees me standing in the cell. He says “Good, Mr. Wheats, glad to see your up. You passed out up front when we had you filling out the paperwork, so we put ya back here to sleep it off. We gotta get ya out of here though, need the room, cuz we got several carloads of rowdy asses that we gotta put away!”
Still feeling a little toasted, I ask him what time it was and what’s all the noise.
He lets me know that its past 4:30 going on 5:00 am. Says they had to bust up a bachelors party down at the Lutsen Resort. Says it was Eric Staals’ party and that he’s getting married in couple weeks or something. He and his brother Jordan and bunch of cousins and such had come down from Thunder Bay and they’d all gotten out of hand and they’d have to spend a little time in the poky.
I’m thinking to myself, why’d these boys (A couple a them were NHL stars, ehh?) come down here into the States to party. Eric’s maybe legal age here, but Jordan sure the hell isn’t yet. And how about those cousins? For my own dollar I’d rather party in Canada. The clubs up there are often times pretty good too.
Crazy man, just absolutely crazy!
So the Staals are walking with wood, doing a little time in this here sin-bin. Me too, done my time. Crazy dreams! And great Minnesota surroundings. The beer had been cold, the skeeters weren’t biting too bad and I had all of the rest of Sunday to get my shit together before I went looking at properties again.
Jasper here until next time.
Hey, skate hard you guys!
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Potter Party vs. Hockey Party
Shit! Its just f’n amazing how fast time flies by when you’re having fun. Ehh? Still involved with that new job search routine, but it doesn’t seem that anybody has a use for a little ole puckster like me. So I’m enjoying my time off instead. Kinda feel like a young pup again. Not a worry in the world (yeah, right, wtf). The honey and me drove over to a nearby town last night and caught one of those concerts in the park. It was some good shit and the beer as always was cold.
Yep. Another week’s gone by since my last bit of writing and Ms. Rowling’s released another Harry Potter book at midnight last night. Guess that’s her seventh story as compared to about thirty of my stories here at the blog. Kind wished I’d a met her back when she was poor and possibly was still a good looking bitch. Maybe we’d a made some time together or something. Anyway, I could sure use some of her income right now. I hear that she’s got more money than the Queen of England. Ain’t that something you guys?
This morning I see on the news how a bunch of these bookstores had “Potter Parties” last night with lots a the folks in costumes and all that make believe shit. Now I’ve got nothing against good fiction. Hell, you guys get a shit load of that here, ehh? And I gotta say that I’ve never, ever read one of the books or even seen one of the movies all the way through. But what the heck, I’ve seen enough to make some Wheats relevant comments here.
I’m kinda a nut for things bewitching, mysterious, fantasy and horror. And this Potter dude seems to be ok even though he’s not a puckhead. He’d probably been a pretty damn good one though if that’s the way Rowling woulda written it. You know ya see him flying around on his broom - he zigs when his pursuers zag and all that damn shit. I think he coulda put on some ding-dang good deaks and go top shelf easy. Whatta ya think about that? And that broom, it ain’t that damn much different then a durn good old wooden hockey stick. How many of you folks out there in your youth, didn’t pull that tripod trick where you squatted down and put your weight on your stick as you tucked it between your legs. Yeah, you were riding a broom, buster. Potter’s got the chick too. Nice! All in all I gotta say Harry is walking with wood.
Back to the “Potter Parties”. They remind me a lot of the hockey team’s Halloween parties. Shit if we didn’t get all duded up for those things. Dressed up like witches, wizards and warlocks. Monsters, whores and sexy little bunnies too. They started early and ya didn’t have to wait in no line before ya could get the party going. And they always lasted into the wee hours of the morning. We always had lots of liquor and plenty of cold beer. Well, never enough, someone always made a last beer run before the liquor store closed. Most a the time we had good eats cuz the ladies always liked to make a fuss about that stuff. Chips always worked for me or an occasional slice a pizza would do, but the girls always made it a bit better bringing lasagna, salads, deserts or something delish.
I remember one particular party that we had over to Damon’s. Damon was one hell of a burley sorta guy. He had played as forward up through Juniors and then there would occasional rotate through as de. When he came on board with us he was playing defense only and the first year or so he was my partner back there. He and couple of work buddies had rented a house over in the old part of town where the joints were well shaded under nice forty or fifty year old trees. Kinda quiet side of town but economical enough for him and his buds. It was a corner house with plenty of room for parking up and down both streets.
I can’t remember what disguise I was wearing that year - shit it doesn’t matter for the gist of the story so don’t worry about it, ehh, cuz I’m not going to. I’d been over to Damon’s few times before this party to watch video tapes. He was really into Friday night movies and beer if we didn’t have a game. But the night of this party the whole inside of his house had been stripped down. The only shit in the house was in the kitchen where there was still a table and couple of chairs, plus the fridge and stove. I don’t know, but maybe the guys were getting kicked out or leaving soon, but the place was bare. We all had to stand around but it made it better for dancin and shit.
The floor of the kitchen was a light/dark vinyl tile that was slippery when wet. With the keg in giant trash bag with bags of ice around it we were making one hell of a mess. Most of us slipped a couple a times, at least, and one time I saw Damon’s dog, a rowdy shepherd mix, come around the corner a bit too fast and slide out into the far wall. The whole time his nails scrappin like a mile a minute to get traction looking like some fool cartoon character.
Anyway, kudos to Damon for throwing the party. Yeah, guys, he’s walking with wood too.
We’re all shooting the shit and other bullcrap just getting totally krunk. Flirting, dancing, doing a little sqeezin and just generally all having a crazy ass time.
One of our teammate’s, Woody, was as usual having his share of beer. Good guy, always walking with wood. I had coached him when he was a Midget and after Juniors he came and skated with us. He’d been born in Scotland and raised as a young kid in Toronto. Was always fun to listen to his mom yell at him with that strong Scottish accent of hers during games. Woody wasn’t too tall but he’s a hell of good center. I believe he led the league two years in row for scoring. A little fire hydrant full of zip!
Yupper, full zip and that night of the party - full of beer. I’m sure that night in his boisterous lilt he led us in singing “Here’s to Brother Damon, Bother Damon …” and for sure in a round of “Mack the Knife”. Loves to sing that drunken fool!
Like I said he’s full of brewskies and full of shit. I’m standing there talking to him and he starts burping and clutching at his belly. I said to him “Ya alright dude?”
He says back “I think I better go outside for a bit and get some fresh air.”
He disappears for a while and comes back in and acts like he hasn’t missed a beat just looking a shit load better. I quiz him a bit and he tells me he just went out and threw-up so that he could keep drinking. No point in feeling sick, I guess, when there’s cold beer to chug.
After a certain point, Woody, always gets a bit obnoxious. Factual. No denying it - he just does. Hits the wall and he’s beyond shitfaced. That night was no different.
So what you do with a belligerent drunk that’s on the verge of passing out? Well, you take him outside and saran-wrap him to one of those fine shade trees in Damon’s front yard. And that’s zactly what we did. Fool never even knew what happened too him. Eventually someone took him down, yeah, poured him into a vehicle and took him home.
Yes-sirree, nothing like a kick-ass hockey Halloween party. I betcha that none of those “Potter Parties” last night were as good as one of these.
Later, my friends.
Jasper here, krankin from the backwoods telling ya to skate hard.
Yep. Another week’s gone by since my last bit of writing and Ms. Rowling’s released another Harry Potter book at midnight last night. Guess that’s her seventh story as compared to about thirty of my stories here at the blog. Kind wished I’d a met her back when she was poor and possibly was still a good looking bitch. Maybe we’d a made some time together or something. Anyway, I could sure use some of her income right now. I hear that she’s got more money than the Queen of England. Ain’t that something you guys?
This morning I see on the news how a bunch of these bookstores had “Potter Parties” last night with lots a the folks in costumes and all that make believe shit. Now I’ve got nothing against good fiction. Hell, you guys get a shit load of that here, ehh? And I gotta say that I’ve never, ever read one of the books or even seen one of the movies all the way through. But what the heck, I’ve seen enough to make some Wheats relevant comments here.
I’m kinda a nut for things bewitching, mysterious, fantasy and horror. And this Potter dude seems to be ok even though he’s not a puckhead. He’d probably been a pretty damn good one though if that’s the way Rowling woulda written it. You know ya see him flying around on his broom - he zigs when his pursuers zag and all that damn shit. I think he coulda put on some ding-dang good deaks and go top shelf easy. Whatta ya think about that? And that broom, it ain’t that damn much different then a durn good old wooden hockey stick. How many of you folks out there in your youth, didn’t pull that tripod trick where you squatted down and put your weight on your stick as you tucked it between your legs. Yeah, you were riding a broom, buster. Potter’s got the chick too. Nice! All in all I gotta say Harry is walking with wood.
Back to the “Potter Parties”. They remind me a lot of the hockey team’s Halloween parties. Shit if we didn’t get all duded up for those things. Dressed up like witches, wizards and warlocks. Monsters, whores and sexy little bunnies too. They started early and ya didn’t have to wait in no line before ya could get the party going. And they always lasted into the wee hours of the morning. We always had lots of liquor and plenty of cold beer. Well, never enough, someone always made a last beer run before the liquor store closed. Most a the time we had good eats cuz the ladies always liked to make a fuss about that stuff. Chips always worked for me or an occasional slice a pizza would do, but the girls always made it a bit better bringing lasagna, salads, deserts or something delish.
I remember one particular party that we had over to Damon’s. Damon was one hell of a burley sorta guy. He had played as forward up through Juniors and then there would occasional rotate through as de. When he came on board with us he was playing defense only and the first year or so he was my partner back there. He and couple of work buddies had rented a house over in the old part of town where the joints were well shaded under nice forty or fifty year old trees. Kinda quiet side of town but economical enough for him and his buds. It was a corner house with plenty of room for parking up and down both streets.
I can’t remember what disguise I was wearing that year - shit it doesn’t matter for the gist of the story so don’t worry about it, ehh, cuz I’m not going to. I’d been over to Damon’s few times before this party to watch video tapes. He was really into Friday night movies and beer if we didn’t have a game. But the night of this party the whole inside of his house had been stripped down. The only shit in the house was in the kitchen where there was still a table and couple of chairs, plus the fridge and stove. I don’t know, but maybe the guys were getting kicked out or leaving soon, but the place was bare. We all had to stand around but it made it better for dancin and shit.
The floor of the kitchen was a light/dark vinyl tile that was slippery when wet. With the keg in giant trash bag with bags of ice around it we were making one hell of a mess. Most of us slipped a couple a times, at least, and one time I saw Damon’s dog, a rowdy shepherd mix, come around the corner a bit too fast and slide out into the far wall. The whole time his nails scrappin like a mile a minute to get traction looking like some fool cartoon character.
Anyway, kudos to Damon for throwing the party. Yeah, guys, he’s walking with wood too.
We’re all shooting the shit and other bullcrap just getting totally krunk. Flirting, dancing, doing a little sqeezin and just generally all having a crazy ass time.
One of our teammate’s, Woody, was as usual having his share of beer. Good guy, always walking with wood. I had coached him when he was a Midget and after Juniors he came and skated with us. He’d been born in Scotland and raised as a young kid in Toronto. Was always fun to listen to his mom yell at him with that strong Scottish accent of hers during games. Woody wasn’t too tall but he’s a hell of good center. I believe he led the league two years in row for scoring. A little fire hydrant full of zip!
Yupper, full zip and that night of the party - full of beer. I’m sure that night in his boisterous lilt he led us in singing “Here’s to Brother Damon, Bother Damon …” and for sure in a round of “Mack the Knife”. Loves to sing that drunken fool!
Like I said he’s full of brewskies and full of shit. I’m standing there talking to him and he starts burping and clutching at his belly. I said to him “Ya alright dude?”
He says back “I think I better go outside for a bit and get some fresh air.”
He disappears for a while and comes back in and acts like he hasn’t missed a beat just looking a shit load better. I quiz him a bit and he tells me he just went out and threw-up so that he could keep drinking. No point in feeling sick, I guess, when there’s cold beer to chug.
After a certain point, Woody, always gets a bit obnoxious. Factual. No denying it - he just does. Hits the wall and he’s beyond shitfaced. That night was no different.
So what you do with a belligerent drunk that’s on the verge of passing out? Well, you take him outside and saran-wrap him to one of those fine shade trees in Damon’s front yard. And that’s zactly what we did. Fool never even knew what happened too him. Eventually someone took him down, yeah, poured him into a vehicle and took him home.
Yes-sirree, nothing like a kick-ass hockey Halloween party. I betcha that none of those “Potter Parties” last night were as good as one of these.
Later, my friends.
Jasper here, krankin from the backwoods telling ya to skate hard.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
California Trip
Hey there all my puckhead, hockey hood and little puckster friends.
Here’s a little shout-out:
WHAT'S HAPPENING????
Good shit, I hope. Ehh? It’s summer and as far as I’m concerned we all ought to be havin a good time.
I sure the shit am. I managed to get a little vacation in this past week and I’m pretty sure that I’ll be able to write it off as a job search expense on my stinkin income tax.
I’ve been looking for a new job and sending out applications all over the damn world. It seems as though its tough for a short little lopsided puckster like myself to find the appropriately rewarding employment that I seek. Such is life when you’re just a little ole party animal that otherwise likes the reclusive atmosphere of the backwoods, ehh. You guys know what I’m talking about.
Anyway, I set up a few interviews for the week in the Sacramento and San Francisco area or as they say out there “Northern California.” I don’t know why the fuck they call it Northern California. Sheesh, look at a map folks, this is Central California. In my opinion Northern California’s got to be up at the end of the state near Oregon. Shit, I think most of the folks on the west coast have got their heads up their asses anyway. Kinda like most of the ref’s that we have had to deal with over the years, ehh?
I flew into Sacramento and I tell ya that area around the airport could pass for the wheat fields back home. Had an interview in town and hoped maybe I’d catch sight of the Governator. No luck on that. Sacramento’s a fairly big city I came to realize not just some farm-burg like I was expecting. Plus I kinda got lost tying to find my way to the interview on Q Street. Oh well, I was almost late but afterwards it was time to move on.
There was some Major League Baseball Allstar Game activities over in San Francisco that I wanted to see. So I figure out how to get outta town heading west on Interstate 80. It must be ninety to a hundred miles to get to San Francisco but I did have some time for a side trip or two.
There were some ice rinks that I wanted to stop in and see and then my girl back home always says that if we ever get married then we’re going to honeymoon in Napa Valley. She’s a bit of wino you know, so I thought I better check that place out in preparation in case hell ever freezes over, if ya know what I mean.
My first stop was the Vacaville Ice Sports a rink in Vacaville which was right off I-80. But what a pain in the butt trouble I had trying to find it. Damn, whatever happened to having streets organized in a nice square grid? Anyway, I found the rink. It’s a nice double rink but doesn’t have much spectator seating and shares its parking lot with one of those monster size movie theaters. I roamed around a bit outside and chatted with some of the local folks, most of which I came to realize didn’t even know the rink existed.
Californian’s???
I saw one of those Outback Steakhouses across the street and thought I get a late lunch but the place wasn’t opened yet. Kinda figure that chain’s probably going to go out business if it don’t open up for lunch. I settled on a Denny’s, which was OK cuz I figured that they’d have something I was familiar with then got back on my way again.
Checking my map, I see that pretty soon I’ve get off of I-80 and jog a bit north to get to Napa. Damned if in the next town, Fairfield, there isn’t one of those Budweiser breweries just south of the interstate. These places I’m told hold tours with some sampling activities. I got an idea that if me and the sweets ever come out this way, like she talks, then she can do her wine tour one day and I’ll come over here. Not bad thinkin ehh?
So I get through Napa and head over to Santa Rosa to see the rink there. That’s where Charles Schultz of comic strip fame always held his annual Snoopy Tournament. Doesn’t look like they hold it anymore since he passed on to that big rink in the sky. They were showing some announcements for a Woodstock Tournament but it was only going to host eight teams. Not the same I guess. Wished I’d been able to play in one of those earlier tourneys.
From Santa Rosa I head south on US Highway 101 over the Golden Gate Bridge, spectacular, into San Francisco. Here I’m going to hang out with one of Bronzy’s friends, Ricky, for a few days and try to see some Allstar Game shit. Well that didn’t really pan out cuz everything was sold out but I kinda hung around everything and toured about in this humongous city. Fuckin scary with all the skyscrapers and too damn many people. Traffic in this town absolutely sucks too. I don’t know why Ricky likes living here.
There’s a lot to see that’s for sure but I kinda wanted to be by the water so I spend a day walking the Embarcadero and had wanted to see the Sala Burton Maritime Museum again. It’s the only thing I remember from a visit here as a kid with my folks. But that place was fenced off and boarded up as some construction company was fuckin the hell outta the place. Sad.
Like I said I did hang out around AT&T Park for some baseball stuff. My kinda people partying over there. Thought maybe I’d see some stars or famous folks walkin around but was just too blasted to notice, really. I met this dude, Jason, while wandering about. Bumped into him actually and thought that we were going to throw down and go at it at first off. But he said he caught my accent (what accent) and it reminded him of his bud, Bobby. He says to me, “Do you play hockey, stud?” Hell, if we didn’t hit if off from there. He had played baseball and football in high school and college, but I’m tellin ya this tough little shit would a been one hell of a grinder on the ice if he’d had the opportunity that we just seem to take for granted. This dude walks with wood guys. He said that he’d been to the home run event and was going to the big game too. It was a good deal for him, being a Giants fan and all. But, damn, if we didn’t get rowdy drunk and Jason knew some of the honeys where we were at that hung with us (I think the rest of the night????). Don’t know where we were and I don’t know how I found my way back to Ricky’s, but the next morning I woke up in front of his front door. He let me in to crash while he headed off to work. Some good time ehh?
The next day I had a couple of interviews scheduled south of San Francisco. Got my act together and pulled them off OK I think. And from there I went further south to check out the rink in Cupertino. The Cupertino Ice Center is where the California Cougars youth hockey club skates.
I pull into the parking lot off of Wolfe Road to park and go inside and give it a look see. The parking lot was pretty full and I thought it was a little odd to be so packed this time of the afternoon. Most of the ladies’ coffee skates are over by one or two o’clock right? But it just didn’t seem right. I noticed that some of the cars were limos and there were a whole bunch of AT&T vans in the lot too. Curious, it didn’t stop me, so I went inside.
Oh lordy folks. You’ve never seen such a mess. You know how you set the cones out across the redline so that ya can run a half-ice practice for both Squirts and Mites at the same time? Well they had sort of done the same thing here.
What they had going on was on one half of the ice they were testing out the I-Puck and its system requirements, so Apple and the AT&T folks were networked all over the rink connected to Versus Cable Network equipment. Cables, wireless shit, cameras and video systems all over the fuckin place. And all these f’n tech heads with only three or four guys laced up out on the ice. The other half of the rink was being used to simulate the Zambooma ice cleaning/intermission entertainment system. Seems as though Apple and AT&T are married together on this little project too but with the boys at Zamboni. I’m telling you though, there was one hell of a lot of activity going on in this place.
I gotta tell ya that all of this was one big cluster fuck in my opinion. I talked to one of the tech heads a bit and he said that they wanted to see how the Zamboomba and I-Puck system interfaced with each other. You know, were their operating frequencies going to mess each other up and that sort a shit. The cones were out there to delineate the boundaries for the Zamboomba test but as we all know those cones never stop all the pucks from crossing over to the other side of the ice. (Hell, from my experience they don’t even stop Mites from wandering.)
I don’t know what was happening technically but I gotta tell you guys I saw the Zamboombas chew up about six or seven I-Pucks while I was in there for my short visit. Figuring that they’re prototypes, yet, both the Zamboombas and the I-Pucks, their manufacture hadn’t realized any cost economies so they were awfully expensive little units. It was like the Zamboombas chugged and puked and the I-Pucks got spit out as slivers of rubber and crushed electronics. I’m thinking that it’s a good thing I’m not seeing any NHL lawyer types or we would be seeing another lockout season for 2007/2008. Scary again but fuckin hilarious.
Come on guys, lets bring back some old time hockey.
I look at my watch and its coming on to about 5:00 pm and I’ve got a red-eye out of Sacramento later tonight. I gotta hit the road. Get some dinner. Shit, I’ll probably get lost trying to find my way on this crazy freeway system that they have here in California.
Its like that there in California. Too much innovation is making everything so ding-dang complicated. Give me the woods. Give me a frozen pond and a good old wooden hockey stick. Let me enjoy life and walk with wood.
California? A road trip or vacation - it can be OK. They got some good folks, like Jason. But I don’t know if I could work there. Wonder what’s going to happen with those interviews?
Later guys. Jasper here, signing off ‘til next time.
Skate hard!
Here’s a little shout-out:
WHAT'S HAPPENING????
Good shit, I hope. Ehh? It’s summer and as far as I’m concerned we all ought to be havin a good time.
I sure the shit am. I managed to get a little vacation in this past week and I’m pretty sure that I’ll be able to write it off as a job search expense on my stinkin income tax.
I’ve been looking for a new job and sending out applications all over the damn world. It seems as though its tough for a short little lopsided puckster like myself to find the appropriately rewarding employment that I seek. Such is life when you’re just a little ole party animal that otherwise likes the reclusive atmosphere of the backwoods, ehh. You guys know what I’m talking about.
Anyway, I set up a few interviews for the week in the Sacramento and San Francisco area or as they say out there “Northern California.” I don’t know why the fuck they call it Northern California. Sheesh, look at a map folks, this is Central California. In my opinion Northern California’s got to be up at the end of the state near Oregon. Shit, I think most of the folks on the west coast have got their heads up their asses anyway. Kinda like most of the ref’s that we have had to deal with over the years, ehh?
I flew into Sacramento and I tell ya that area around the airport could pass for the wheat fields back home. Had an interview in town and hoped maybe I’d catch sight of the Governator. No luck on that. Sacramento’s a fairly big city I came to realize not just some farm-burg like I was expecting. Plus I kinda got lost tying to find my way to the interview on Q Street. Oh well, I was almost late but afterwards it was time to move on.
There was some Major League Baseball Allstar Game activities over in San Francisco that I wanted to see. So I figure out how to get outta town heading west on Interstate 80. It must be ninety to a hundred miles to get to San Francisco but I did have some time for a side trip or two.
There were some ice rinks that I wanted to stop in and see and then my girl back home always says that if we ever get married then we’re going to honeymoon in Napa Valley. She’s a bit of wino you know, so I thought I better check that place out in preparation in case hell ever freezes over, if ya know what I mean.
My first stop was the Vacaville Ice Sports a rink in Vacaville which was right off I-80. But what a pain in the butt trouble I had trying to find it. Damn, whatever happened to having streets organized in a nice square grid? Anyway, I found the rink. It’s a nice double rink but doesn’t have much spectator seating and shares its parking lot with one of those monster size movie theaters. I roamed around a bit outside and chatted with some of the local folks, most of which I came to realize didn’t even know the rink existed.
Californian’s???
I saw one of those Outback Steakhouses across the street and thought I get a late lunch but the place wasn’t opened yet. Kinda figure that chain’s probably going to go out business if it don’t open up for lunch. I settled on a Denny’s, which was OK cuz I figured that they’d have something I was familiar with then got back on my way again.
Checking my map, I see that pretty soon I’ve get off of I-80 and jog a bit north to get to Napa. Damned if in the next town, Fairfield, there isn’t one of those Budweiser breweries just south of the interstate. These places I’m told hold tours with some sampling activities. I got an idea that if me and the sweets ever come out this way, like she talks, then she can do her wine tour one day and I’ll come over here. Not bad thinkin ehh?
So I get through Napa and head over to Santa Rosa to see the rink there. That’s where Charles Schultz of comic strip fame always held his annual Snoopy Tournament. Doesn’t look like they hold it anymore since he passed on to that big rink in the sky. They were showing some announcements for a Woodstock Tournament but it was only going to host eight teams. Not the same I guess. Wished I’d been able to play in one of those earlier tourneys.
From Santa Rosa I head south on US Highway 101 over the Golden Gate Bridge, spectacular, into San Francisco. Here I’m going to hang out with one of Bronzy’s friends, Ricky, for a few days and try to see some Allstar Game shit. Well that didn’t really pan out cuz everything was sold out but I kinda hung around everything and toured about in this humongous city. Fuckin scary with all the skyscrapers and too damn many people. Traffic in this town absolutely sucks too. I don’t know why Ricky likes living here.
There’s a lot to see that’s for sure but I kinda wanted to be by the water so I spend a day walking the Embarcadero and had wanted to see the Sala Burton Maritime Museum again. It’s the only thing I remember from a visit here as a kid with my folks. But that place was fenced off and boarded up as some construction company was fuckin the hell outta the place. Sad.
Like I said I did hang out around AT&T Park for some baseball stuff. My kinda people partying over there. Thought maybe I’d see some stars or famous folks walkin around but was just too blasted to notice, really. I met this dude, Jason, while wandering about. Bumped into him actually and thought that we were going to throw down and go at it at first off. But he said he caught my accent (what accent) and it reminded him of his bud, Bobby. He says to me, “Do you play hockey, stud?” Hell, if we didn’t hit if off from there. He had played baseball and football in high school and college, but I’m tellin ya this tough little shit would a been one hell of a grinder on the ice if he’d had the opportunity that we just seem to take for granted. This dude walks with wood guys. He said that he’d been to the home run event and was going to the big game too. It was a good deal for him, being a Giants fan and all. But, damn, if we didn’t get rowdy drunk and Jason knew some of the honeys where we were at that hung with us (I think the rest of the night????). Don’t know where we were and I don’t know how I found my way back to Ricky’s, but the next morning I woke up in front of his front door. He let me in to crash while he headed off to work. Some good time ehh?
The next day I had a couple of interviews scheduled south of San Francisco. Got my act together and pulled them off OK I think. And from there I went further south to check out the rink in Cupertino. The Cupertino Ice Center is where the California Cougars youth hockey club skates.
I pull into the parking lot off of Wolfe Road to park and go inside and give it a look see. The parking lot was pretty full and I thought it was a little odd to be so packed this time of the afternoon. Most of the ladies’ coffee skates are over by one or two o’clock right? But it just didn’t seem right. I noticed that some of the cars were limos and there were a whole bunch of AT&T vans in the lot too. Curious, it didn’t stop me, so I went inside.
Oh lordy folks. You’ve never seen such a mess. You know how you set the cones out across the redline so that ya can run a half-ice practice for both Squirts and Mites at the same time? Well they had sort of done the same thing here.
What they had going on was on one half of the ice they were testing out the I-Puck and its system requirements, so Apple and the AT&T folks were networked all over the rink connected to Versus Cable Network equipment. Cables, wireless shit, cameras and video systems all over the fuckin place. And all these f’n tech heads with only three or four guys laced up out on the ice. The other half of the rink was being used to simulate the Zambooma ice cleaning/intermission entertainment system. Seems as though Apple and AT&T are married together on this little project too but with the boys at Zamboni. I’m telling you though, there was one hell of a lot of activity going on in this place.
I gotta tell ya that all of this was one big cluster fuck in my opinion. I talked to one of the tech heads a bit and he said that they wanted to see how the Zamboomba and I-Puck system interfaced with each other. You know, were their operating frequencies going to mess each other up and that sort a shit. The cones were out there to delineate the boundaries for the Zamboomba test but as we all know those cones never stop all the pucks from crossing over to the other side of the ice. (Hell, from my experience they don’t even stop Mites from wandering.)
I don’t know what was happening technically but I gotta tell you guys I saw the Zamboombas chew up about six or seven I-Pucks while I was in there for my short visit. Figuring that they’re prototypes, yet, both the Zamboombas and the I-Pucks, their manufacture hadn’t realized any cost economies so they were awfully expensive little units. It was like the Zamboombas chugged and puked and the I-Pucks got spit out as slivers of rubber and crushed electronics. I’m thinking that it’s a good thing I’m not seeing any NHL lawyer types or we would be seeing another lockout season for 2007/2008. Scary again but fuckin hilarious.
Come on guys, lets bring back some old time hockey.
I look at my watch and its coming on to about 5:00 pm and I’ve got a red-eye out of Sacramento later tonight. I gotta hit the road. Get some dinner. Shit, I’ll probably get lost trying to find my way on this crazy freeway system that they have here in California.
Its like that there in California. Too much innovation is making everything so ding-dang complicated. Give me the woods. Give me a frozen pond and a good old wooden hockey stick. Let me enjoy life and walk with wood.
California? A road trip or vacation - it can be OK. They got some good folks, like Jason. But I don’t know if I could work there. Wonder what’s going to happen with those interviews?
Later guys. Jasper here, signing off ‘til next time.
Skate hard!
Saturday, July 7, 2007
Whollapucklooza 2008
Hey you guys. Here in the states our celebration of our independence, the 4th of July, is now past and I’ll be damned if it isn’t full on summer! Hell yeah! It’s the time of year to enjoy life and do some celebrating.
My guys from the Outlaws used to usually have an annual alumni game and dinner party scheduled before the end of the summer season where we all get together for a couple of fun hours of ice time, a decent meal and one heck of a lot of drinkin and carrying-on. Generally migrating to the west coast we’ve had these events in Southern California in such places as: Santa Barbara, Palm Springs, and La Jolla. My memory fails me a little bit once in a while now days but it seems as though we came inland a bit once and had one of these whollapuckloozas in Vegas too.
All of these, for sure, were really fuckin good times.
Damn though, we haven’t had one for a while. I really miss the free-for-all fun that we had at these celebrations and the chance to re-connect with folks that I’ve skated with over the years. I kind figure that one of the reasons we haven’t had one recently is that most of us now have finally gotten married, or gotten “real jobs” and have made commitments to another life style.
Bull crap guys! You can have that other lifestyle for 364 days of the year but for just one day you gotta drop that shit and bring back the glory of days gone by. You gotta walk with wood again. The days of losing on the ice but winning in the bar. Hell, the days of winning both! Bring the wife, bring the kids, heck all mighty bring the grandkids. It’s time these folks loosen their shorts a bit and learn how to have a good time! Ehh?
So I’m thinkin that I’ve still got a bunch of Outlaw buddies and I’ve now gained just a bucket-a-crap full of internet skaters that just might be interested in pulling together a whollapucklooza for next summer. Yeah, you're thinkin “why not this summer?” Well I tell ya, it just takes too much planning to pull off the perfect event - that’s why. Puckheads - sheeeesh!
You know depending on participation it might have to be more of a tournament sort of thing eventually. But we’ll see. Maybe hand out some awards and do a bit of personality roasting at the dinner.
The idea that I have right now - to get the right party atmosphere - would be to tie it into the Sturgis rally in August of next year in western South Dakota. That’s a pretty central location for points in Canada and the States. Sturgis is going on August 4th through the 10th next year so start thinkin about setting that time aside. Do a little scooter-tootin, do a little puck shootin, and do a hella lotta partying, ehh!
About half my old Outlaws are now Harley riders so I think the tie-in will work pretty well. There’s a story to that you know. Back when I was coaching the Outlaws, this was when they were semi-pro, we had a kid that had skated for Badger Bob on our team. Maco, had gotten out a school and went to work for NCR as a bullshit sales person. He sold a software package to Bank of America and was set for life. Being from the great state of Wisconsin, having a particular love for that state’s famous brand of motorcycle and having an entrepreneurial spirit he started up EagleRider Motorcycle Rentals. The guys from the team invested with him and in turn got a Harley themselves. Not a bad deal now is that, ehh? He’s fuckin worldwide now and if you’ve got the money and the right location he’ll sell ya a franchise. I’m betting that if you don’t have a bike and want to participate in the Sturgis bike activities then you can probably rent one from Eagle Rider. Just remember to do it way in advance because the Europeans like to come over big time and get involved and just might already have him rented out for next year. Can’t say for sure though. Check it out, ehh?
So what’s Western South Dakota got to offer besides all the scooter-tootin activities associated with Sturgis?
Rapid City has the ice rink and is only about twenty-five miles from Sturgis. Its the Roosevelt Ice Arena over on Waterloo Street. Rage Hockey Club skates there. So while we’re staying in town let me tell ya that there are about sixty hotels, fifteen campgrounds and ten bed and breakfasts to choose from. If ya got your vehicle or scooter tied up and ya got the family with ya then they or you can get over to the rink on the Rapid Ride transit system. If ya show your skates ya can ride for free to the rink. The city has over forty bars and over ten banquet halls to choose from yet for our festivities. Shit howdy if I’m not gettin a bit excited thinkin about this!
“What else?”, your saying.
Well, damn right if we aren’t in the Black Hills. Pan for gold, ehh? We’ve got Mount Rushmore to go see. You know that that’s going to be a daily little scooter-toot for the bikers so that should be hella fun time. You can do some trout fishin if your into that sort of thing. And then there’s Deadwood.
I’m thinking that we could make a special excursion to Deadwood. Its become pretty famous these days due to the cable TV show of the same name and the whole town is on the National Historical Register. But why a special excursion, ehh? The Outlaws have an alumnus that has always carried the nickname of Wild Bill. He’s now become highly respected in the medicinal herbs and pharmaceutical industry; but that’s another story to be told at a later date, I’m sure. So to celebrate (Hell, who needs an excuse, ehh?) our Wild Bill, we’ll go visit the town where Wild Bill Hickock was gunned down from the back by Jack McCall while holding a dead mans hand (aces and eights) in a game of poker. Sheeeet, we’ll even have to go out to his memorialized grave site and tip some brewskies to the legend while we're certainly ensuring that our Wild Bill is getting totally inebriated.
One thing kinda interesting that I gotta mention about Wild Bill’s killer, Jack McCall, is that he got tried twice for the murder. The first time he was acquitted and set free and then later apprehended and found guilty and hung for his crime. Scary, the laws that they have in South Dakota, ehh?
I’m sure that there’s a shit load of other rollicking activities that we can get involved in and also a bunch of family doings around in the area - but I haven’t done enough research otherwise to discuss here at this time. I figure, myself, that about one tenth the population of South Dakota is related to me in some way or other, so I could catch up on some family ties and get rowdy drunk with cousins. Any of you guys and gals are welcome to join in, I’m sure. The Wheats family has always enjoyed a good time.
So whacha think? Whollapucklooza in 2008? Or another year? 2010 will be the 70th anniversary Sturgis Run. Wait til then and really whoop it up or what?
Jasper here - let me know what ya think.
Skate hard and walk with wood guys!
My guys from the Outlaws used to usually have an annual alumni game and dinner party scheduled before the end of the summer season where we all get together for a couple of fun hours of ice time, a decent meal and one heck of a lot of drinkin and carrying-on. Generally migrating to the west coast we’ve had these events in Southern California in such places as: Santa Barbara, Palm Springs, and La Jolla. My memory fails me a little bit once in a while now days but it seems as though we came inland a bit once and had one of these whollapuckloozas in Vegas too.
All of these, for sure, were really fuckin good times.
Damn though, we haven’t had one for a while. I really miss the free-for-all fun that we had at these celebrations and the chance to re-connect with folks that I’ve skated with over the years. I kind figure that one of the reasons we haven’t had one recently is that most of us now have finally gotten married, or gotten “real jobs” and have made commitments to another life style.
Bull crap guys! You can have that other lifestyle for 364 days of the year but for just one day you gotta drop that shit and bring back the glory of days gone by. You gotta walk with wood again. The days of losing on the ice but winning in the bar. Hell, the days of winning both! Bring the wife, bring the kids, heck all mighty bring the grandkids. It’s time these folks loosen their shorts a bit and learn how to have a good time! Ehh?
So I’m thinkin that I’ve still got a bunch of Outlaw buddies and I’ve now gained just a bucket-a-crap full of internet skaters that just might be interested in pulling together a whollapucklooza for next summer. Yeah, you're thinkin “why not this summer?” Well I tell ya, it just takes too much planning to pull off the perfect event - that’s why. Puckheads - sheeeesh!
You know depending on participation it might have to be more of a tournament sort of thing eventually. But we’ll see. Maybe hand out some awards and do a bit of personality roasting at the dinner.
The idea that I have right now - to get the right party atmosphere - would be to tie it into the Sturgis rally in August of next year in western South Dakota. That’s a pretty central location for points in Canada and the States. Sturgis is going on August 4th through the 10th next year so start thinkin about setting that time aside. Do a little scooter-tootin, do a little puck shootin, and do a hella lotta partying, ehh!
About half my old Outlaws are now Harley riders so I think the tie-in will work pretty well. There’s a story to that you know. Back when I was coaching the Outlaws, this was when they were semi-pro, we had a kid that had skated for Badger Bob on our team. Maco, had gotten out a school and went to work for NCR as a bullshit sales person. He sold a software package to Bank of America and was set for life. Being from the great state of Wisconsin, having a particular love for that state’s famous brand of motorcycle and having an entrepreneurial spirit he started up EagleRider Motorcycle Rentals. The guys from the team invested with him and in turn got a Harley themselves. Not a bad deal now is that, ehh? He’s fuckin worldwide now and if you’ve got the money and the right location he’ll sell ya a franchise. I’m betting that if you don’t have a bike and want to participate in the Sturgis bike activities then you can probably rent one from Eagle Rider. Just remember to do it way in advance because the Europeans like to come over big time and get involved and just might already have him rented out for next year. Can’t say for sure though. Check it out, ehh?
So what’s Western South Dakota got to offer besides all the scooter-tootin activities associated with Sturgis?
Rapid City has the ice rink and is only about twenty-five miles from Sturgis. Its the Roosevelt Ice Arena over on Waterloo Street. Rage Hockey Club skates there. So while we’re staying in town let me tell ya that there are about sixty hotels, fifteen campgrounds and ten bed and breakfasts to choose from. If ya got your vehicle or scooter tied up and ya got the family with ya then they or you can get over to the rink on the Rapid Ride transit system. If ya show your skates ya can ride for free to the rink. The city has over forty bars and over ten banquet halls to choose from yet for our festivities. Shit howdy if I’m not gettin a bit excited thinkin about this!
“What else?”, your saying.
Well, damn right if we aren’t in the Black Hills. Pan for gold, ehh? We’ve got Mount Rushmore to go see. You know that that’s going to be a daily little scooter-toot for the bikers so that should be hella fun time. You can do some trout fishin if your into that sort of thing. And then there’s Deadwood.
I’m thinking that we could make a special excursion to Deadwood. Its become pretty famous these days due to the cable TV show of the same name and the whole town is on the National Historical Register. But why a special excursion, ehh? The Outlaws have an alumnus that has always carried the nickname of Wild Bill. He’s now become highly respected in the medicinal herbs and pharmaceutical industry; but that’s another story to be told at a later date, I’m sure. So to celebrate (Hell, who needs an excuse, ehh?) our Wild Bill, we’ll go visit the town where Wild Bill Hickock was gunned down from the back by Jack McCall while holding a dead mans hand (aces and eights) in a game of poker. Sheeeet, we’ll even have to go out to his memorialized grave site and tip some brewskies to the legend while we're certainly ensuring that our Wild Bill is getting totally inebriated.
One thing kinda interesting that I gotta mention about Wild Bill’s killer, Jack McCall, is that he got tried twice for the murder. The first time he was acquitted and set free and then later apprehended and found guilty and hung for his crime. Scary, the laws that they have in South Dakota, ehh?
I’m sure that there’s a shit load of other rollicking activities that we can get involved in and also a bunch of family doings around in the area - but I haven’t done enough research otherwise to discuss here at this time. I figure, myself, that about one tenth the population of South Dakota is related to me in some way or other, so I could catch up on some family ties and get rowdy drunk with cousins. Any of you guys and gals are welcome to join in, I’m sure. The Wheats family has always enjoyed a good time.
So whacha think? Whollapucklooza in 2008? Or another year? 2010 will be the 70th anniversary Sturgis Run. Wait til then and really whoop it up or what?
Jasper here - let me know what ya think.
Skate hard and walk with wood guys!
Friday, June 29, 2007
I-Pod, I-Phone now I-Puck ?????????
Jasper here.
Summer’s great but I sure miss hockey season. How about you guys out there? Ehh? Still walking with wood are ya?
Hey you guys, did ya go out and get your new I-Phone yet? Nah? Me neither.
Well its supposed to be one super-duper device that Apple expects to sell a humongousillion of over the next couple of years. I’m hearing that folks camped out at retail outlets to be first in line to get these versatile little puppies.
Ya gotta have one ya know.
Got your I-Pod, now ya gotta go out and get your I-Phone. I guess.
So what else has Apple been up to? I don’t want to leave you guys in the dark so let me give ya little bit of the scoop that I’ve been hearing in the back woods. I’ve got to tell ya up front that it ain’t no good though and I’ll explain my opinions latter on. Ehh?
What I hear is that they’ve partnered with the NHL, Versus (Comcast) and some of the professional hockey equipment manufacturers. They’ve developed a new product that they’re going to call the I-Puck.
Yup, the I-Puck and you heard it here first; right from Jasper’s mouth.
The rumor is that it’s not just a new puck but a new way to play hockey. It’s going to re-invent the game.
The features of the I-Puck (so far that I’ve heard):
1) Will look and feel just like the standard issue NHL puck.
2) Includes a rechargeable battery for operating all of the digital features that’s good for about one and half hours or including a safety factor – about one period of play. (If this little sucker drizzles down to the beer leagues then on one charge it should last about a game.)
3) Comes with a docking system via integral waterproof USB port that recharges the battery and is used to download game data, player stats and vitals, syncs to the game clock, etc, etc.
4) Built in wireless video system with five lenses on each surface (one aiming straight out and the others at ninety degrees with a upward view at about a thirty degree angle off of vertical) and eight around the perimeter circumference each positioned at every forty-five to aim straight out from the center.
5) Includes a GPS system of military quality accurate to one centimeter and an override system that detects the position of the boards, red line, blue lines and goal lines via a precision proximity detection system.
But that’s not all that is required for this system to work. The docking station has to be connected to redundant high-end Apple computers with all the required encrypted multi-channel wireless video inputs. Below the ice a special proximity detection wiring system, connected back to the computer, has to be installed with wires located on both edges of coloring of the aforementioned lines. The boards have to have a similar proximity wiring system included. The detection system has to be directionally fine tuned so as to detect the puck or a player passing across the space perfectly perpendicular up to thirty feet above the ice surface.
Smaller wireless sending units, I-Skates, will be manufactured into each players’ skates and an I-EQ system will be wired into sox, pants gloves, helmets and jerseys. Each stick and blade will have the I-Stick system integral to them. These smaller sub-systems are nothing more the RF senders that the I-Puck and the rink wired system will detect.
The gist of this whole system of course is that we’ll now get some new camera angles as we watch the NHL on Versus. (I’m guessing that there will be some fee arrangement for local coverage networks to buy into the new system.) Another feature, one that the NHL really likes, is that all line infractions, goals, some delay of game calls, and too many men on the ice calls will now be handled by the I-Puck system. Basically linesmen will no longer be needed on the ice. They will now sit in a new enclosed area off ice between the two benches and will only jump on the ice to break up fights or the usual pushing and shoving. Rather than whistles they will carry electrical stunners and the NHL figures that after one season all rough stuff will be eliminated. The system will accurately award all goals and assists weeding out illegal high stick deflections and kick-ins. I’m hearing that when a goal is scored it causes the red light to come on and automatic bull horn or whatever organ blasting that the arena has and then after a programmed delay announces the goal scorer and assists not requiring the ref to award these points or a goal judge to turn the light on.
The NHL and Versus think that this is a pretty sweet upgrade to our game of hockey. Apple thinks that they’ll make millions off of it and get new major marketing channels world wide from it usage. As usual and as similar to the I-Phone it comes with a two year contract with major penalties for early termination.
Hogwash!
I think that this is bunch of crap. Sure maybe the new camera angles will be great and exciting but we’ve seen some of the ridiculous things that the TV networks have tried before to make our game “more viewer friendly.” So we’ll have to wait and see on this aspect of the I-Puck system.
But I’ll tell you guys that I’m really upset with this proximity detection system that calls infractions and awards goals and assists. Shit, the best part of watching a sporting event is being able to argue about the calls with your buddies, ehh. Ya know the comments, “It never crossed the line!” or “His stick wasn’t that damn high!” or “Pull your head out ref!” yadie, yadie, yadie. Hey and wait until the hackers figure out how to manipulate the system and really screw it up. Shit they probably won’t have to mess with the game’s entertainment value – I can just see all kinds of equipment delays as components malfunction over the course of a game. Delay for a broken pane of glass that’ll be nothing as compared to the “System Manager” calling time out because Crosby’s sending unit in his left skate quit working. Give – me – a – break!
And what do you guy’s think about eliminating goal judges and only using linesmen to break things up with stunners. That’s a bunch of horse pucky! Man we gotta bring back that old time hockey. I’m already so pissed off at the way that they’ve restricted so many of the defensive tactics that I was taught to use that I’m about ready to puke thinking about this stinking I-Puck. I gotta tell ya that when Don Cherry gets wind of this the shit is going to fly. The worst is - that damn two year contract.
You guys, whaddya think about this? Ya for it or like me against it? Ehh?
Let me know – leave a comment here or email me at hoduhn@sbcglobal.net.
Summer’s great but I sure miss hockey season. How about you guys out there? Ehh? Still walking with wood are ya?
Hey you guys, did ya go out and get your new I-Phone yet? Nah? Me neither.
Well its supposed to be one super-duper device that Apple expects to sell a humongousillion of over the next couple of years. I’m hearing that folks camped out at retail outlets to be first in line to get these versatile little puppies.
Ya gotta have one ya know.
Got your I-Pod, now ya gotta go out and get your I-Phone. I guess.
So what else has Apple been up to? I don’t want to leave you guys in the dark so let me give ya little bit of the scoop that I’ve been hearing in the back woods. I’ve got to tell ya up front that it ain’t no good though and I’ll explain my opinions latter on. Ehh?
What I hear is that they’ve partnered with the NHL, Versus (Comcast) and some of the professional hockey equipment manufacturers. They’ve developed a new product that they’re going to call the I-Puck.
Yup, the I-Puck and you heard it here first; right from Jasper’s mouth.
The rumor is that it’s not just a new puck but a new way to play hockey. It’s going to re-invent the game.
The features of the I-Puck (so far that I’ve heard):
1) Will look and feel just like the standard issue NHL puck.
2) Includes a rechargeable battery for operating all of the digital features that’s good for about one and half hours or including a safety factor – about one period of play. (If this little sucker drizzles down to the beer leagues then on one charge it should last about a game.)
3) Comes with a docking system via integral waterproof USB port that recharges the battery and is used to download game data, player stats and vitals, syncs to the game clock, etc, etc.
4) Built in wireless video system with five lenses on each surface (one aiming straight out and the others at ninety degrees with a upward view at about a thirty degree angle off of vertical) and eight around the perimeter circumference each positioned at every forty-five to aim straight out from the center.
5) Includes a GPS system of military quality accurate to one centimeter and an override system that detects the position of the boards, red line, blue lines and goal lines via a precision proximity detection system.
But that’s not all that is required for this system to work. The docking station has to be connected to redundant high-end Apple computers with all the required encrypted multi-channel wireless video inputs. Below the ice a special proximity detection wiring system, connected back to the computer, has to be installed with wires located on both edges of coloring of the aforementioned lines. The boards have to have a similar proximity wiring system included. The detection system has to be directionally fine tuned so as to detect the puck or a player passing across the space perfectly perpendicular up to thirty feet above the ice surface.
Smaller wireless sending units, I-Skates, will be manufactured into each players’ skates and an I-EQ system will be wired into sox, pants gloves, helmets and jerseys. Each stick and blade will have the I-Stick system integral to them. These smaller sub-systems are nothing more the RF senders that the I-Puck and the rink wired system will detect.
The gist of this whole system of course is that we’ll now get some new camera angles as we watch the NHL on Versus. (I’m guessing that there will be some fee arrangement for local coverage networks to buy into the new system.) Another feature, one that the NHL really likes, is that all line infractions, goals, some delay of game calls, and too many men on the ice calls will now be handled by the I-Puck system. Basically linesmen will no longer be needed on the ice. They will now sit in a new enclosed area off ice between the two benches and will only jump on the ice to break up fights or the usual pushing and shoving. Rather than whistles they will carry electrical stunners and the NHL figures that after one season all rough stuff will be eliminated. The system will accurately award all goals and assists weeding out illegal high stick deflections and kick-ins. I’m hearing that when a goal is scored it causes the red light to come on and automatic bull horn or whatever organ blasting that the arena has and then after a programmed delay announces the goal scorer and assists not requiring the ref to award these points or a goal judge to turn the light on.
The NHL and Versus think that this is a pretty sweet upgrade to our game of hockey. Apple thinks that they’ll make millions off of it and get new major marketing channels world wide from it usage. As usual and as similar to the I-Phone it comes with a two year contract with major penalties for early termination.
Hogwash!
I think that this is bunch of crap. Sure maybe the new camera angles will be great and exciting but we’ve seen some of the ridiculous things that the TV networks have tried before to make our game “more viewer friendly.” So we’ll have to wait and see on this aspect of the I-Puck system.
But I’ll tell you guys that I’m really upset with this proximity detection system that calls infractions and awards goals and assists. Shit, the best part of watching a sporting event is being able to argue about the calls with your buddies, ehh. Ya know the comments, “It never crossed the line!” or “His stick wasn’t that damn high!” or “Pull your head out ref!” yadie, yadie, yadie. Hey and wait until the hackers figure out how to manipulate the system and really screw it up. Shit they probably won’t have to mess with the game’s entertainment value – I can just see all kinds of equipment delays as components malfunction over the course of a game. Delay for a broken pane of glass that’ll be nothing as compared to the “System Manager” calling time out because Crosby’s sending unit in his left skate quit working. Give – me – a – break!
And what do you guy’s think about eliminating goal judges and only using linesmen to break things up with stunners. That’s a bunch of horse pucky! Man we gotta bring back that old time hockey. I’m already so pissed off at the way that they’ve restricted so many of the defensive tactics that I was taught to use that I’m about ready to puke thinking about this stinking I-Puck. I gotta tell ya that when Don Cherry gets wind of this the shit is going to fly. The worst is - that damn two year contract.
You guys, whaddya think about this? Ya for it or like me against it? Ehh?
Let me know – leave a comment here or email me at hoduhn@sbcglobal.net.
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Hockey's Secret Society
Earlier this week I happened to be reading a news report on ABC News’ website. It was a startling article by Marcus Baram titled “Did Bush’s Grandfather Steal Geronimo’s Skull?”
Holy shit!
The article hints that our president’s grandfather might have dug up and stolen, the famous Indian, Geronimo’s skull and femur back in 1917 for Yale’s Skull and Bones society. And that these artifacts might still be on display in the Skull and Bones “Tomb”.
I’m telling you guys that this is just hitting too close to home for me. I had to reread the article a couple of times and each time it gave me goose bumps. This is some scary coinkie-dinkie, ehh?
I probably shouldn’t be revealing the following facts but I’m going to anyway out of good conscience. That’s something that living in the backwoods teaches ya – get away with something for as long as you can but when its time (and you’ll know when that is) then ya just better fess-up.
So here’s the story you guys:
I mentioned several times how the Outlaws are such a tight band of bros. Ehh? You know it, you believe and you can relate to it. I told ya last week how to be an Outlaw ya had to have a certain charisma or we didn’t want ya playin for us. Right? Ya know the type I’m talking about. Somebody that could play the game fair enough, keep up with the drinkin and partyin and would have your six if ya needed it in a fight. Ehh?
The forefathers of the team, me included, had enough correct insight, to usually pick the right characters. Usually a season would tell for sure. At the end of the first season each player was invited to join our secret Crossed Stick Society. Yep!
You’re doubting this? No way guys! I've download a copy of our business card at the start of this blog. So go back and take a look above at our puck decal and business card. See the crossed sticks on both? Not kidding guys. Hey and read that shit on the business card. Whacha think we’re really up to, huh? Sorry but I had to black out the phone number because that puppy is still classified information.
Yup, we’re into some real live clandestine activities and some of those activities oh so closely mirror the ABC News article it just about scares the heebie-jeebies out a me.
We have a place where we gather for our Crossed Stick Society meetings. It’s in the back room of what used to be Happy Jacks Good Time Saloon. The place hasn’t gone by that name now for over twenty years, so the common folks wouldn’t be able to find it if they tried. Even when it did go by that name it was such a shit ass hole in the wall that most would have avoided it anyway.
We keep some sacred hockey trinkets there behind a secret door inside of the beer cooler. It just looks like a patch in the galvanized wall but we know better. So what’s in there, in the Cooler? Ehh? It makes me smile to think.
We’ve got some typical stuff. A couple of old raggedy, bloody, smelly jerseys from retired players. Yup they really stink to high heaven and we usually pass them around for a quick sniff at the beginning of meetings like you’d pass around a joint to get the party going.
What else? Lets see, we’ve got the first league cup that we won and that we all drank out of on that glorious night. Hell, my old man even drank outta that keepsake. Never been washed. Nope, and we occasionally pass it around at the end of a meeting filled with brew if we’re sober enough to remember. We’ve got a few teeth that we’ve put in epoxy shells and we’ve got one massive tape ball that Ry-Ry put together once. We’ve got JP’s goalie stick that has a puck mouse hole in it that one of Jingle’s slap shots left. – unbelievable. I’ll have to sneak a picture of that someday to show you guys. I think we’ve got a couple of pair panties and the some of the sacred foil that Vigor used to use.
Yeah, but we’ve got some more valuable things that have been snuck or stolen. Keith, one of my earlier defensive partners, came to us from Joliet. He was a big Blackhawks fan and Denis Savard was his favorite player as a kid. His dad used to get him into a couple of home games every year. He managed to sneak into the Hawks’ dressing room during the game and hid out in toilet stall during intermission between periods. Denny plopped down in the next stall and proceeded to have a couple of smokes while taking a dump. Keith snagged those butts and gave them to the Crossed Sticks Society to be forever stored in the cooler. We keep them in a baggy with like a -- toe-tag attached.
We’ve got a non-descript piece of plywood. Doesn’t look very important but it was tossed from the ice of a St. Louis Blues game. I figure that it must have been an away game because of I can’t think of an Outlaw that ever hailed from St. Louis. And it isn’t a piece of a stick blade either. Much more important then that. It’s a piece of the improvised back and spine protector that Doug Gilmore used to keep from getting damaged from cross checks while he parked in the slot on the edge of the crease. I don’t know who recovered it but it apparently broke off during a horrendous little battle and the linesman picked it up and tried to throw it into the time keeper’s bench. It missed and landed over the glass at the feet of a unaware spectator. Our guy snagged it up.
We’ve got some body parts too. Gavin who came outta Detroit had heard from his older sister in 1973 that her boss a surgeon was going to remove a bone from Gordie Howe’s wrist. She was an attending nurse in the surgery and managed to steal that little bone by doing a bit of switch-o-rama. I can’t tell if its his scaphoid or his trapezium, not being a doctor and all, but it ain’t very big either. We keep it inside an empty Mickey’s Big Mouth. I think Gavin had to trade some smoke to get it from his sister. But we’ve got it now.
But our biggest trophy item that we have is very hush – hush. You guys can’t tell anybody about this. We’d probably get prosecuted for some sort of international crime for this jewel. So keep it below the collar if ya know what I mean.
We’ve got one of Hobey Baker’s knee caps! Shhh …. keep it down. Don’t let anyone know. Ehh?
No, we didn’t dig it out of his grave back in Montgomery County, Pennsylvania where “most” of his remains rest, but it was one hell of an adventure how it ended up in the “Cooler”. We of the Crossed Stick Society keep this piece of Hobart Amory Hare Baker in a revered grape jelly jar submerged below some of Russia’s finest vodka.
For those of you that don’t know, Hobey Baker has an award named after him that the best collegiate hockey player wins each year. He was a phenomenal player at Princeton University in the early 1900’s. In my book – Hobey Baker was walking with wood. While at Princeton he was a member of the Ivy Club. History says that this was just an “eating” club but this story tends to indicate that it was similar to the Cross and Bones at Yale as a secret society. We tend to believe that it has its origination in Europe with ties to the Masons and Knights Templors or some other such secret and powerful secret organization. Some rumors of the Ivy Club hint that the boys were into some bare knuckle fisticuffs where much money was won and lost between the life-long members. Sounds like that fits well with a guy that’s buried in the state that the Flyer’s hail from.
Upon graduating from Princeton, Hobey began working for JP Morgan who we think had ties through his European education to this same Ivy Club. JP Morgan and his company were (and still is) a very powerful and wealthy institution.
World War I broke out and Hobey became a pilot and possibly shot down as many as three enemy planes before his own demise. He flew a Spad III that was painted Princeton’s colors – orange and black. I don’t know off the top of my head or not if he was shot down or crashed. But on December 21, 1918 he died near Toul, France, a town with medieval fortifications located on the Moselle River.
From here the official history gets a little dicey so we’ll pickup from Pittsie’s tale. Pittsie is an Outlaw from the 1990’s. He’s also a lawyer so I figure his story could be a little dicey too. I believe that he got his law degree from George Washington University and his folks (rich bastards on Edmonton oil or something) gave him an around the world trip as a graduation gift. About a year to see the sights and take it all in. Not bad ,ehh, for a puck head? It was a journey of heavy partying and he made many friends along the way.
He tells it that he spent about two weeks in Singapore, drinkin, eatin and waking up in places that he had no memory of getting to. He said that he had found a favorite little night spot that was mainly catering to the foreign crowd and partied his ass off there at the start of every evening. Where he ended up didn’t seem to matter. Ladies and liquor and good smoke is the way he described it. One night when he was getting pretty juiced up and boasting about his hockey abilities he was looped into some back and forth bull shit with a skinny little Frenchman named Xavier.
Xavier was down vacationing from a business venture in Vietnam that was being financed by J.P. Morgan. He said that he had also spent some time in Montreal working on diamond imports from South Africa. He was a fan of the Habs since then and he and Pittsie hit it off big time even though there must have been forty or so years difference in their ages.
They both scored some nukie that evening that they met but hooked up again the next night with a whole ‘nother load of shenanigans. So they get going on hockey again and Xavier says in his broken English, “You know the Hobey Baker, no?”
Pittsie a Canadian but wise in things American says “Oui, for fucking sure!”
Well they get talking about Hobie and Xavier lets on that his father and gang saw Hobie after he crashed in northeastern France during the first world war. “Oui., he was a liberator and his last words were “Viva la Club Ivy”. My father almost fainted upon hearing this.”
“His death then was quick but tragic after that and they helped to remove his remains from the orange and black plane and turn them over to the local authorities. That evening his dad’s gang went back to the wreck because of what Hobie had last said; hoping to find some relic or note pertaining to this secret society that they too were member’s of as passed down by there fathers and grandfathers. Not knowing what they’d find they were cautious so that the authorities wouldn’t see them there in the dark of night. They found nothing else except the bloody mess of Hobey’s crash. Some flesh and torn fabric was all they saw until the plane shifted from their combined weight and something fell. It was Hobey’s kneecap with a little flap of flesh. Feeling in awe of this man that they didn’t know and yet knowing he must be of their same secret society La Club Ivy they preserved and saved this chunk of soft tissue. They knew that someday someone will find meaning in it so they hid it away.”
Xavier told him that they hid it behind a loose cornerstone of a rampart on the northern wall of the fortification around Toul. The river was running high that night and it allowed them to reach this special stone by boat. As usual to movie stories that we’ve seen recently this stone was marked with the Masonic symbol.
Your thinking bullshit!!!!!!!!!
Pittsie was thinking it too. Just a drunken story, ehh. But Xavier says, No, monsieur, I’ve seen it too and placed things of value behind this same stone.”
Pittsie says, “Xavier,ya want another one?” And they party on for the night.
Before the end of his stay in Singapore Pittsie hooks up with some Ausy dude that joins him for much of the rest of the gift vacation. I can’t remember his name but I remember him well and skating with him a bit. He really sucked on the ice – beginner – but what the hey he seemed to appreciate the sport and that ain’t such a bad attitude. Ehh?
So you guys can guess what happens next in this story. They hook up with some honeys later on in Paris and the girls want to get out of town into the country. Pittsie on a whim asks them if they know where Toul is and if that is someplace they’d consider heading to. “Mais, oui! We’ll navigate.”
So off they go and it rains all of the two or so hour drive and continues raining through the night. The next day they wander around town while Pittsie is scoping out the river. He lets the Ausy guy in on his plan. “We go up river to Nancy and rent a sports boat for the day. Get the girls drunk so that they don’t really know what’s going on and see if we can find this loose stone in one of the north ramparts. With the rain last night the river will be high and we might get lucky.”
So off they went on their little adventure and several hours later had success by finding the right cornerstone. It was bigger and heavier then they expected but with some expert maneuvering of the boat and a little juggling they were able to reach inside the opening. Their were many strange things inside including a jeweled watch still attached to a wrist and gloved hand, some guns, leather wrapped documents and of course Hobie’s kneecap wrapped in an orange and black wool scarf. They took the kneecap – scarf and all and left one of the girl’s panties and bras in its place. What a kick – these guys were nuts-o!
Pittsie brought Hobies’ kneecap back to the states. He was sweating bullets going through customs fearing that they’d thoroughly search his luggage. Went smooth though. He kept it until he became an Outlaw and joined our Crossed Stick Society realizing how special this would be for us. It is one of our most treasured items and I hope you guys never tell anyone about it. I’d hate for his relatives to come asking for it back so that he can move on to hockey heaven or some other such bullshit claim. Its in our possession and as we all know from out lawyer friends like Pittsie – possession is nine-tenths of the law.
Jasper here – just crackin my ass for your pleasure. Later dudes and dudettes.
Remember: Skate Hard!
Holy shit!
The article hints that our president’s grandfather might have dug up and stolen, the famous Indian, Geronimo’s skull and femur back in 1917 for Yale’s Skull and Bones society. And that these artifacts might still be on display in the Skull and Bones “Tomb”.
I’m telling you guys that this is just hitting too close to home for me. I had to reread the article a couple of times and each time it gave me goose bumps. This is some scary coinkie-dinkie, ehh?
I probably shouldn’t be revealing the following facts but I’m going to anyway out of good conscience. That’s something that living in the backwoods teaches ya – get away with something for as long as you can but when its time (and you’ll know when that is) then ya just better fess-up.
So here’s the story you guys:
I mentioned several times how the Outlaws are such a tight band of bros. Ehh? You know it, you believe and you can relate to it. I told ya last week how to be an Outlaw ya had to have a certain charisma or we didn’t want ya playin for us. Right? Ya know the type I’m talking about. Somebody that could play the game fair enough, keep up with the drinkin and partyin and would have your six if ya needed it in a fight. Ehh?
The forefathers of the team, me included, had enough correct insight, to usually pick the right characters. Usually a season would tell for sure. At the end of the first season each player was invited to join our secret Crossed Stick Society. Yep!
You’re doubting this? No way guys! I've download a copy of our business card at the start of this blog. So go back and take a look above at our puck decal and business card. See the crossed sticks on both? Not kidding guys. Hey and read that shit on the business card. Whacha think we’re really up to, huh? Sorry but I had to black out the phone number because that puppy is still classified information.
Yup, we’re into some real live clandestine activities and some of those activities oh so closely mirror the ABC News article it just about scares the heebie-jeebies out a me.
We have a place where we gather for our Crossed Stick Society meetings. It’s in the back room of what used to be Happy Jacks Good Time Saloon. The place hasn’t gone by that name now for over twenty years, so the common folks wouldn’t be able to find it if they tried. Even when it did go by that name it was such a shit ass hole in the wall that most would have avoided it anyway.
We keep some sacred hockey trinkets there behind a secret door inside of the beer cooler. It just looks like a patch in the galvanized wall but we know better. So what’s in there, in the Cooler? Ehh? It makes me smile to think.
We’ve got some typical stuff. A couple of old raggedy, bloody, smelly jerseys from retired players. Yup they really stink to high heaven and we usually pass them around for a quick sniff at the beginning of meetings like you’d pass around a joint to get the party going.
What else? Lets see, we’ve got the first league cup that we won and that we all drank out of on that glorious night. Hell, my old man even drank outta that keepsake. Never been washed. Nope, and we occasionally pass it around at the end of a meeting filled with brew if we’re sober enough to remember. We’ve got a few teeth that we’ve put in epoxy shells and we’ve got one massive tape ball that Ry-Ry put together once. We’ve got JP’s goalie stick that has a puck mouse hole in it that one of Jingle’s slap shots left. – unbelievable. I’ll have to sneak a picture of that someday to show you guys. I think we’ve got a couple of pair panties and the some of the sacred foil that Vigor used to use.
Yeah, but we’ve got some more valuable things that have been snuck or stolen. Keith, one of my earlier defensive partners, came to us from Joliet. He was a big Blackhawks fan and Denis Savard was his favorite player as a kid. His dad used to get him into a couple of home games every year. He managed to sneak into the Hawks’ dressing room during the game and hid out in toilet stall during intermission between periods. Denny plopped down in the next stall and proceeded to have a couple of smokes while taking a dump. Keith snagged those butts and gave them to the Crossed Sticks Society to be forever stored in the cooler. We keep them in a baggy with like a -- toe-tag attached.
We’ve got a non-descript piece of plywood. Doesn’t look very important but it was tossed from the ice of a St. Louis Blues game. I figure that it must have been an away game because of I can’t think of an Outlaw that ever hailed from St. Louis. And it isn’t a piece of a stick blade either. Much more important then that. It’s a piece of the improvised back and spine protector that Doug Gilmore used to keep from getting damaged from cross checks while he parked in the slot on the edge of the crease. I don’t know who recovered it but it apparently broke off during a horrendous little battle and the linesman picked it up and tried to throw it into the time keeper’s bench. It missed and landed over the glass at the feet of a unaware spectator. Our guy snagged it up.
We’ve got some body parts too. Gavin who came outta Detroit had heard from his older sister in 1973 that her boss a surgeon was going to remove a bone from Gordie Howe’s wrist. She was an attending nurse in the surgery and managed to steal that little bone by doing a bit of switch-o-rama. I can’t tell if its his scaphoid or his trapezium, not being a doctor and all, but it ain’t very big either. We keep it inside an empty Mickey’s Big Mouth. I think Gavin had to trade some smoke to get it from his sister. But we’ve got it now.
But our biggest trophy item that we have is very hush – hush. You guys can’t tell anybody about this. We’d probably get prosecuted for some sort of international crime for this jewel. So keep it below the collar if ya know what I mean.
We’ve got one of Hobey Baker’s knee caps! Shhh …. keep it down. Don’t let anyone know. Ehh?
No, we didn’t dig it out of his grave back in Montgomery County, Pennsylvania where “most” of his remains rest, but it was one hell of an adventure how it ended up in the “Cooler”. We of the Crossed Stick Society keep this piece of Hobart Amory Hare Baker in a revered grape jelly jar submerged below some of Russia’s finest vodka.
For those of you that don’t know, Hobey Baker has an award named after him that the best collegiate hockey player wins each year. He was a phenomenal player at Princeton University in the early 1900’s. In my book – Hobey Baker was walking with wood. While at Princeton he was a member of the Ivy Club. History says that this was just an “eating” club but this story tends to indicate that it was similar to the Cross and Bones at Yale as a secret society. We tend to believe that it has its origination in Europe with ties to the Masons and Knights Templors or some other such secret and powerful secret organization. Some rumors of the Ivy Club hint that the boys were into some bare knuckle fisticuffs where much money was won and lost between the life-long members. Sounds like that fits well with a guy that’s buried in the state that the Flyer’s hail from.
Upon graduating from Princeton, Hobey began working for JP Morgan who we think had ties through his European education to this same Ivy Club. JP Morgan and his company were (and still is) a very powerful and wealthy institution.
World War I broke out and Hobey became a pilot and possibly shot down as many as three enemy planes before his own demise. He flew a Spad III that was painted Princeton’s colors – orange and black. I don’t know off the top of my head or not if he was shot down or crashed. But on December 21, 1918 he died near Toul, France, a town with medieval fortifications located on the Moselle River.
From here the official history gets a little dicey so we’ll pickup from Pittsie’s tale. Pittsie is an Outlaw from the 1990’s. He’s also a lawyer so I figure his story could be a little dicey too. I believe that he got his law degree from George Washington University and his folks (rich bastards on Edmonton oil or something) gave him an around the world trip as a graduation gift. About a year to see the sights and take it all in. Not bad ,ehh, for a puck head? It was a journey of heavy partying and he made many friends along the way.
He tells it that he spent about two weeks in Singapore, drinkin, eatin and waking up in places that he had no memory of getting to. He said that he had found a favorite little night spot that was mainly catering to the foreign crowd and partied his ass off there at the start of every evening. Where he ended up didn’t seem to matter. Ladies and liquor and good smoke is the way he described it. One night when he was getting pretty juiced up and boasting about his hockey abilities he was looped into some back and forth bull shit with a skinny little Frenchman named Xavier.
Xavier was down vacationing from a business venture in Vietnam that was being financed by J.P. Morgan. He said that he had also spent some time in Montreal working on diamond imports from South Africa. He was a fan of the Habs since then and he and Pittsie hit it off big time even though there must have been forty or so years difference in their ages.
They both scored some nukie that evening that they met but hooked up again the next night with a whole ‘nother load of shenanigans. So they get going on hockey again and Xavier says in his broken English, “You know the Hobey Baker, no?”
Pittsie a Canadian but wise in things American says “Oui, for fucking sure!”
Well they get talking about Hobie and Xavier lets on that his father and gang saw Hobie after he crashed in northeastern France during the first world war. “Oui., he was a liberator and his last words were “Viva la Club Ivy”. My father almost fainted upon hearing this.”
“His death then was quick but tragic after that and they helped to remove his remains from the orange and black plane and turn them over to the local authorities. That evening his dad’s gang went back to the wreck because of what Hobie had last said; hoping to find some relic or note pertaining to this secret society that they too were member’s of as passed down by there fathers and grandfathers. Not knowing what they’d find they were cautious so that the authorities wouldn’t see them there in the dark of night. They found nothing else except the bloody mess of Hobey’s crash. Some flesh and torn fabric was all they saw until the plane shifted from their combined weight and something fell. It was Hobey’s kneecap with a little flap of flesh. Feeling in awe of this man that they didn’t know and yet knowing he must be of their same secret society La Club Ivy they preserved and saved this chunk of soft tissue. They knew that someday someone will find meaning in it so they hid it away.”
Xavier told him that they hid it behind a loose cornerstone of a rampart on the northern wall of the fortification around Toul. The river was running high that night and it allowed them to reach this special stone by boat. As usual to movie stories that we’ve seen recently this stone was marked with the Masonic symbol.
Your thinking bullshit!!!!!!!!!
Pittsie was thinking it too. Just a drunken story, ehh. But Xavier says, No, monsieur, I’ve seen it too and placed things of value behind this same stone.”
Pittsie says, “Xavier,ya want another one?” And they party on for the night.
Before the end of his stay in Singapore Pittsie hooks up with some Ausy dude that joins him for much of the rest of the gift vacation. I can’t remember his name but I remember him well and skating with him a bit. He really sucked on the ice – beginner – but what the hey he seemed to appreciate the sport and that ain’t such a bad attitude. Ehh?
So you guys can guess what happens next in this story. They hook up with some honeys later on in Paris and the girls want to get out of town into the country. Pittsie on a whim asks them if they know where Toul is and if that is someplace they’d consider heading to. “Mais, oui! We’ll navigate.”
So off they go and it rains all of the two or so hour drive and continues raining through the night. The next day they wander around town while Pittsie is scoping out the river. He lets the Ausy guy in on his plan. “We go up river to Nancy and rent a sports boat for the day. Get the girls drunk so that they don’t really know what’s going on and see if we can find this loose stone in one of the north ramparts. With the rain last night the river will be high and we might get lucky.”
So off they went on their little adventure and several hours later had success by finding the right cornerstone. It was bigger and heavier then they expected but with some expert maneuvering of the boat and a little juggling they were able to reach inside the opening. Their were many strange things inside including a jeweled watch still attached to a wrist and gloved hand, some guns, leather wrapped documents and of course Hobie’s kneecap wrapped in an orange and black wool scarf. They took the kneecap – scarf and all and left one of the girl’s panties and bras in its place. What a kick – these guys were nuts-o!
Pittsie brought Hobies’ kneecap back to the states. He was sweating bullets going through customs fearing that they’d thoroughly search his luggage. Went smooth though. He kept it until he became an Outlaw and joined our Crossed Stick Society realizing how special this would be for us. It is one of our most treasured items and I hope you guys never tell anyone about it. I’d hate for his relatives to come asking for it back so that he can move on to hockey heaven or some other such bullshit claim. Its in our possession and as we all know from out lawyer friends like Pittsie – possession is nine-tenths of the law.
Jasper here – just crackin my ass for your pleasure. Later dudes and dudettes.
Remember: Skate Hard!
Saturday, June 16, 2007
Greek God - Chris Chelios
Here you have one of the best defensemen of all time. I rave about him often. Flat out right – the dude is one of my heroes. He’s 45 years old and just signed for another year with Detroit.
Fantastic!
He’s about three weeks older then Bronzy, my youngest brother. Bronzi’s still playing the game too. They’re both walking with wood – which is saying a lot. Though I never made it to the NHL (neither did Bronzy) at 49 – still skating – damn right. Ehh?
But Chelios, I mean what can I say guys. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I forgot to mention that he was born in Chicago. I think that makes him a US citizen. Hey it does doesn’t it? And when he was fifteen his family moved to Poway, a small town in the hills near San Diego. I think that makes Poway a famous town, ehh? The bass fishermen will tell ya different about what makes Poway famous.
Chris played junior hockey for the Moose Jaw Canucks and had a couple of college seasons with the Wisconsin Badgers. Now if Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan and the whole state of Wisconsin aren’t a couple of great places to be in the back woods then I don’t know shit.
You know he’s the oldest active player right now. He’s also got more penalty minutes then any active player. Give Sean Avery a few more seasons and that will change. Doesn’t he just play the best damn style of old time hockey? Yep, Sean walks with wood too.
Maybe those of you don’t know but Chelios was drafted in the second round (40th overall) by the Montreal Canadians in 1981. Take a look at some of the other greats from that draft: Al McInnis, John Vanbiesbrouck, Grant Fuhr, Ronny Francis, Bobby Carpenter, Mike Vernon, and Dale Howerchuk. Great players all of them! Ehh? But where are they today. Betcha don’t know this, but Kirk McCaskill, a pitcher for the Angels in the mid ‘80’s, was also in Chelios’ draft. He was picked 64th overall.
Back before Chris started playing Juniors he lived with his folks in Southern California. Well if you guys remember Gavin (Being Gavin) from one of my earlier tales; he got to play in a tournament with Chris. It must have been an open age group arrangement because Gavin was in his twenties at the time a Chris couldn’t have been sixteen yet. Gavin said that Chelios was a super star even then – just amazing or some shit as that. The tournament was being held at a mountain resort, maybe Squaw Valley, I don’t know for sure. But they all got to ski and Gavin said that Chelios didn’t know shit about how to do it. But that didn’t stop him none, no way. Gavin said that from the top of the slope Chris just went balls to the wall straight down. No slaloming or nothing. Just hauling ass – get outta my way fearlessness. Kinda like he plays hockey even today. He doesn’t back down from nothing.
Chris represented the US in four different Olympics – 1984, 1998, 2002 and 2006. He was the captain of the latter two and won a Silver Medal in 2002 at Salt Lake City. He’s also played in two World Cups, three Canada Cups, a whole bunch of NHL All Star games or whatever was played in place of it in several years.
After being with the Canadians he was traded to the Chicago Blackhawks in the summer of 1990. Earlier in the season he had shared co-captaincy with Guy Carbonneau in Montreal. Pretty damn impressive for an American kid in that cultured French Canadian city. Again in Chicago he was the captain from 1995 through 1999. Late in the season of ’99 he was traded to Detroit, where I now cheer him on.
Twenty-four seasons in the NHL and signed on for one more. Shitski that’s great. Detroit has been good to him too. In 2002 he won the Norris Trophy for the third time. He lead the league in plus/minus with an extremely impressive PLUS 40. Take that to the bank, ehh!
So what else did he do in the 2001/2002 season? Lets see he won the silver medal in the Olympics. He was a first team All Star. He and his Redwing buddies beat the Hurricanes for the Stanley Cup. That was the second time they engraved his name on Lord Stanley’s revered trophy. He had thirty-nine points in the regular season and fourteen in the playoffs. Not bad for a kid that was forty years old. You know, you ought to be impressed. I sure the fuck am.
One of the reasons that I’m glad Chelios resigned with Detroit is that if they make the playoffs again this year and he stays healthy, he’ll only need to play in two of the games to become the all time leader in playoff games played. Something, ehh?
So what will he do when he does decide to retire. I know he owns a couple of restaurants in Michigan, but those are just investments. I know that cuz of family and friends he summers often in Southern California. Kinda like a snowbird ehh? No way, he heads there to work out with some of the other supreme players in the league.
Maybe he’ll open up a restaurant in San Diego, LA or Orange County. His dad owned some classy joints for many years I hear. Or maybe he’ll show up in some pickup games with his brother Steve.
Steve’s an OK guy too. Shuffled around the minor leagues a bit; never getting to the big show like Chris. But damn if he isn’t the spittin image of Chris. Same Greek nose and olive skin. Just not quite as tall and shoots left instead of right as Chris does. Steve had a little bit of time playing in a beach roller hockey league that got some TV time. That was some crazy shit – I thought it might have a chance of making it big time. Yeah so much for this old fart’s opinions of things.
I remember playing in a tournament against a team that had Steve Chelios playing with them. Just a few things I recall about that event.
One – I thought it was Chris when he came in the rink.
Two – Steve dresses like an absolute hobo both on and off the ice. Must be the bachelor beach boy attitude or something. (Yep, a life I wish I coulda lived if it wasn’t my calling to the back woods.)
Three – Steve’s got a playing attitude like Chris’.
Four – I think we (Orange County Outlaws) got kicked out of the tournament after the first or second game because of our feistiness off ice after the game while still in the rink. I’m pretty sure that one of my defensive partners was throwing chairs and tables around out in the public area or snack bar.
Damn if we haven’t been kicked out of bunches of places. To be an Outlaw you had to be rowdy. You had to have a certain charisma to be allowed to have our logo on your jersey. We always proclaimed that if we couldn’t win on the ice then we’d win in the bar.
I guess that’s the difference between being a hack like me and being the Greek God Chelios. Chris put his priorities on the game, I put it on the party. Hooyah!!!
Hey guys that about wraps it up for another week. Skate hard, like Chelios and keep walking with wood my friends.
Jasper here pinching off another one.
Fantastic!
He’s about three weeks older then Bronzy, my youngest brother. Bronzi’s still playing the game too. They’re both walking with wood – which is saying a lot. Though I never made it to the NHL (neither did Bronzy) at 49 – still skating – damn right. Ehh?
But Chelios, I mean what can I say guys. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I forgot to mention that he was born in Chicago. I think that makes him a US citizen. Hey it does doesn’t it? And when he was fifteen his family moved to Poway, a small town in the hills near San Diego. I think that makes Poway a famous town, ehh? The bass fishermen will tell ya different about what makes Poway famous.
Chris played junior hockey for the Moose Jaw Canucks and had a couple of college seasons with the Wisconsin Badgers. Now if Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan and the whole state of Wisconsin aren’t a couple of great places to be in the back woods then I don’t know shit.
You know he’s the oldest active player right now. He’s also got more penalty minutes then any active player. Give Sean Avery a few more seasons and that will change. Doesn’t he just play the best damn style of old time hockey? Yep, Sean walks with wood too.
Maybe those of you don’t know but Chelios was drafted in the second round (40th overall) by the Montreal Canadians in 1981. Take a look at some of the other greats from that draft: Al McInnis, John Vanbiesbrouck, Grant Fuhr, Ronny Francis, Bobby Carpenter, Mike Vernon, and Dale Howerchuk. Great players all of them! Ehh? But where are they today. Betcha don’t know this, but Kirk McCaskill, a pitcher for the Angels in the mid ‘80’s, was also in Chelios’ draft. He was picked 64th overall.
Back before Chris started playing Juniors he lived with his folks in Southern California. Well if you guys remember Gavin (Being Gavin) from one of my earlier tales; he got to play in a tournament with Chris. It must have been an open age group arrangement because Gavin was in his twenties at the time a Chris couldn’t have been sixteen yet. Gavin said that Chelios was a super star even then – just amazing or some shit as that. The tournament was being held at a mountain resort, maybe Squaw Valley, I don’t know for sure. But they all got to ski and Gavin said that Chelios didn’t know shit about how to do it. But that didn’t stop him none, no way. Gavin said that from the top of the slope Chris just went balls to the wall straight down. No slaloming or nothing. Just hauling ass – get outta my way fearlessness. Kinda like he plays hockey even today. He doesn’t back down from nothing.
Chris represented the US in four different Olympics – 1984, 1998, 2002 and 2006. He was the captain of the latter two and won a Silver Medal in 2002 at Salt Lake City. He’s also played in two World Cups, three Canada Cups, a whole bunch of NHL All Star games or whatever was played in place of it in several years.
After being with the Canadians he was traded to the Chicago Blackhawks in the summer of 1990. Earlier in the season he had shared co-captaincy with Guy Carbonneau in Montreal. Pretty damn impressive for an American kid in that cultured French Canadian city. Again in Chicago he was the captain from 1995 through 1999. Late in the season of ’99 he was traded to Detroit, where I now cheer him on.
Twenty-four seasons in the NHL and signed on for one more. Shitski that’s great. Detroit has been good to him too. In 2002 he won the Norris Trophy for the third time. He lead the league in plus/minus with an extremely impressive PLUS 40. Take that to the bank, ehh!
So what else did he do in the 2001/2002 season? Lets see he won the silver medal in the Olympics. He was a first team All Star. He and his Redwing buddies beat the Hurricanes for the Stanley Cup. That was the second time they engraved his name on Lord Stanley’s revered trophy. He had thirty-nine points in the regular season and fourteen in the playoffs. Not bad for a kid that was forty years old. You know, you ought to be impressed. I sure the fuck am.
One of the reasons that I’m glad Chelios resigned with Detroit is that if they make the playoffs again this year and he stays healthy, he’ll only need to play in two of the games to become the all time leader in playoff games played. Something, ehh?
So what will he do when he does decide to retire. I know he owns a couple of restaurants in Michigan, but those are just investments. I know that cuz of family and friends he summers often in Southern California. Kinda like a snowbird ehh? No way, he heads there to work out with some of the other supreme players in the league.
Maybe he’ll open up a restaurant in San Diego, LA or Orange County. His dad owned some classy joints for many years I hear. Or maybe he’ll show up in some pickup games with his brother Steve.
Steve’s an OK guy too. Shuffled around the minor leagues a bit; never getting to the big show like Chris. But damn if he isn’t the spittin image of Chris. Same Greek nose and olive skin. Just not quite as tall and shoots left instead of right as Chris does. Steve had a little bit of time playing in a beach roller hockey league that got some TV time. That was some crazy shit – I thought it might have a chance of making it big time. Yeah so much for this old fart’s opinions of things.
I remember playing in a tournament against a team that had Steve Chelios playing with them. Just a few things I recall about that event.
One – I thought it was Chris when he came in the rink.
Two – Steve dresses like an absolute hobo both on and off the ice. Must be the bachelor beach boy attitude or something. (Yep, a life I wish I coulda lived if it wasn’t my calling to the back woods.)
Three – Steve’s got a playing attitude like Chris’.
Four – I think we (Orange County Outlaws) got kicked out of the tournament after the first or second game because of our feistiness off ice after the game while still in the rink. I’m pretty sure that one of my defensive partners was throwing chairs and tables around out in the public area or snack bar.
Damn if we haven’t been kicked out of bunches of places. To be an Outlaw you had to be rowdy. You had to have a certain charisma to be allowed to have our logo on your jersey. We always proclaimed that if we couldn’t win on the ice then we’d win in the bar.
I guess that’s the difference between being a hack like me and being the Greek God Chelios. Chris put his priorities on the game, I put it on the party. Hooyah!!!
Hey guys that about wraps it up for another week. Skate hard, like Chelios and keep walking with wood my friends.
Jasper here pinching off another one.
Sunday, June 10, 2007
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.
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.
Friday, June 1, 2007
REGGIE
Slapshot’s Paul Newman or ????
Last Monday, May 25th, Paul Newman announced that he was retiring from acting. He cited his reasons being that he was having memory loss and couldn’t act with the exceptional ability that he had been able to for so many years. Most of us that are reading this (myself included as the humble writer) here at Jasper Wheats’ hockey humor blog remember Mr. Newman best in the 1977 movie Slapshot.
I’ve enjoyed watching many other movies that Paul Newman was in such as The Hustler, Hud, Cool Hand Luke, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, and The Sting. One of his more recent and one of my favorite movies of all time that he was in along with Tom Hanks was Road to Perdition. He has been a superb actor since the 1950’s. His departure from the industry will surely be noted by others and I’m sure that his peers will honor him with some sort of lifetime achievement award in the near future. He deserves it. Yup!
Paul Newman walks with wood folks! There ain’t no doubt about it.
He’s been involved with auto racing for many years now and started a salad dressing company that I believe his daughter currently runs. Heck, he’s been married to Joanne Woodward for how many years now? That’s lasting power folks! That’s something to praise in a man that’s worked in a industry that just seems to destroy marriages with vigor.
What a classic movie Slapshot was! It’s oft referred to as having a cult following. I couldn’t agree more. Paul played the part of player/coach Reggie “Reg” Dunlop of the Johnstown Chiefs. The Chiefs were having financial difficulties. The players were having relationship issues. And the team was on the verge of success with a winning season and heading into the finals. I’ve just got so many memories from that film – the infamous Hanson Brothers with their glasses and foiled knuckles, the on ice strip tease, the fights and the dirty play. All for good drama and great hockey humor.
Lots of those guys in Slapshot were real actors that knew how to play hockey. Others were hockey players that got bit parts. I got to play against quite a few of them two different times in my career as my Outlaws played against the Celebrity Allstars, once for a charity event and once if my memory serves me right for a TV show. Those are stories for another time, but I do remember drinking in the bar after one of those games with Jerry Houser. Jerry played the part of Dave “Killer” Carlson and some of you might remember him in other movies like Summer of ’42. I busted up Houser’s elbow pretty good in the game and he was showing off how swollen it was and that he needed more beer to deaden the pain.
Yup, don’t we all?????????
Newman was the binding force for the Chiefs. He believed in them and made up shit all the time to get them motivated. I’ve been there and done that, for sure!
Ehh? You guys are wondering where the humor is this week. Well, maybe there ain’t going to be too much. Maybe this week it’s just about reminiscing the good times. Maybe it’s taking me back to days gone past – days I miss. Shit I’m just a stinky old fart. Now days, for me, it seems like the most difficult part of hockey is trying to find the top outside hole in my left skate when I’m trying to lace up. Ain’t that a bitch though?
I can remember a game many years ago now – can’t remember the name of the team we were playing against though. Might have been the Maroons, can’t say for sure. Can’t tell ya if we won or loss either. It ain’t important to my story, ya know.
I got cross checked from behind by Saul Swanke. Hell of a hockey player, hard ass with a killer slap shot. Story goes that when he was kid his dad used to give him shit (I mean big time shit – beatings, ya gotta walk home kid – that kinda shit) if he didn’t play well. It apparently inspired him because he really was a good player. He had a sweet girl named Sharon. Kept her on a leash. They broke up later and she’s now married to one of Bronzie’s and my friends. Get Christmas cards from her and her hubby every year now.
Saul used to take faceoffs against Jingles regularly. Lot of pushing and shoving. Both of them tough as nails. Each of em respecting the other though. Saul never knew the origination of the nickname “Jingles” and would call him Bo Jangles instead. Jingles liked to dance and can’t say that Saul ever had his dance card filled either. There was always one more tussle to toss in these guys. Good stuff, ehh?
So anyway, Saul hits me hard from behind almost directly across the ice from our bench. I go down with my right hand out, not able to tuck anything in, and snapped my humerus (upper arm bone) into three pieces. Colin had seen what happened and skated over to the bench yelling “Jasper broke his arm.”
My folks had been at the game and my mom asked me later how did Colin know so quickly that my arm was broken. I had to tell her that as I got into a sitting position against the far boards that my right arm just sort of flopped about. Pretty damn obvious if you ask me. Shit howdy mom! Bless her soul now. Ehh?
Dad drove me over to the hospital and they had an orthopedic surgeon start working on the break. Awfully damn sure that they cut my jersey, shoulder pads and tee-shirt off of me that night. The doc kept shooting me full of zylocaine every minute or so while he tried to stabilize the break.
He wanted to operate on me and screw the bones back together. I was obstinate to no end having some major fear of surgery at that time. I’d had surgery before but just recently a friend of friend had gone in to have pins removed from his ankle and went into a coma during surgery. Uh ahh! No sirree, they weren’t going to put me under. Just keep pumping me full of that hot shit cuz this thing is killing me.
They put me in a half cast (splint) with a bunch of elastic wrap and admitted me to the hospital. The next day folks at work were told what happened and my boss figured that I was pulling some shit because nobody, I mean nobody gets admitted to the hospital for a broken arm. So I had to explain the whole deal.
The bone was in three pieces, ehh. Looking back now, surgery with the screws would have been the best choice. But no, I couldn’t do that. Instead they put me in a hanging-arm-cast. The cast had a rope embedded in it out near my wrist that slung around my neck. The cast itself was huge with all kinds of extra plaster to add weight. The cast acted like traction and pulled down on my arm keeping the bones aligned. I had to sleep sitting up for four weeks until the bones had knit enough so that they could put me in a fiberglass cast for the last two weeks or so. The doc would cut a little bit away from the original cast right over the break each week as I went in to see him. By doing so it corrected the way my arm hung and resulted in a fairly close correct realignment. He said that if he’d a done the surgery he couldn’t have guaranteed as good a job. Patted himself on the back didn’t he?
I’ll tell ya I went pretty nuts while that arm healed. I lived alone in an old trailer at the time. Damn if that pup didn’t have a leaky roof and if we didn’t get one hell of a storm one night. I’m sleeping in a recliner (yup – that’s sitting up) and I wake up. Pretty normal cuz the arm would throb every night and I’d have to pace around after taking some good pain medication waiting for it to kick in. Except tonight I’m getting dripped on. And that wasn’t the only place dripping. I get out some pots and in the worst place slide my big cooler underneath. Later I’ve got to dump these utensils – what a pain that was with one arm.
There are a few other things that are a pain in the ass to take care of with only one functioning arm. I won’t get into that but I’ll tell ya you sure end up knowing who your friends are.
So I had the joneses real bad for hockey. If someone would come pick me up I’d go watch the boys play. I remember one game that I was at where damn near a bench clearing brawl cut loose. There was as much crap going on off the ice as there was on. The rink didn’t have proper benches nor penalty boxes. If ya had a penalty then you went and stood next to the scorekeepers shelf off ice. I just happened to be standing right there when this shit started and an opposing player in the box started going at with our player in the box. I grabbed the opponent around the neck with my good arm completely forgetting about my broken arm. I actually pulled him away off the rubber mat up on to some steps. Screw his edges, ehh! I guess I’m lucky that he didn’t fight back against me and only wanted at my team mate.
But crap a rammy if I didn’t want to play. Ya live it. Ya breath it. I had to have it.
Somewhere along the way I recall that the doctor said I could start doing some normal stuff a couple of weeks after getting out of the final cast. I figured that that meant being able to play hockey. Damn right, ehh?
I didn’t figure that I was ready to skate with the Outlaws right away because that was a might physical, but there was Sunday morning pickup that I could do. A lot of the same guys that I played with or against would be there but it would be just for fun and not as much contact.
I suited up and it was kind a hushed in the dressing room. Most of the guys were going to skate off their hangovers – morning hockey for adults is waaaaay different then night hockey.
I got out on the ice and warmed up before sides were chosen. I can’t say who was picking for the other side but Lance picked me.
Lance was a big ox of a dude. Always had been an opponent, he played center and would park just outside the crease. Was a bitch trying to move him. We’d been in a little fisticuff years earlier and there wasn’t much good blood between us or him and the Outlaws. He and Jingles would go at it regularly and every chance in a competitive game he tried to take out Woody – hated his guts. Ehh?
It was just pickup, so what the heck, I wouldn’t have to worry about him tearing my arm apart if we were on the same team.
The second or third season I was with the Outlaws, Lance’s brother Terry had been my defensive partner. Damn good skater. Not as big as Lance and maybe a bit more sane. They had come from Boston and Lance was one heck of a Bruins fan. He was bud’s with Phil Esposito and would party with him anytime the Bruins were in town. It doesn’t matter how bad ass you are – hockey players are tight.
Lance was one of those guys that you could say made Slapshot a cult film. Back in the day he’d watch it over and over again. His teammates nicknamed him Reggie for Paul Newman’s character from the movie. It stuck. All of us in the league eventually called him Reggie. To this day if you yell Reggie when he’s in a crowd he’ll respond. Crazy yeah, he was a fanatic of the movie. He even had a Johnstown Chiefs jersey that he’d gotten all bloodied up.
So here we are back at that first session of Sunday pickup after getting out of the cast. I’m just a little nervous worrying what if I fall or what if I get hit hard and re-break my dabgone humerus again. But crap I’ve got the joneses and I’ve gotta skate.
I’m off in never-never land worrying and Reggie yells, “Hey everybody, listen up! Wheats just got out of his cast and if anybody hits him ya gotta answer to me. So back off and give him a little room this morning.”
I couldn’t believe it. Reggie saying that shit! Nah, never in a million years!
He did though. Ain’t making this up. He did. An arch enemy for years and years gives me some respect.
From that day on Reggie, in my book, was walking with wood.
I haven’t seen him for a few years now but Bronzie and Jingles skate against him every once in while. It’s not the same as the old days. No longer enemies, but respected opponents, friends even -- that party together in the bar and even at their kid’s birthday parties.
Hockey memories – they are the best! Hockey friends – ya can’t live without them – can ya?
Skate hard guys!
Jasper here – walking with wood until the next time.
Last Monday, May 25th, Paul Newman announced that he was retiring from acting. He cited his reasons being that he was having memory loss and couldn’t act with the exceptional ability that he had been able to for so many years. Most of us that are reading this (myself included as the humble writer) here at Jasper Wheats’ hockey humor blog remember Mr. Newman best in the 1977 movie Slapshot.
I’ve enjoyed watching many other movies that Paul Newman was in such as The Hustler, Hud, Cool Hand Luke, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, and The Sting. One of his more recent and one of my favorite movies of all time that he was in along with Tom Hanks was Road to Perdition. He has been a superb actor since the 1950’s. His departure from the industry will surely be noted by others and I’m sure that his peers will honor him with some sort of lifetime achievement award in the near future. He deserves it. Yup!
Paul Newman walks with wood folks! There ain’t no doubt about it.
He’s been involved with auto racing for many years now and started a salad dressing company that I believe his daughter currently runs. Heck, he’s been married to Joanne Woodward for how many years now? That’s lasting power folks! That’s something to praise in a man that’s worked in a industry that just seems to destroy marriages with vigor.
What a classic movie Slapshot was! It’s oft referred to as having a cult following. I couldn’t agree more. Paul played the part of player/coach Reggie “Reg” Dunlop of the Johnstown Chiefs. The Chiefs were having financial difficulties. The players were having relationship issues. And the team was on the verge of success with a winning season and heading into the finals. I’ve just got so many memories from that film – the infamous Hanson Brothers with their glasses and foiled knuckles, the on ice strip tease, the fights and the dirty play. All for good drama and great hockey humor.
Lots of those guys in Slapshot were real actors that knew how to play hockey. Others were hockey players that got bit parts. I got to play against quite a few of them two different times in my career as my Outlaws played against the Celebrity Allstars, once for a charity event and once if my memory serves me right for a TV show. Those are stories for another time, but I do remember drinking in the bar after one of those games with Jerry Houser. Jerry played the part of Dave “Killer” Carlson and some of you might remember him in other movies like Summer of ’42. I busted up Houser’s elbow pretty good in the game and he was showing off how swollen it was and that he needed more beer to deaden the pain.
Yup, don’t we all?????????
Newman was the binding force for the Chiefs. He believed in them and made up shit all the time to get them motivated. I’ve been there and done that, for sure!
Ehh? You guys are wondering where the humor is this week. Well, maybe there ain’t going to be too much. Maybe this week it’s just about reminiscing the good times. Maybe it’s taking me back to days gone past – days I miss. Shit I’m just a stinky old fart. Now days, for me, it seems like the most difficult part of hockey is trying to find the top outside hole in my left skate when I’m trying to lace up. Ain’t that a bitch though?
I can remember a game many years ago now – can’t remember the name of the team we were playing against though. Might have been the Maroons, can’t say for sure. Can’t tell ya if we won or loss either. It ain’t important to my story, ya know.
I got cross checked from behind by Saul Swanke. Hell of a hockey player, hard ass with a killer slap shot. Story goes that when he was kid his dad used to give him shit (I mean big time shit – beatings, ya gotta walk home kid – that kinda shit) if he didn’t play well. It apparently inspired him because he really was a good player. He had a sweet girl named Sharon. Kept her on a leash. They broke up later and she’s now married to one of Bronzie’s and my friends. Get Christmas cards from her and her hubby every year now.
Saul used to take faceoffs against Jingles regularly. Lot of pushing and shoving. Both of them tough as nails. Each of em respecting the other though. Saul never knew the origination of the nickname “Jingles” and would call him Bo Jangles instead. Jingles liked to dance and can’t say that Saul ever had his dance card filled either. There was always one more tussle to toss in these guys. Good stuff, ehh?
So anyway, Saul hits me hard from behind almost directly across the ice from our bench. I go down with my right hand out, not able to tuck anything in, and snapped my humerus (upper arm bone) into three pieces. Colin had seen what happened and skated over to the bench yelling “Jasper broke his arm.”
My folks had been at the game and my mom asked me later how did Colin know so quickly that my arm was broken. I had to tell her that as I got into a sitting position against the far boards that my right arm just sort of flopped about. Pretty damn obvious if you ask me. Shit howdy mom! Bless her soul now. Ehh?
Dad drove me over to the hospital and they had an orthopedic surgeon start working on the break. Awfully damn sure that they cut my jersey, shoulder pads and tee-shirt off of me that night. The doc kept shooting me full of zylocaine every minute or so while he tried to stabilize the break.
He wanted to operate on me and screw the bones back together. I was obstinate to no end having some major fear of surgery at that time. I’d had surgery before but just recently a friend of friend had gone in to have pins removed from his ankle and went into a coma during surgery. Uh ahh! No sirree, they weren’t going to put me under. Just keep pumping me full of that hot shit cuz this thing is killing me.
They put me in a half cast (splint) with a bunch of elastic wrap and admitted me to the hospital. The next day folks at work were told what happened and my boss figured that I was pulling some shit because nobody, I mean nobody gets admitted to the hospital for a broken arm. So I had to explain the whole deal.
The bone was in three pieces, ehh. Looking back now, surgery with the screws would have been the best choice. But no, I couldn’t do that. Instead they put me in a hanging-arm-cast. The cast had a rope embedded in it out near my wrist that slung around my neck. The cast itself was huge with all kinds of extra plaster to add weight. The cast acted like traction and pulled down on my arm keeping the bones aligned. I had to sleep sitting up for four weeks until the bones had knit enough so that they could put me in a fiberglass cast for the last two weeks or so. The doc would cut a little bit away from the original cast right over the break each week as I went in to see him. By doing so it corrected the way my arm hung and resulted in a fairly close correct realignment. He said that if he’d a done the surgery he couldn’t have guaranteed as good a job. Patted himself on the back didn’t he?
I’ll tell ya I went pretty nuts while that arm healed. I lived alone in an old trailer at the time. Damn if that pup didn’t have a leaky roof and if we didn’t get one hell of a storm one night. I’m sleeping in a recliner (yup – that’s sitting up) and I wake up. Pretty normal cuz the arm would throb every night and I’d have to pace around after taking some good pain medication waiting for it to kick in. Except tonight I’m getting dripped on. And that wasn’t the only place dripping. I get out some pots and in the worst place slide my big cooler underneath. Later I’ve got to dump these utensils – what a pain that was with one arm.
There are a few other things that are a pain in the ass to take care of with only one functioning arm. I won’t get into that but I’ll tell ya you sure end up knowing who your friends are.
So I had the joneses real bad for hockey. If someone would come pick me up I’d go watch the boys play. I remember one game that I was at where damn near a bench clearing brawl cut loose. There was as much crap going on off the ice as there was on. The rink didn’t have proper benches nor penalty boxes. If ya had a penalty then you went and stood next to the scorekeepers shelf off ice. I just happened to be standing right there when this shit started and an opposing player in the box started going at with our player in the box. I grabbed the opponent around the neck with my good arm completely forgetting about my broken arm. I actually pulled him away off the rubber mat up on to some steps. Screw his edges, ehh! I guess I’m lucky that he didn’t fight back against me and only wanted at my team mate.
But crap a rammy if I didn’t want to play. Ya live it. Ya breath it. I had to have it.
Somewhere along the way I recall that the doctor said I could start doing some normal stuff a couple of weeks after getting out of the final cast. I figured that that meant being able to play hockey. Damn right, ehh?
I didn’t figure that I was ready to skate with the Outlaws right away because that was a might physical, but there was Sunday morning pickup that I could do. A lot of the same guys that I played with or against would be there but it would be just for fun and not as much contact.
I suited up and it was kind a hushed in the dressing room. Most of the guys were going to skate off their hangovers – morning hockey for adults is waaaaay different then night hockey.
I got out on the ice and warmed up before sides were chosen. I can’t say who was picking for the other side but Lance picked me.
Lance was a big ox of a dude. Always had been an opponent, he played center and would park just outside the crease. Was a bitch trying to move him. We’d been in a little fisticuff years earlier and there wasn’t much good blood between us or him and the Outlaws. He and Jingles would go at it regularly and every chance in a competitive game he tried to take out Woody – hated his guts. Ehh?
It was just pickup, so what the heck, I wouldn’t have to worry about him tearing my arm apart if we were on the same team.
The second or third season I was with the Outlaws, Lance’s brother Terry had been my defensive partner. Damn good skater. Not as big as Lance and maybe a bit more sane. They had come from Boston and Lance was one heck of a Bruins fan. He was bud’s with Phil Esposito and would party with him anytime the Bruins were in town. It doesn’t matter how bad ass you are – hockey players are tight.
Lance was one of those guys that you could say made Slapshot a cult film. Back in the day he’d watch it over and over again. His teammates nicknamed him Reggie for Paul Newman’s character from the movie. It stuck. All of us in the league eventually called him Reggie. To this day if you yell Reggie when he’s in a crowd he’ll respond. Crazy yeah, he was a fanatic of the movie. He even had a Johnstown Chiefs jersey that he’d gotten all bloodied up.
So here we are back at that first session of Sunday pickup after getting out of the cast. I’m just a little nervous worrying what if I fall or what if I get hit hard and re-break my dabgone humerus again. But crap I’ve got the joneses and I’ve gotta skate.
I’m off in never-never land worrying and Reggie yells, “Hey everybody, listen up! Wheats just got out of his cast and if anybody hits him ya gotta answer to me. So back off and give him a little room this morning.”
I couldn’t believe it. Reggie saying that shit! Nah, never in a million years!
He did though. Ain’t making this up. He did. An arch enemy for years and years gives me some respect.
From that day on Reggie, in my book, was walking with wood.
I haven’t seen him for a few years now but Bronzie and Jingles skate against him every once in while. It’s not the same as the old days. No longer enemies, but respected opponents, friends even -- that party together in the bar and even at their kid’s birthday parties.
Hockey memories – they are the best! Hockey friends – ya can’t live without them – can ya?
Skate hard guys!
Jasper here – walking with wood until the next time.
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