Jasper here again with a weekly entry to the world of hockey humor blogs.
Shit, you guys, I hope that this stuff is funny. Nobody ever leaves a comment so I don’t know if any of ya are even reading this happy horse shit that I write.
Dudes and dudettes – I’ve got an ego off the ice too. Let me know how I’m doing. Ehh? If ya are afraid to comment here then send an email to me through my alter-ego at hoduhn@sbcglobal.net.
This week’s story is about a fairly good buddy that I’ve had for more years then I can remember. Actually I can remember but it doesn’t add a damn bit of interest to the story. He’s a hard working sob but is temporarily unemployed, so he’s been on my mind a bit these days while I’ve been trying to find something for him to do.
I’ve always called him Robbie-O, of Irish blood, his nickname fits him well. He hasn’t always lived up here in the back woods. Trying the city every now and then as he’d hear about some fantastic job and move away for a while pursuing his dreams only to come up short in the end. Living in the camper of his old Ford pickup he’d get rousted regularly for parking overnight in front of someone’s home or in the parking lot of some business in town. Yup, he’s been sort of a gypsy I guess since we’ve been friends. But he’s good folks, guys. I mean, in my opinion, Robbie-O walks with wood.
Never having a lot of money for the finer thinks in life, he’s had to improvise quite a bit to get by. The camper has been his home more often then not and that suits everybody ok here in the backwoods. I’ve been successful myself most of the time and my property and my cabin are what I have to show for that. Robbie-O is welcome over here just about all the time. He won’t take advantage of me though, cuz that’s just not his nature. I’ve never known him to burden himself for too long on anybody else either.
Dabnabit if he isn’t a cheap skate though. He keeps that old truck running by not even hitting up Jakes Salvage Yard. He must know where every damn similarly modeled Ford has been dispatched to the north forty and hits on those derelicts, with the owner’s permission of course, to get replacement parts. Shit what else? His hockey gear is always used stuff, or least it always looks like someone else musta discarded it. Its all held together with duct tape, shoe-goo, or some other fandangled method of restoration. Since we played Batams together I don’t think I can recall him wearing a jersey that had his own name on the back.
Heck, I even remember several different times, when I knew that he had a decent job and health insurance, that after taking a high stick or a puck in the face that he wouldn’t go down to the clinic for stitches. Damned if he wouldn’t sew himself back up. Guys, I’m telling ya I could never do that. Ehh?
He’d snag tape balls out of the trash can for reuse and always snagged up broken sticks for repair. I guess he’s got fiberglassin down to a fine art. He loves his hockey just as much as you and I do.
His ma and pa are still kickin up dirt and surviving on a railroad pension. Seems as if I hadn’t heard that his pa coulda gone pro right from Juniors ‘cept that he fell in love with the trains that used to run the team to distant destinations and joined the SOO line the summer before his last year of playing. They let him continue playing that following winter but when the draft came up he turned down offers that would have sent him down to Greensboro or some such place to play his first year. The rails were where he wanted to be. So be it, ehh?
His ma, ya’d think she was mainly Italian instead of Irish the way she liked to cook. She wasn’t always fixin meat and potatoes like the rest of was eatin. She be fixin skeaty and meat balls or ravioli or some such other spiced up shit. I can always tell when Robbie-O’s been home for dinner, cuz once he’d start sweatin out there on the ice, he’d just reek as that garlic would start squeezing outta his pores. Kinda embedded itself in his gear too. Though I really like the guy, ya don’t want to sit next to him in the dressin room. He’ll open up that gear bag and that odor will about make ya pass out or puke. Mercy that smell was some kind a bad.
Robbie-O was cheap. There’s no doubt about that. Anymore when he gets out on the ice, it’s usually when we’re using him as a substitute for somebody that didn’t show up but had already paid for the season. It’s completely illegal according to league rules but none of the other teams knew who he was. Shit the nearest team that we play against has their home ice about thirty-seven miles off to the northeast. And, well, the local ref’s if they saw him suited up they’d mention it to us real casual like and we’d buy them a beer or two later. Like I said earlier – lately he’s never wearin a jersey with his name on the back.
One of the things sad about Robbie-O is that quite often he runs a length of bad luck with him. I member a time back a few years ago when he had a fairly decent job running a grain truck from western North Dakota down to General Mills in the Cities. Seems as though he had the job for about six months or so. He was able to pay off some bills at the grocery, etc, and was seeming to get back on his feet somewhat. He had been needing some new rubber for the Ford so he got himself a new set of highway/camper rated treads all around. For a guy like Robbie-O this was a big deal. Ehh?
It wasn’t but about a week later when he was playin some $5 dollar Friday night pickup that some punk kid or vandalous shit head decided to ice pick the tires of about seven or eight cars in the parking lot. Yup, Robbie-O’s new ones got stabbed each and every one. Right in the damn side wall! Ya couldn’t patch’em or plug em, which Robbie-O knew how to do, but ya had to put tubes in em. Being that they were new tires, this time he wasn’t going to use some salvage tubes so he spent another hundred and fifty or so on putting in the tubes and re-balancing, the whole kit and caboodle. Cheap pickup game – but damned expensive night for my bud!
Oh the tales I could tell. I’m telling ya it was good thing he had that camper cuz ya wouldn’t believe how many times he ran out of gas coming back from road trips just trying to get back to get cheap-ass gas at the Circle-K over in Whompton.
And just a couple of weeks ago before he entered his most recent period of unemployment, he went to an early afternoon free clinic at the rink. Cheap ass bastard can’t get enough ice time these days at $20 a session or $400 for a twenty game season plus playoffs if your team can get there. Whad’ya want ehh?
Anyway, it’s a free skate and he’s digin it. It was only supposed to last about an hour and about half way through it the shit came down. According to him, he’s skatin in from the left point, stick handling a bit, gets just about past the face off dot entering the slot when he leans into his left leg to take a wrister when he goes down. It’s a clinic, right? So nobody hit him, ehh? He just went down. Something in his left leg snapped. He figured that he had broken it, cuz every time he tried to get up, he fell right back down. Said he couldn’t feel his left leg at all.
He kept trying to get up but couldn’t manage it and ended up yelling at some kid’s dad. The dad and his son (said he might have been an older Midget) helped him off the ice and he used his stick as a crutch/cane to get to the dressin room. He said by then the pain had started to set in and it was real bitch to get his gear off. He said to me “Jasper, I’m telling ya, I got pretty light headed in that dressing room. And there wasn’t anybody in there with me. Kinda scared me that I might just pass my ass out.”
He broke out in a sweat and sat there for a bit and then hobbled out of the dressin room using his stick as a crutch again. Told me that he felt purty embarrassed but he had to ask some kid to carry his gear bag out to the truck. Got it all in the truck and himself too. Damn good thing that old Ford is an automatic. He managed to drive himself over to the clinic in pain for sure and worrying that they’d have to operate or put him in a half-body cast cuz he figured that it was his hip that was busted. Shit for howdy if the medical folks ended up telling him that he hadn’t broke anything but probably had a deep muscle or soft tissue tear. Maybe pinched his sciatic nerve real good which was why he couldn’t feel his left leg.
Anyway when I saw him yesterday he told me that his left leg had been bruised from his hind cheek down to his ankle. And that that dabgone ”free skate” had cost him over $250 for the clinic and the pain pill prescriptions.
That’s his luck, Robbie-O, the cheap skate.
He’s still my bud. He’s still walking with wood – though a little painfully right now.
Monday, April 30, 2007
Cheap Skate
Jasper here again with a weekly entry to the world of hockey humor blogs.
Shit, you guys, I hope that this stuff is funny. Nobody ever leaves a comment so I don’t know if any of ya are even reading this happy horse shit that I write.
Dudes and dudettes – I’ve got an ego off the ice too. Let me know how I’m doing. Ehh? If ya are afraid to comment here then send an email to me through my alter-ego at hoduhn@sbcglobal.net.
This week’s story is about a fairly good buddy that I’ve had for more years then I can remember. Actually I can remember but it doesn’t add a damn bit of interest to the story. He’s a hard working sob but is temporarily unemployed, so he’s been on my mind a bit these days while I’ve been trying to find something for him to do.
I’ve always called him Robbie-O, of Irish blood, his nickname fits him well. He hasn’t always lived up here in the back woods. Trying the city every now and then as he’d hear about some fantastic job and move away for a while pursuing his dreams only to come up short in the end. Living in the camper of his old Ford pickup he’d get rousted regularly for parking overnight in front of someone’s home or in the parking lot of some business in town. Yup, he’s been sort of a gypsy I guess since we’ve been friends. But he’s good folks, guys. I mean, in my opinion, Robbie-O walks with wood.
Never having a lot of money for the finer thinks in life, he’s had to improvise quite a bit to get by. The camper has been his home more often then not and that suits everybody ok here in the backwoods. I’ve been successful myself most of the time and my property and my cabin are what I have to show for that. Robbie-O is welcome over here just about all the time. He won’t take advantage of me though, cuz that’s just not his nature. I’ve never known him to burden himself for too long on anybody else either.
Dabnabit if he isn’t a cheap skate though. He keeps that old truck running by not even hitting up Jakes Salvage Yard. He must know where every damn similarly modeled Ford has been dispatched to the north forty and hits on those derelicts, with the owner’s permission of course, to get replacement parts. Shit what else? His hockey gear is always used stuff, or least it always looks like someone else musta discarded it. Its all held together with duct tape, shoe-goo, or some other fandangled method of restoration. Since we played Batams together I don’t think I can recall him wearing a jersey that had his own name on the back.
Heck, I even remember several different times, when I knew that he had a decent job and health insurance, that after taking a high stick or a puck in the face that he wouldn’t go down to the clinic for stitches. Damned if he wouldn’t sew himself back up. Guys, I’m telling ya I could never do that. Ehh?
He’d snag tape balls out of the trash can for reuse and always snagged up broken sticks for repair. I guess he’s got fiberglassin down to a fine art. He loves his hockey just as much as you and I do.
His ma and pa are still kickin up dirt and surviving on a railroad pension. Seems as if I hadn’t heard that his pa coulda gone pro right from Juniors ‘cept that he fell in love with the trains that used to run the team to distant destinations and joined the SOO line the summer before his last year of playing. They let him continue playing that following winter but when the draft came up he turned down offers that would have sent him down to Greensboro or some such place to play his first year. The rails were where he wanted to be. So be it, ehh?
His ma, ya’d think she was mainly Italian instead of Irish the way she liked to cook. She wasn’t always fixin meat and potatoes like the rest of was eatin. She be fixin skeaty and meat balls or ravioli or some such other spiced up shit. I can always tell when Robbie-O’s been home for dinner, cuz once he’d start sweatin out there on the ice, he’d just reek as that garlic would start squeezing outta his pores. Kinda embedded itself in his gear too. Though I really like the guy, ya don’t want to sit next to him in the dressin room. He’ll open up that gear bag and that odor will about make ya pass out or puke. Mercy that smell was some kind a bad.
Robbie-O was cheap. There’s no doubt about that. Anymore when he gets out on the ice, it’s usually when we’re using him as a substitute for somebody that didn’t show up but had already paid for the season. It’s completely illegal according to league rules but none of the other teams knew who he was. Shit the nearest team that we play against has their home ice about thirty-seven miles off to the northeast. And, well, the local ref’s if they saw him suited up they’d mention it to us real casual like and we’d buy them a beer or two later. Like I said earlier – lately he’s never wearin a jersey with his name on the back.
One of the things sad about Robbie-O is that quite often he runs a length of bad luck with him. I member a time back a few years ago when he had a fairly decent job running a grain truck from western North Dakota down to General Mills in the Cities. Seems as though he had the job for about six months or so. He was able to pay off some bills at the grocery, etc, and was seeming to get back on his feet somewhat. He had been needing some new rubber for the Ford so he got himself a new set of highway/camper rated treads all around. For a guy like Robbie-O this was a big deal. Ehh?
It wasn’t but about a week later when he was playin some $5 dollar Friday night pickup that some punk kid or vandalous shit head decided to ice pick the tires of about seven or eight cars in the parking lot. Yup, Robbie-O’s new ones got stabbed each and every one. Right in the damn side wall! Ya couldn’t patch’em or plug em, which Robbie-O knew how to do, but ya had to put tubes in em. Being that they were new tires, this time he wasn’t going to use some salvage tubes so he spent another hundred and fifty or so on putting in the tubes and re-balancing, the whole kit and caboodle. Cheap pickup game – but damned expensive night for my bud!
Oh the tales I could tell. I’m telling ya it was good thing he had that camper cuz ya wouldn’t believe how many times he ran out of gas coming back from road trips just trying to get back to get cheap-ass gas at the Circle-K over in Whompton.
And just a couple of weeks ago before he entered his most recent period of unemployment, he went to an early afternoon free clinic at the rink. Cheap ass bastard can’t get enough ice time these days at $20 a session or $400 for a twenty game season plus playoffs if your team can get there. Whad’ya want ehh?
Anyway, it’s a free skate and he’s digin it. It was only supposed to last about an hour and about half way through it the shit came down. According to him, he’s skatin in from the left point, stick handling a bit, gets just about past the face off dot entering the slot when he leans into his left leg to take a wrister when he goes down. It’s a clinic, right? So nobody hit him, ehh? He just went down. Something in his left leg snapped. He figured that he had broken it, cuz every time he tried to get up, he fell right back down. Said he couldn’t feel his left leg at all.
He kept trying to get up but couldn’t manage it and ended up yelling at some kid’s dad. The dad and his son (said he might have been an older Midget) helped him off the ice and he used his stick as a crutch/cane to get to the dressin room. He said by then the pain had started to set in and it was real bitch to get his gear off. He said to me “Jasper, I’m telling ya, I got pretty light headed in that dressing room. And there wasn’t anybody in there with me. Kinda scared me that I might just pass my ass out.”
He broke out in a sweat and sat there for a bit and then hobbled out of the dressin room using his stick as a crutch again. Told me that he felt purty embarrassed but he had to ask some kid to carry his gear bag out to the truck. Got it all in the truck and himself too. Damn good thing that old Ford is an automatic. He managed to drive himself over to the clinic in pain for sure and worrying that they’d have to operate or put him in a half-body cast cuz he figured that it was his hip that was busted. Shit for howdy if the medical folks ended up telling him that he hadn’t broke anything but probably had a deep muscle or soft tissue tear. Maybe pinched his sciatic nerve real good which was why he couldn’t feel his left leg.
Anyway when I saw him yesterday he told me that his left leg had been bruised from his hind cheek down to his ankle. And that that dabgone ”free skate” had cost him over $250 for the clinic and the pain pill prescriptions.
That’s his luck, Robbie-O, the cheap skate.
He’s still my bud. He’s still walking with wood – though a little painfully right now.
Shit, you guys, I hope that this stuff is funny. Nobody ever leaves a comment so I don’t know if any of ya are even reading this happy horse shit that I write.
Dudes and dudettes – I’ve got an ego off the ice too. Let me know how I’m doing. Ehh? If ya are afraid to comment here then send an email to me through my alter-ego at hoduhn@sbcglobal.net.
This week’s story is about a fairly good buddy that I’ve had for more years then I can remember. Actually I can remember but it doesn’t add a damn bit of interest to the story. He’s a hard working sob but is temporarily unemployed, so he’s been on my mind a bit these days while I’ve been trying to find something for him to do.
I’ve always called him Robbie-O, of Irish blood, his nickname fits him well. He hasn’t always lived up here in the back woods. Trying the city every now and then as he’d hear about some fantastic job and move away for a while pursuing his dreams only to come up short in the end. Living in the camper of his old Ford pickup he’d get rousted regularly for parking overnight in front of someone’s home or in the parking lot of some business in town. Yup, he’s been sort of a gypsy I guess since we’ve been friends. But he’s good folks, guys. I mean, in my opinion, Robbie-O walks with wood.
Never having a lot of money for the finer thinks in life, he’s had to improvise quite a bit to get by. The camper has been his home more often then not and that suits everybody ok here in the backwoods. I’ve been successful myself most of the time and my property and my cabin are what I have to show for that. Robbie-O is welcome over here just about all the time. He won’t take advantage of me though, cuz that’s just not his nature. I’ve never known him to burden himself for too long on anybody else either.
Dabnabit if he isn’t a cheap skate though. He keeps that old truck running by not even hitting up Jakes Salvage Yard. He must know where every damn similarly modeled Ford has been dispatched to the north forty and hits on those derelicts, with the owner’s permission of course, to get replacement parts. Shit what else? His hockey gear is always used stuff, or least it always looks like someone else musta discarded it. Its all held together with duct tape, shoe-goo, or some other fandangled method of restoration. Since we played Batams together I don’t think I can recall him wearing a jersey that had his own name on the back.
Heck, I even remember several different times, when I knew that he had a decent job and health insurance, that after taking a high stick or a puck in the face that he wouldn’t go down to the clinic for stitches. Damned if he wouldn’t sew himself back up. Guys, I’m telling ya I could never do that. Ehh?
He’d snag tape balls out of the trash can for reuse and always snagged up broken sticks for repair. I guess he’s got fiberglassin down to a fine art. He loves his hockey just as much as you and I do.
His ma and pa are still kickin up dirt and surviving on a railroad pension. Seems as if I hadn’t heard that his pa coulda gone pro right from Juniors ‘cept that he fell in love with the trains that used to run the team to distant destinations and joined the SOO line the summer before his last year of playing. They let him continue playing that following winter but when the draft came up he turned down offers that would have sent him down to Greensboro or some such place to play his first year. The rails were where he wanted to be. So be it, ehh?
His ma, ya’d think she was mainly Italian instead of Irish the way she liked to cook. She wasn’t always fixin meat and potatoes like the rest of was eatin. She be fixin skeaty and meat balls or ravioli or some such other spiced up shit. I can always tell when Robbie-O’s been home for dinner, cuz once he’d start sweatin out there on the ice, he’d just reek as that garlic would start squeezing outta his pores. Kinda embedded itself in his gear too. Though I really like the guy, ya don’t want to sit next to him in the dressin room. He’ll open up that gear bag and that odor will about make ya pass out or puke. Mercy that smell was some kind a bad.
Robbie-O was cheap. There’s no doubt about that. Anymore when he gets out on the ice, it’s usually when we’re using him as a substitute for somebody that didn’t show up but had already paid for the season. It’s completely illegal according to league rules but none of the other teams knew who he was. Shit the nearest team that we play against has their home ice about thirty-seven miles off to the northeast. And, well, the local ref’s if they saw him suited up they’d mention it to us real casual like and we’d buy them a beer or two later. Like I said earlier – lately he’s never wearin a jersey with his name on the back.
One of the things sad about Robbie-O is that quite often he runs a length of bad luck with him. I member a time back a few years ago when he had a fairly decent job running a grain truck from western North Dakota down to General Mills in the Cities. Seems as though he had the job for about six months or so. He was able to pay off some bills at the grocery, etc, and was seeming to get back on his feet somewhat. He had been needing some new rubber for the Ford so he got himself a new set of highway/camper rated treads all around. For a guy like Robbie-O this was a big deal. Ehh?
It wasn’t but about a week later when he was playin some $5 dollar Friday night pickup that some punk kid or vandalous shit head decided to ice pick the tires of about seven or eight cars in the parking lot. Yup, Robbie-O’s new ones got stabbed each and every one. Right in the damn side wall! Ya couldn’t patch’em or plug em, which Robbie-O knew how to do, but ya had to put tubes in em. Being that they were new tires, this time he wasn’t going to use some salvage tubes so he spent another hundred and fifty or so on putting in the tubes and re-balancing, the whole kit and caboodle. Cheap pickup game – but damned expensive night for my bud!
Oh the tales I could tell. I’m telling ya it was good thing he had that camper cuz ya wouldn’t believe how many times he ran out of gas coming back from road trips just trying to get back to get cheap-ass gas at the Circle-K over in Whompton.
And just a couple of weeks ago before he entered his most recent period of unemployment, he went to an early afternoon free clinic at the rink. Cheap ass bastard can’t get enough ice time these days at $20 a session or $400 for a twenty game season plus playoffs if your team can get there. Whad’ya want ehh?
Anyway, it’s a free skate and he’s digin it. It was only supposed to last about an hour and about half way through it the shit came down. According to him, he’s skatin in from the left point, stick handling a bit, gets just about past the face off dot entering the slot when he leans into his left leg to take a wrister when he goes down. It’s a clinic, right? So nobody hit him, ehh? He just went down. Something in his left leg snapped. He figured that he had broken it, cuz every time he tried to get up, he fell right back down. Said he couldn’t feel his left leg at all.
He kept trying to get up but couldn’t manage it and ended up yelling at some kid’s dad. The dad and his son (said he might have been an older Midget) helped him off the ice and he used his stick as a crutch/cane to get to the dressin room. He said by then the pain had started to set in and it was real bitch to get his gear off. He said to me “Jasper, I’m telling ya, I got pretty light headed in that dressing room. And there wasn’t anybody in there with me. Kinda scared me that I might just pass my ass out.”
He broke out in a sweat and sat there for a bit and then hobbled out of the dressin room using his stick as a crutch again. Told me that he felt purty embarrassed but he had to ask some kid to carry his gear bag out to the truck. Got it all in the truck and himself too. Damn good thing that old Ford is an automatic. He managed to drive himself over to the clinic in pain for sure and worrying that they’d have to operate or put him in a half-body cast cuz he figured that it was his hip that was busted. Shit for howdy if the medical folks ended up telling him that he hadn’t broke anything but probably had a deep muscle or soft tissue tear. Maybe pinched his sciatic nerve real good which was why he couldn’t feel his left leg.
Anyway when I saw him yesterday he told me that his left leg had been bruised from his hind cheek down to his ankle. And that that dabgone ”free skate” had cost him over $250 for the clinic and the pain pill prescriptions.
That’s his luck, Robbie-O, the cheap skate.
He’s still my bud. He’s still walking with wood – though a little painfully right now.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Flows-A-Lot
Yup, I’ve been watching the Stanley Cup Playoffs now for a week or so and we’ve got most of the first round wound up. Detroit and Calgary are yet to play this evening and I’m going to cheer for the Wings. Why? Well, mainly for Chelios – he’s one of my heroes! The dude is forty-five, I think. That’s really saying something for an athlete to be performing at this level at his age. Dab-nab-it! He even got a goal yesterday. He’s been walking with wood for a heck of a long time!
So have you guys been watching the games too? Whad’ya think of the commercials? I still want the Dodge Caliber commercial back with the red headed fairy. Some hotty, ehh?
I’m thinking of one of the more recent commercials that shows some older guys riding bikes and canoeing together. In one of the scenes you see one of the guys coming out of a public restroom. Do you know which ad I’m thinking of?
They’re advertising a medication for men and their little walnut sized pumping gland – the prostate. They’re talking about the Big C and inflammation and slow flow, etc etc………. They don’t bother to mention the old latex gloved finger and KY’d up the old poop shoot to check on things. But brothers, when ya get older its something you can look forward to. Yeah laugh out loud on that one kids.
I’ve got a medication that I take that I’ll call Flows-A-Lot. Ladies – you know which one I mean – it keeps ya from getting bloated. These little pills make ya piss like a race horse. I take it, cuz I’m an old fart, to keep my blood pressure down. The theory of it is that if you don’t have a lot a fluid in your system then you won’t have as high of blood pressure if you did.
But Flows-A-Lot is a hockey player’s calamity and I only take it in the morning.
Here’s my pre-game ritual:
1) Come home from work and eat a light dinner
2) Take a pre-game nap
3) Get up from nap and take a piss and maybe a dump
4) Take two aspirins preparing for the later pain I know I’m going to have
5) Pack my gear bag and grab my sticks
6) Drive to the rink
7) Throw gear in the dressing room
8) Get a coffee, double sugar, from the vending machine to pump me up
9) Drink coffee along the boards while watching some of the game that proceeds mine
10) Back to the dressing room
11) Take a piss
12) Start taking off street clothes and suiting up
a. Socks
b. Jock strap
c. Long johns
d. Elastic stretch shorts
e. T-shirt
f. Cup
g. Shin pads
h. Garter belt and uniform socks
i. Breezers
j. Skates
k. Tape-up shin pads
l. Shoulder pads
m. Elbow Pads
n. Jersey
o. Helmet
13) Get out to the bench and wait for the Zamboni to get done
14) Stretch
15) Get on the ice and warm up
16) Go take a piss again before the game starts – damn that coffee and the Flows-A-Lot
So what/s wrong with this picture, ehh?
Well, if ya haven’t been there then let me explain it to you. Flows-A-Lot makes ya damn uncomfortable if ya don’t relieve yourself when its time to go. And if ya didn’t catch on from the list above, there are a total of seven different things in the way of whipping your wang-dang-doodle out to get the job done.
Here’s what ya gotta do to get there:
1) Lift your jersey outta the way
2) Push your breezers down
3) Undo the Velcro on your garter belt
4) Push the cup down
5) Push the elastic shorts outta the way
6) The same with the long johns
7) And the same with the jock strap
8) Grab your wang-dang-doodle and stretch if for all its worth or ya gonna piss all over everything
It’s a real mess. I’m telling you guys it ain’t no fun getting old and having to take Flows-A-Lot. Sure hope Chelios hasn’t had to start taking this shit yet.
Skate hard!
Keep walking with wood ………….
So have you guys been watching the games too? Whad’ya think of the commercials? I still want the Dodge Caliber commercial back with the red headed fairy. Some hotty, ehh?
I’m thinking of one of the more recent commercials that shows some older guys riding bikes and canoeing together. In one of the scenes you see one of the guys coming out of a public restroom. Do you know which ad I’m thinking of?
They’re advertising a medication for men and their little walnut sized pumping gland – the prostate. They’re talking about the Big C and inflammation and slow flow, etc etc………. They don’t bother to mention the old latex gloved finger and KY’d up the old poop shoot to check on things. But brothers, when ya get older its something you can look forward to. Yeah laugh out loud on that one kids.
I’ve got a medication that I take that I’ll call Flows-A-Lot. Ladies – you know which one I mean – it keeps ya from getting bloated. These little pills make ya piss like a race horse. I take it, cuz I’m an old fart, to keep my blood pressure down. The theory of it is that if you don’t have a lot a fluid in your system then you won’t have as high of blood pressure if you did.
But Flows-A-Lot is a hockey player’s calamity and I only take it in the morning.
Here’s my pre-game ritual:
1) Come home from work and eat a light dinner
2) Take a pre-game nap
3) Get up from nap and take a piss and maybe a dump
4) Take two aspirins preparing for the later pain I know I’m going to have
5) Pack my gear bag and grab my sticks
6) Drive to the rink
7) Throw gear in the dressing room
8) Get a coffee, double sugar, from the vending machine to pump me up
9) Drink coffee along the boards while watching some of the game that proceeds mine
10) Back to the dressing room
11) Take a piss
12) Start taking off street clothes and suiting up
a. Socks
b. Jock strap
c. Long johns
d. Elastic stretch shorts
e. T-shirt
f. Cup
g. Shin pads
h. Garter belt and uniform socks
i. Breezers
j. Skates
k. Tape-up shin pads
l. Shoulder pads
m. Elbow Pads
n. Jersey
o. Helmet
13) Get out to the bench and wait for the Zamboni to get done
14) Stretch
15) Get on the ice and warm up
16) Go take a piss again before the game starts – damn that coffee and the Flows-A-Lot
So what/s wrong with this picture, ehh?
Well, if ya haven’t been there then let me explain it to you. Flows-A-Lot makes ya damn uncomfortable if ya don’t relieve yourself when its time to go. And if ya didn’t catch on from the list above, there are a total of seven different things in the way of whipping your wang-dang-doodle out to get the job done.
Here’s what ya gotta do to get there:
1) Lift your jersey outta the way
2) Push your breezers down
3) Undo the Velcro on your garter belt
4) Push the cup down
5) Push the elastic shorts outta the way
6) The same with the long johns
7) And the same with the jock strap
8) Grab your wang-dang-doodle and stretch if for all its worth or ya gonna piss all over everything
It’s a real mess. I’m telling you guys it ain’t no fun getting old and having to take Flows-A-Lot. Sure hope Chelios hasn’t had to start taking this shit yet.
Skate hard!
Keep walking with wood ………….
Saturday, April 14, 2007
Wood to Smitty
We had some days of Indian summer and then winter came back with a vengeance. We had an ice storm first that took down the phone and power lines. I didn’t get any of that restored until just last night. So those of you who live and breath by my blog’s news and humor, I do wish to apologize and hope that this one’s a real good dinger for you.
I was snow bound for a couple of days but after that the roads got opened up and I was heading into town and catching some good hockey at my favorite watering hole. I did get to see the NCAA Division I final of the marketable Frozen Four series. Some really good hockey there. And I got to see some of the last games of the season that the NHL kicked out for us. Now were into Stanley Cup Playoffs which can only mean that I’ve got only about two more months to watch the sport that pumps my blood. Hang in with me folks – I can’t say that I have any favorites this year and as typical of my behavior I’ll be rooting for the underdogs in any game that I get to watch. I believe that a games going to be on in about an hour so I’ll see how much of this I can knock off before then.
If you read my blog on a regular basis you’ll notice this time that my north woods jargon is not being used. It may slip through if I don’t catch myself today but because this is such a somber work that I figured that I owed Smitty that much.
Being snow bound these past couple of weeks brought back the joyous memories of a time many years back where the snow and the cold and the woods had also held my vital spirit at bay.
Back in the ‘80’s I had a job that had me traveling a bit between here and there down in the lower forty-eight. Texas seemed to be one the predominate states that provided me with a survivable income. If it wasn’t San Antonio then it was Arlington or Houston where I set my bags down. The job was good but days out left me a bit drawn and in need of sober activities or I couldn’t face the next morning.
I had spent many a day in small communities doing my business and had discovered that the local Walmart was always a good place to meet and talk with the local folks. You guys know that I’m no uppity sort of guy so this level of socialization fit me just fine. Most of my heavy beer drinking and carrying-on happened when I was home and after a good skate. The metropolitan areas of Texas had their Walmarts too and my type of folks hanging around at them.
During one trip to the Houston area I hit up a short but good conversation with a sweet young thing working the cash register. Her name was Vickie and she was getting off work in about a half hour. I asked her if she’d join me for dinner at a barbeque joint up the street. She was a bit nervous I could tell and I just let it go when she said that she wasn’t sure if she’d be able too.
I took my purchase of a horror paperback back to my hotel and headed over to the BBQ joint figuring that she wouldn’t show but hanging on to the hope of her use of the word “able”.
I was about half done with my first fill-up of sweet tea when she showed up to my anxious surprise. She didn’t want to eat anything but would have some sweet tea too. We chatted for about an hour and I found out that she was only seventeen and dating a guy named Billy, a goalie for one of the New York teams. It seemed as though she was pretty much hung up on Billy but was seeking some fatherly advice from me because he was about my age. She had met him in the same sort of way that we met each other, but it had been in the off season when Billy was in town doing some fishing. Being the benevolent character that I am I was glad to counsel her. I don’t know why but the young ladies have always opened up this way with me. It must be my bear-huggish physique or something of that nature.
We chatted a few more times together during my stay and exchanged addresses and phone numbers. She knew that I played hockey too and said that someday she wanted to see me play. I’d looked her up every time that my travels brought me back to the Houston area. She was gorgeous but so young and wanted my great hug at the end of every visit together.
Vickie ended up marrying Billy and he gave her a son, Daniel Wayner Smith. Their marriage didn’t last too long though and she got pretty messed up over the crumbled matrimony. Our letters and phone calls were now more frequent and were much longer in length then earlier.
Billy was gone (the jerk) and she needed to support herself and little Daniel. The pregnancy had changed her body and she’d begun partying heavy. Her breasts had remained huge from the pregnancy and she decided that the only way she could make ends meet was to use what she’d got and started working at Little Ricky’s Cabaret. She tried using stage names of Robin the Hood and Nikita Kay but finally settled on Anna “Nickel”. My own thoughts now reminiscing: “Silver Dollar” would have been more appropriate.
It wasn’t until much later that I would realize the road that this divergence would be taking her and to her eventual demise and my pain. But still being quite young at heart at the time I too also enjoyed and partook of the lifestyle she had now taken on. But she still has such down times and I had the opportunity to lift her back up on occasion. One such time was that that is the one of this story.
She had finally decided that she had to see me play so I booked her a round trip ticket for a two game weekend. She got her mom to watch little Daniel and I picked her up at our local airport on Friday afternoon with hugs and kisses. We drove back to my cabin in the woods and I got her settled in. We were playing the Skukumchuck Selects at 7:30 so we didn’t stay long before heading off to the arena.
The Selects were a pretty fair team and gave us a good game. I checked for her in the stands at each time my defensive pairing went out on the ice and was pleased to see that she was both watching the game and seemed also to be fitting in good with the other gals. We won when Jingle’s tipped in a cross ice pass from Bronzy with a little over a minute left to play. Those brothers of mine have always played so well. I can’t believe how much I’ve enjoyed the fact that they decided to play hockey instead of becoming professional wrestlers or tennis players as part of their athletic skills.
Terry’s Tavern was cooking after the game and I can’t believe how stinking drunk Vickie and I each got. It was a wonder that we got back to the cabin without crashing somewhere along the way. She rode all the way back in my pickup snuggled up against me. Good wood was on my mind and she wasn’t acting in any way negative to the notion.
Yup, though strong desires and too much alcohol don’t allow fruition sometimes we crashed that night without any action only to wake up to the start of a hell of a snow storm. A real doozie of a storm had swooped in down from the Bering Sea and by the afternoon was just pounding us. By 6:00 pm when I like to leave for my games we had taken over three feet of fresh snow. With the wind blowing the way it was I knew that some of the low areas from the cabin to the main road would be completely drifted in maybe seven or eight feet or more. I figured that the game would be called because no one would be able to get out even in town and I wasn’t too worried because I kept the cabin well stocked and had plenty of fire wood.
Vickie was a bit worried though not being from the North Woods. So I did my best to alleviate her fears not realizing that in doing so I was also rousing her libido. Need I say more then for the next few days being snowed into my cabin we shared some of the greatest love making and pure sex of my life. She revealed to me her stage presence “Anna Nickel Smith” and just drove me nuts. We enjoyed each other for those few days and we joked with each other so much. She kept whispering in my ear “Come on Jaspy give some wood to Smitty,” taking on her own secret hockey player nickname with me.
Oh those days were wonderful! After one really tender moment she grabbed an empty Labatt bottle and spit some backwash into it, sort of recapped it and quickly set the bottle outside where it was about sixty below. She said that she wanted to preserve it for maybe future use. I laughed and said “Vicki, you are so nuts!”
She said, “Jasper, you have so many great qualities but I’m not ready for another baby. You’re getting old and when I’m ready again you might not have it. I’m going to keep that on ice until then and when I’m ready again for another child I want it to be yours.”
I just laughed it off but when she was finally able to head back to Texas she repacked that bottle in dry ice and had UPS send it to her gynecologist after a lengthy phone call. He said that he’d store it in a sperm bank for her.
We stayed in touch over the years but her lifestyle continued to change as she got famous. She ended up marrying some really rich guy that was way older then me. He died several years back and Vickie’s been fighting with his family over the inheritance. She called me once and said that it was time. My seed in cold storage was still viable and she was going to give it a try. I was pretty worried because she had now gotten way overweight and was doing some awful drugs due to the stress in her current life. She got way strung out and then wasn’t talking with me anymore. But she did have a baby girl; Danielynn she named her. I thought well maybe she is mine. Maybe it worked. I figured that I could be a good dad this late in my life; as opposed to earlier when I too was a party animal. She wouldn’t talk to me, she wouldn’t substantiate that I was Danielynn’s daddy. I kind of let it go, a little hurt but our flame I realized had burned out a long time ago. Never having a lot of money myself, I never considered trying to prove paternity.
Daniel Wayner Smith, her son died at twenty while in the Bahamas. Vickie completely fell apart after that and died of an overdose within the same year. She had become so famous and so rich that her death filled many a news report. Danielynn’s paternity became big news too because of this. I guess the courts finally ordered identification of her father and I became awfully anxious folks, let me tell you. Ends up it wasn’t me. I guess my little soldiers lost their oompf over the years.
Yeah life’s a bitch and then you die.
Sad for Vickie … sad for Anna Nickel Smith … sad for Smitty.
Sad for Daniel Wayner and Danielynn her kids.
Sad for Jasper Wheats for a short little bit.
But I’m still walking with wood. No doubt about that folks – no sirree! Ehh?
I was snow bound for a couple of days but after that the roads got opened up and I was heading into town and catching some good hockey at my favorite watering hole. I did get to see the NCAA Division I final of the marketable Frozen Four series. Some really good hockey there. And I got to see some of the last games of the season that the NHL kicked out for us. Now were into Stanley Cup Playoffs which can only mean that I’ve got only about two more months to watch the sport that pumps my blood. Hang in with me folks – I can’t say that I have any favorites this year and as typical of my behavior I’ll be rooting for the underdogs in any game that I get to watch. I believe that a games going to be on in about an hour so I’ll see how much of this I can knock off before then.
If you read my blog on a regular basis you’ll notice this time that my north woods jargon is not being used. It may slip through if I don’t catch myself today but because this is such a somber work that I figured that I owed Smitty that much.
Being snow bound these past couple of weeks brought back the joyous memories of a time many years back where the snow and the cold and the woods had also held my vital spirit at bay.
Back in the ‘80’s I had a job that had me traveling a bit between here and there down in the lower forty-eight. Texas seemed to be one the predominate states that provided me with a survivable income. If it wasn’t San Antonio then it was Arlington or Houston where I set my bags down. The job was good but days out left me a bit drawn and in need of sober activities or I couldn’t face the next morning.
I had spent many a day in small communities doing my business and had discovered that the local Walmart was always a good place to meet and talk with the local folks. You guys know that I’m no uppity sort of guy so this level of socialization fit me just fine. Most of my heavy beer drinking and carrying-on happened when I was home and after a good skate. The metropolitan areas of Texas had their Walmarts too and my type of folks hanging around at them.
During one trip to the Houston area I hit up a short but good conversation with a sweet young thing working the cash register. Her name was Vickie and she was getting off work in about a half hour. I asked her if she’d join me for dinner at a barbeque joint up the street. She was a bit nervous I could tell and I just let it go when she said that she wasn’t sure if she’d be able too.
I took my purchase of a horror paperback back to my hotel and headed over to the BBQ joint figuring that she wouldn’t show but hanging on to the hope of her use of the word “able”.
I was about half done with my first fill-up of sweet tea when she showed up to my anxious surprise. She didn’t want to eat anything but would have some sweet tea too. We chatted for about an hour and I found out that she was only seventeen and dating a guy named Billy, a goalie for one of the New York teams. It seemed as though she was pretty much hung up on Billy but was seeking some fatherly advice from me because he was about my age. She had met him in the same sort of way that we met each other, but it had been in the off season when Billy was in town doing some fishing. Being the benevolent character that I am I was glad to counsel her. I don’t know why but the young ladies have always opened up this way with me. It must be my bear-huggish physique or something of that nature.
We chatted a few more times together during my stay and exchanged addresses and phone numbers. She knew that I played hockey too and said that someday she wanted to see me play. I’d looked her up every time that my travels brought me back to the Houston area. She was gorgeous but so young and wanted my great hug at the end of every visit together.
Vickie ended up marrying Billy and he gave her a son, Daniel Wayner Smith. Their marriage didn’t last too long though and she got pretty messed up over the crumbled matrimony. Our letters and phone calls were now more frequent and were much longer in length then earlier.
Billy was gone (the jerk) and she needed to support herself and little Daniel. The pregnancy had changed her body and she’d begun partying heavy. Her breasts had remained huge from the pregnancy and she decided that the only way she could make ends meet was to use what she’d got and started working at Little Ricky’s Cabaret. She tried using stage names of Robin the Hood and Nikita Kay but finally settled on Anna “Nickel”. My own thoughts now reminiscing: “Silver Dollar” would have been more appropriate.
It wasn’t until much later that I would realize the road that this divergence would be taking her and to her eventual demise and my pain. But still being quite young at heart at the time I too also enjoyed and partook of the lifestyle she had now taken on. But she still has such down times and I had the opportunity to lift her back up on occasion. One such time was that that is the one of this story.
She had finally decided that she had to see me play so I booked her a round trip ticket for a two game weekend. She got her mom to watch little Daniel and I picked her up at our local airport on Friday afternoon with hugs and kisses. We drove back to my cabin in the woods and I got her settled in. We were playing the Skukumchuck Selects at 7:30 so we didn’t stay long before heading off to the arena.
The Selects were a pretty fair team and gave us a good game. I checked for her in the stands at each time my defensive pairing went out on the ice and was pleased to see that she was both watching the game and seemed also to be fitting in good with the other gals. We won when Jingle’s tipped in a cross ice pass from Bronzy with a little over a minute left to play. Those brothers of mine have always played so well. I can’t believe how much I’ve enjoyed the fact that they decided to play hockey instead of becoming professional wrestlers or tennis players as part of their athletic skills.
Terry’s Tavern was cooking after the game and I can’t believe how stinking drunk Vickie and I each got. It was a wonder that we got back to the cabin without crashing somewhere along the way. She rode all the way back in my pickup snuggled up against me. Good wood was on my mind and she wasn’t acting in any way negative to the notion.
Yup, though strong desires and too much alcohol don’t allow fruition sometimes we crashed that night without any action only to wake up to the start of a hell of a snow storm. A real doozie of a storm had swooped in down from the Bering Sea and by the afternoon was just pounding us. By 6:00 pm when I like to leave for my games we had taken over three feet of fresh snow. With the wind blowing the way it was I knew that some of the low areas from the cabin to the main road would be completely drifted in maybe seven or eight feet or more. I figured that the game would be called because no one would be able to get out even in town and I wasn’t too worried because I kept the cabin well stocked and had plenty of fire wood.
Vickie was a bit worried though not being from the North Woods. So I did my best to alleviate her fears not realizing that in doing so I was also rousing her libido. Need I say more then for the next few days being snowed into my cabin we shared some of the greatest love making and pure sex of my life. She revealed to me her stage presence “Anna Nickel Smith” and just drove me nuts. We enjoyed each other for those few days and we joked with each other so much. She kept whispering in my ear “Come on Jaspy give some wood to Smitty,” taking on her own secret hockey player nickname with me.
Oh those days were wonderful! After one really tender moment she grabbed an empty Labatt bottle and spit some backwash into it, sort of recapped it and quickly set the bottle outside where it was about sixty below. She said that she wanted to preserve it for maybe future use. I laughed and said “Vicki, you are so nuts!”
She said, “Jasper, you have so many great qualities but I’m not ready for another baby. You’re getting old and when I’m ready again you might not have it. I’m going to keep that on ice until then and when I’m ready again for another child I want it to be yours.”
I just laughed it off but when she was finally able to head back to Texas she repacked that bottle in dry ice and had UPS send it to her gynecologist after a lengthy phone call. He said that he’d store it in a sperm bank for her.
We stayed in touch over the years but her lifestyle continued to change as she got famous. She ended up marrying some really rich guy that was way older then me. He died several years back and Vickie’s been fighting with his family over the inheritance. She called me once and said that it was time. My seed in cold storage was still viable and she was going to give it a try. I was pretty worried because she had now gotten way overweight and was doing some awful drugs due to the stress in her current life. She got way strung out and then wasn’t talking with me anymore. But she did have a baby girl; Danielynn she named her. I thought well maybe she is mine. Maybe it worked. I figured that I could be a good dad this late in my life; as opposed to earlier when I too was a party animal. She wouldn’t talk to me, she wouldn’t substantiate that I was Danielynn’s daddy. I kind of let it go, a little hurt but our flame I realized had burned out a long time ago. Never having a lot of money myself, I never considered trying to prove paternity.
Daniel Wayner Smith, her son died at twenty while in the Bahamas. Vickie completely fell apart after that and died of an overdose within the same year. She had become so famous and so rich that her death filled many a news report. Danielynn’s paternity became big news too because of this. I guess the courts finally ordered identification of her father and I became awfully anxious folks, let me tell you. Ends up it wasn’t me. I guess my little soldiers lost their oompf over the years.
Yeah life’s a bitch and then you die.
Sad for Vickie … sad for Anna Nickel Smith … sad for Smitty.
Sad for Daniel Wayner and Danielynn her kids.
Sad for Jasper Wheats for a short little bit.
But I’m still walking with wood. No doubt about that folks – no sirree! Ehh?
Saturday, March 24, 2007
NCAA 2007
Yah, so ya been watching the NCAA tournaments on TV, eh? Yah, me too. I gotta thank them guys over at Comcast Sportnet for putting some hockey playoffs on my TV. I’m just so sick of all this NCAA basketball shit. I don’t think that none of them boys is from the back woods if ya know what I mean. That B-ball crap is just hoggin up all my TV time in the evenins after I come home from a hard days work and can’t even watch none of my more favorite shows. It just really pisses me off. So here it is Saturday again and damn if there ain’t some good stuff on.
If ya get right down to it I guess I’m just some sorta cheap bastard too tight to buy the NHL and college sports channels from my local cable provider. So I suffer and I complain like some sorta sorry ass. Well big deal, I gotta right to vent a bit once in a while. I mean I’m not some sort prissy candy-ass. I get the elbows and stick up going into the corners and will sneak a hook when I can.
I slept in a bit this morning; but only cuz I woke up around 3:30 with this f’n neck ache and took some non-prescrip pain killers and read some Dean Koontz for a bit ‘fore it kicked in and went back to sleep. Only to wake up finally from a stinkin dream where I’m getting eighty-sixed from my job. Now that would really suck right now. There ain’t much other work here in the back woods and I’d probably have ta just hang out through the summer being a bum like a player on a team that didn’t make the Stanley Cup playoffs. Rich, ehh?
Had my bacon and eggs and went for my twenty mile bike ride. You sissies that ride in the gym. Checked out some wild turkeys and mule deer along the way. Good stuff! Walking with wood. Came back home showered and put some fresh duds on. Shorts and my Bragg Crane t-shirt. Used to use Bragg to do some a my work. They turned me on to some Ducks tickets once in a while. Four seats to the right of the net. They were positioned just above the glass and you really couldn’t look down at your nachos if play was coming your way cuz ya could loose your teeth or take home some souvenir stitches if ya weren’t careful. Now they got them fool nets up and no chance of free souvies. So this t-shirt – its maroon/burgundy with gold lettering on the front and a silk-screened crane thingy on the back. Ya know kinda like the Golden Gopher’s colors.
The first game of the day is Minnesota versus Air Force. Though I got ties to both St. Paul and Colorado Springs, I guess cuz a the t-shirt I’m going to root for Minnesota.
When I was a kid I used to climb around the capital building in St. Paul with a school buddy, Aron Yngve. His dad was a state senator or something like that and we used to sneak into closets, go out on the roof, and do other fool things that would get ya put away now days. Ehh, and I’ve been over to the Como Zoo in St. Paul a few times too. Any of ya ever been there? I’ll tell ya don’t go in that blasted glass plant place there on a hot summer day – it’ll cook ya. What, else? Oh yeah --- back in the day spent shit load of evenings chuggin sixty cent pitchers and eating pickled eggs at Culla’s that was over off of Riverside Drive by the University.
Later on after I had to earn a living I did some work on building Falcon Air Force Base just outside of Colorado Springs. I guess they named the base after the Academy’s teams’ name. While I was in town I visited the old Broadmoor Ice Skating Rink. Shit that place probably isn’t even around anymore. I drove out to the entrance to the academy once also. Nice town, Colorado Springs.
I don’t know why I’m thinkin about this right now, but did I ever tell you guys that my right leg is about an inch and half shorter then my left one? Yup. I think it was polio or something when I came outa the womb or shortly there after. It was going around back in the day. The doc’s tried to talk my folks into making me wear a brace and lifts when I was a kid. Shit it was far enough away to see a doc anyway and my old man says to em “He can live with it. Life ain’t easy from the get, ehh? Dis just might gib em some advantage later on.” Later when I started skatin he tells me “Jasper, ya gotta skate sorta squatty wit yore damn legs spread apart. Can’t be lookin all unstable out there. Ehh?” Yeah that was the old man – always riding my ass. Having this shorter leg gave me a hell of an advantage with my backhand being that I shoot righty, I could really lean in from my short side.
Ehh, back to the playoffs. Now I ain’t no sports writer that tells ya a tale that so twisted up ya can’t tell who scored first or what the final was. I like to tell it straight – there ain’t no bullshit comin from my piehole. I gotta tell ya for most a the game I felt like the Falcons were out-playin the Golden Gophers (I ain’t never seen no gopher that was golden – what the heck were they thinking, ehh?). It started with the Falcons first goal about ten minutes into the first period. Hanjer, freshman from Las Vegas, put a snappy little wrister in from the left slot. It was sweet goal for a kid that got his start playin roller hockey.
Minnesota looked good on a power play a short time later but couldn’t put it in the net. Then there was some real good bit of end to end action where the Falcons almost score again.
Jay Barriball, a freshman for the Gophers from Prior Lake, Minnesota scores in close from the left side on a slapshot with eleven minutes left in the second period. That was his nineteenth of the year. Pretty damn good for a freshman, ehh? With a little over a minute left in the period, the Air Force goes on a five on three power play. The crowd in Denver, being probably mostly locals, comes alive cheering on the Falcons. With less then thirty-seven seconds left, Andrew Ramsey, a senior from Noblesville, Indiana, scores from the right corner of the crease with Briggs, Minnesota’s goalie, giving him almost an open net. Funny thing guys, Briggs’ hometown is Colorado Springs. Ehh? Bet he had some family and fans there for the game.
The game goes into the third period with the Falcons still on the power play and nothing additional comes of it. But at about five minutes into the third. Bret Nylander, number 29, of Baudette, Minnesota, puts a wrap around in for the Falcons. They’re up three to one now for those a ya keepin score. Nylander’s goal reminded me of Alexander Frolov of my LA Kings – tits ehh, but not with Frolov’s reach!
About eight minutes left in the game Minnesota scores their second goal on a power play as number 29, Stoa from Bloomington, Minnesota, puts one in the five hole from just to the right side of the crease. A short time later Barriball almost ties it with his wrap around. This is some good stuff folks.
Minnesota finally ties it up when Johnson takes a monster slapper from the left point. Jim O’Brian of Maplewood, Minnesota tips it in with less then six minutes left.
Damn if my left foot ain’t itchin like shit right now. There’s a medical term for it but crap if I can think of it. It’ll come ta me, maybe. Ehh? It itches where my little toe is supposed to be. Yup, I lost that sucker back when I was in my twenties. I had gotten lucky and pulled a tag for a moose hunt. The unfortunate thing was I was a little short on cash. I’d been savin for some new boots when I got the draw so I had to pinch for the tag instead a the boots. My old boots didn’t look really, really bad so It was what the f—k. The only problem was that the last time I had worn these RedWings was giving an acid cleaning to old man Steenwyk’s cement driveway. The acid had dried into the stitching and I sure the shit didn’t realize it. By the time I was half into my hunt the stitching got wet and started falling apart. I came upon some fresh moose poop about then and wasn’t about to give up the hunt. The left boot fell apart the quickest and I didn’t have no duct tape to fix em. Awfully damn soon my toes started going numb, must a been only about ten below. I didn’t think it was too bad, I could handle the numbness – just like having your skates a bit too tight for too long. Anyhow I never got the moose, but the frost bite got my little toe. Sorta changed the way I skated after that, but all for the good.
Oh yeah, we was talking about the game. About a minute after tying the game, Mike Carman of Apple Valley, Minnesota finally put the Golden Gophers in the lead. The goal was contested but stood.
The Falcons were down and pulled their goalie with more then two minutes to play. Again I’m reminded of my Kings – back in the day when Andy Murray was coaching them and would pull the same stunt to try to come back at any cost. Unfortunately it didn’t help this time and the Falcons had to put him back in with thirty-nine seconds left cuz of a faceoff in their end.
So Minnesota with three straight unanswered goals beat the Air Force Academy four to three in Denver and will advance to the Frozen Four in St. Louis. The next game had the University Of Massachusetts Minute Men losing to the Maine Black Bears at Rochester, New York’s Blue Cross Arena. And Notre Dame’s Fighting Irish are losing right now to the Michigan State University Spartans while playing in Grand Rapids, Michigan. I sure the shit don’t have the energy ta give ya the details on these games. Hope ya watched em. Ehh?
Really, really good stuff – this college hockey playoffs. Sure beats the shit out a basketball cuz winner’s or losers these boys are walking with wood.
If ya get right down to it I guess I’m just some sorta cheap bastard too tight to buy the NHL and college sports channels from my local cable provider. So I suffer and I complain like some sorta sorry ass. Well big deal, I gotta right to vent a bit once in a while. I mean I’m not some sort prissy candy-ass. I get the elbows and stick up going into the corners and will sneak a hook when I can.
I slept in a bit this morning; but only cuz I woke up around 3:30 with this f’n neck ache and took some non-prescrip pain killers and read some Dean Koontz for a bit ‘fore it kicked in and went back to sleep. Only to wake up finally from a stinkin dream where I’m getting eighty-sixed from my job. Now that would really suck right now. There ain’t much other work here in the back woods and I’d probably have ta just hang out through the summer being a bum like a player on a team that didn’t make the Stanley Cup playoffs. Rich, ehh?
Had my bacon and eggs and went for my twenty mile bike ride. You sissies that ride in the gym. Checked out some wild turkeys and mule deer along the way. Good stuff! Walking with wood. Came back home showered and put some fresh duds on. Shorts and my Bragg Crane t-shirt. Used to use Bragg to do some a my work. They turned me on to some Ducks tickets once in a while. Four seats to the right of the net. They were positioned just above the glass and you really couldn’t look down at your nachos if play was coming your way cuz ya could loose your teeth or take home some souvenir stitches if ya weren’t careful. Now they got them fool nets up and no chance of free souvies. So this t-shirt – its maroon/burgundy with gold lettering on the front and a silk-screened crane thingy on the back. Ya know kinda like the Golden Gopher’s colors.
The first game of the day is Minnesota versus Air Force. Though I got ties to both St. Paul and Colorado Springs, I guess cuz a the t-shirt I’m going to root for Minnesota.
When I was a kid I used to climb around the capital building in St. Paul with a school buddy, Aron Yngve. His dad was a state senator or something like that and we used to sneak into closets, go out on the roof, and do other fool things that would get ya put away now days. Ehh, and I’ve been over to the Como Zoo in St. Paul a few times too. Any of ya ever been there? I’ll tell ya don’t go in that blasted glass plant place there on a hot summer day – it’ll cook ya. What, else? Oh yeah --- back in the day spent shit load of evenings chuggin sixty cent pitchers and eating pickled eggs at Culla’s that was over off of Riverside Drive by the University.
Later on after I had to earn a living I did some work on building Falcon Air Force Base just outside of Colorado Springs. I guess they named the base after the Academy’s teams’ name. While I was in town I visited the old Broadmoor Ice Skating Rink. Shit that place probably isn’t even around anymore. I drove out to the entrance to the academy once also. Nice town, Colorado Springs.
I don’t know why I’m thinkin about this right now, but did I ever tell you guys that my right leg is about an inch and half shorter then my left one? Yup. I think it was polio or something when I came outa the womb or shortly there after. It was going around back in the day. The doc’s tried to talk my folks into making me wear a brace and lifts when I was a kid. Shit it was far enough away to see a doc anyway and my old man says to em “He can live with it. Life ain’t easy from the get, ehh? Dis just might gib em some advantage later on.” Later when I started skatin he tells me “Jasper, ya gotta skate sorta squatty wit yore damn legs spread apart. Can’t be lookin all unstable out there. Ehh?” Yeah that was the old man – always riding my ass. Having this shorter leg gave me a hell of an advantage with my backhand being that I shoot righty, I could really lean in from my short side.
Ehh, back to the playoffs. Now I ain’t no sports writer that tells ya a tale that so twisted up ya can’t tell who scored first or what the final was. I like to tell it straight – there ain’t no bullshit comin from my piehole. I gotta tell ya for most a the game I felt like the Falcons were out-playin the Golden Gophers (I ain’t never seen no gopher that was golden – what the heck were they thinking, ehh?). It started with the Falcons first goal about ten minutes into the first period. Hanjer, freshman from Las Vegas, put a snappy little wrister in from the left slot. It was sweet goal for a kid that got his start playin roller hockey.
Minnesota looked good on a power play a short time later but couldn’t put it in the net. Then there was some real good bit of end to end action where the Falcons almost score again.
Jay Barriball, a freshman for the Gophers from Prior Lake, Minnesota scores in close from the left side on a slapshot with eleven minutes left in the second period. That was his nineteenth of the year. Pretty damn good for a freshman, ehh? With a little over a minute left in the period, the Air Force goes on a five on three power play. The crowd in Denver, being probably mostly locals, comes alive cheering on the Falcons. With less then thirty-seven seconds left, Andrew Ramsey, a senior from Noblesville, Indiana, scores from the right corner of the crease with Briggs, Minnesota’s goalie, giving him almost an open net. Funny thing guys, Briggs’ hometown is Colorado Springs. Ehh? Bet he had some family and fans there for the game.
The game goes into the third period with the Falcons still on the power play and nothing additional comes of it. But at about five minutes into the third. Bret Nylander, number 29, of Baudette, Minnesota, puts a wrap around in for the Falcons. They’re up three to one now for those a ya keepin score. Nylander’s goal reminded me of Alexander Frolov of my LA Kings – tits ehh, but not with Frolov’s reach!
About eight minutes left in the game Minnesota scores their second goal on a power play as number 29, Stoa from Bloomington, Minnesota, puts one in the five hole from just to the right side of the crease. A short time later Barriball almost ties it with his wrap around. This is some good stuff folks.
Minnesota finally ties it up when Johnson takes a monster slapper from the left point. Jim O’Brian of Maplewood, Minnesota tips it in with less then six minutes left.
Damn if my left foot ain’t itchin like shit right now. There’s a medical term for it but crap if I can think of it. It’ll come ta me, maybe. Ehh? It itches where my little toe is supposed to be. Yup, I lost that sucker back when I was in my twenties. I had gotten lucky and pulled a tag for a moose hunt. The unfortunate thing was I was a little short on cash. I’d been savin for some new boots when I got the draw so I had to pinch for the tag instead a the boots. My old boots didn’t look really, really bad so It was what the f—k. The only problem was that the last time I had worn these RedWings was giving an acid cleaning to old man Steenwyk’s cement driveway. The acid had dried into the stitching and I sure the shit didn’t realize it. By the time I was half into my hunt the stitching got wet and started falling apart. I came upon some fresh moose poop about then and wasn’t about to give up the hunt. The left boot fell apart the quickest and I didn’t have no duct tape to fix em. Awfully damn soon my toes started going numb, must a been only about ten below. I didn’t think it was too bad, I could handle the numbness – just like having your skates a bit too tight for too long. Anyhow I never got the moose, but the frost bite got my little toe. Sorta changed the way I skated after that, but all for the good.
Oh yeah, we was talking about the game. About a minute after tying the game, Mike Carman of Apple Valley, Minnesota finally put the Golden Gophers in the lead. The goal was contested but stood.
The Falcons were down and pulled their goalie with more then two minutes to play. Again I’m reminded of my Kings – back in the day when Andy Murray was coaching them and would pull the same stunt to try to come back at any cost. Unfortunately it didn’t help this time and the Falcons had to put him back in with thirty-nine seconds left cuz of a faceoff in their end.
So Minnesota with three straight unanswered goals beat the Air Force Academy four to three in Denver and will advance to the Frozen Four in St. Louis. The next game had the University Of Massachusetts Minute Men losing to the Maine Black Bears at Rochester, New York’s Blue Cross Arena. And Notre Dame’s Fighting Irish are losing right now to the Michigan State University Spartans while playing in Grand Rapids, Michigan. I sure the shit don’t have the energy ta give ya the details on these games. Hope ya watched em. Ehh?
Really, really good stuff – this college hockey playoffs. Sure beats the shit out a basketball cuz winner’s or losers these boys are walking with wood.
Sunday, March 18, 2007
Being Gavin
Ya the days are gone now from my short life when I could lace em up and skate with the best of em. Ehh? You guys are thinking that I’m over the hill though. Well that ain’t quite right. I'm still walking with wood and kick some shit when I can. The north woods have been good to me and the years have been equally good as they’ve been equally rough.
I had some two goal games, hell I’ve even got a rookie of the year trophy from my first year in the men’s league. Most a ya that read my shit probably weren’t even a twinkle in your folks’ eyes yet back then. We won some league titles and we lost some too. It was all some good shit – no matter what. I mean I can even write ya a good story or two about injuries. Its all good stuff when ya been on the ice.
After my third year in the league and having completed my second season with Terry’s Tavern’s Sharks I got traded to the scum bags of the league – Happy Jacks Good Time Saloon Seals. We wore those damn yellow and green colors of the Golden Seals. Our sewn on emblems were these damn huge fifteen inch diameter, thick, son-of-bitches that didn’t breath to well and left ya hotter then hell. Crap I didn’t want to play for them. They always got their butts whipped and I figured I didn’t think that I’d be enjoying that.
Well the game a hockey bounces ya like a good board check and you come back from the impact with more vigor and vitality then you can imagine sometimes. Happy Jacks Good Time Saloon’s Seals is one fine example of this sorta bounce. We went from being the hacks to being regular winners if ya know what I mean. We went through a gradual transition to get there but we did. Some of the boys hung in for a heck of a time. Others passed through for a season or two. Kenny kept us together for many years. He went through some hell himself which is a story that I’ll tell you guys someday. We had Shep or “Suitcase” that’s gone on to become the mayor of some town in the Sierra foothills. Shit, I saw him about a year ago and he looked like he was as old as the hills himself. We had another infamous character Pete “Knuckles” Viger. For those a ya in the know – he was foiling up before foiling up became respectable (thank you “Slap Shot”).
One a best dang things we did as a team was to change our name to the Outlaws. Yeah the Outlaws are walking with wood boys and that ain’t no shit. Sure we spent a good deal a time pounding em at Happy Jacks but even they changed ownership and names. Sure we found other places to drink after that time but the Outlaws just kept on staying bound together pretty tight. And I’ll tell ya this every one a those boys that put on the yellow and green or the later black or white and gold are Outlaws. Ehh? Yep, Outlaws! And every Outlaw’s got a story.
Gavin was one those Outlaws that had been there for the long haul. He was on the team before I came on board and carried a bit of reputation with him. Solid and able to bring up an easy scowl he was always intimidating. Playing center with brute determination overwhelmed any weaknesses that he brought with him to the game.
He came from
If my memory has it right he drove a V-dub van back then and owned a small catamaran. He kept the sailboat in the driveway at the house over on
Mikey and Gavin got an apartment together down about a block from the ocean but it was never the same. We really never had a team house after that. Damn shame it was I’m tellin ya. I guess Kenny sold a bunch of the properties that he owned around that same time and banked the proceeds. Bragged a couple of years later that just from the interest alone he was able to buy a Mercedes for his gentle wife, Mary Rose. Now ain’t that a nice name – aw sorry guys, didn’t mean to be getting soft with ya here.
Well Gavin was a boisterous son of bitch. Don’t hold that against him though. Serves a purpose on a team to have a few like that. I told ya about T-Ball in some earlier story and these two guys carry the same weight in this department. Gavin would come into the locker room just all pumped and ready to roll. If his spirits were up then he was gonna pump up yours too. He was always shuvin and joking around with us before the games gettin us lit. I told ya folks a time or two how I needed one of my bro’s to blindside me in warm up to get my juices flowin, but Gavin didn’t seem to need any outside influences. Guys like that are good stuff for a team, ehh?
Shoot, one time he comes into the locker room and says that one team or other finishing up their game ahead of ours is just getting slaughtered. If that don’t get him all riled. He’s got his t-shirt pulled over his head now and starts tellin us about how way back when his great or great-great grandpa had instigated some horrific slaughter back in
One of Gavin’s other little tricks took place during team pictures. He always lined up in the back row behind the guys that were kneeling. Then he put on his nastiest and grimmest facial expressions which I’ve already told ya was a damn ugly scowl. Ehh? And all the time while waitin for the camera dude to take a couple of shots, he’d be standin up on the tips of his blades adding about three or so inches to his appearance. Always the actor that way, sneakin in a punch on a guy in a melee and actin like he’d done nothin when the ref starts dishing out the time. Just totally full of it but we loved it just the same.
Some of the craziest damn stories he told us was from a time when he was still back in
Another time he said that his crew had noticed an abandoned car in the neighborhood. Nobody had messed with it for a while so they got inside and painted the windows black. Used it for drinkin beer and other stuff that underaged punks ain’t sposed to be involved with. Gavin said that they pushed that car to a different spot every couple a days to keep it from getting towed away. Kind a reminded me of some guys I knew in my hood that went together and rented a small little run down store front place for their party shack. Gavin’s place was jus a might cheaper to maintain.
One a the best little stories about Gavin was again his rushin into the locker room all pumped and gettin ready to skate. We knew he’d been out huggin the boards watchin the game ahead a ours. We’d heard the final buzzer before he came in so we knew the game was over. Somebody says “Hey Gavin what was the score?” Without any hesitation he yells back “Three two tie boys, three two tie”, not even realizing the mistake he’d just made.
Years later he got all of his gear stolen and didn’t really skate too much after that. He had awfully wide feet and getting new custom skates that didn’t give him a lot a pain was a costly proposition to his part time job at the local paper. He’s stayed athletic over these years surfing and running marathons. It’s a good life and he’s still walking with wood.
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Seriously - Minnesota State High School Hockey Playoffs
Its mid March folks and the NHL is starting its down hill run to the playoffs. Minor league teams are heading the same direction as are the college leagues.
Those of us that are fans are in for some great excitement. There will be no measly five minute overtimes nor any teamless shootouts. Stanley Cup Playoff games will be ended via victories requiring one team to have scored a minimum of one more goal than their opponent and that goal could come in regulation or in the third or fourth sudden death overtime period. As fans we will stay up late to see the finish and will pay for it the next day at work as we struggle to stay alert.
Those of us that are players and still in the game are emotionally moved to a new level. You’re pumped, you don’t sleep well and you become road weary. If you don’t eat and sleep right then you lose weight. You’re edgy and you’re psyched. The intensity is such that you often times can’t even remember which day of the week it is. You want to win and you want it to be over. You want to celebrate for being the best, never second best.
This will give you some idea of how important the Minnesota State Finals are: Herb Brooks was once asked if coaching the USA Olympic Team to the Gold Medal in 1980 was the greatest thing in his life. He reportedly answered, “No, that honor went to going to the High School Finals with St. Paul Johnson.”
I’ve never been to a Finals game. I’ve seen some on TV and I was fortunate enough a few years back to see regional playoffs in
Well the other night
So folks, I tip my glass to the Roseau Rams and all of
Saturday, March 3, 2007
Tech-Heads Walk With Wood
As all of you know that are reading this – the only way that you can is by being on line. A blog can be printed out but its origination is from the use of a ‘pooter. I wrote this on a ‘pooter. I accessed my blog site by using a ‘pooter to post it and you used your ‘pooter to open it up and read it.
Sheeeeeeet! We can hardly function without these stinkin letter peckin processsors.
I get my hockey scores from my ‘pooter and even listen to my damned for losin LA Kings on it too (Oh yeah! Whooped the Ducks the other night in OT – Thank you Rob Blake!). What else? Oh yeah – the social club I belong to called myspace.com – ain’t that somethin – a place to make friends. Yeah I belong to a few large friendly groups there that ain’t bout nothin but hockey. Now that’s some good shit. I’ve still got some good drinkin buddies from the teams I played on but now through myspace I’m makin lots a new hockey buds and gals with my ‘pooter.
But I’ll tell ya something that just drives me nuts. Its when my ‘pooter ain’t kickin the shit the way its ‘sposed to. Its worse then skatin with weak defense that can’t take their man out. It’s like takin that killer slap shot that’s going to stretch some net and the damn shaft snaps below your lower glove. You’ve been there. You know the frustration….. oh fuckkkkk…….
Well, over the last couple of weeks my ‘pooter’s been on the shits. I mean some brown gravy coatin the shorts. Damn it – it hasn’t been good. Some a-hole sent me a friend invite on myspace that had some phony add covering up their user name and picture. When I clicked the damn thing to close it all kinds of shit popped up and a vicious ass-smellin virus climbed on board. It started accessin all sorts of my personal files, making ads pop-up for all kind a shit that I didn’t need and slowing my ‘pooter down to a crawl. You know how a puck stops when it hits a spot of water during times when the rink’s refrigeration system ain’t working right? Well that’s what my ‘pooter was up to. It really was pissin me off if ya know what I mean, ehh?
There are a variety of names that the techie folks use for this viral shit. They call it virus’s, Trojan horses, malware, spyware, adware, etc. Careful buds, some of this shit is really malicious and you certainly should protect your ‘pooters these crafty characters who think up this crap.
I’m sure some of it has some real business and marketing aspect to it. The adware and tracking cookies ain’t much different than those rating systems that the radio and TV folks use to keep track of what were watching and pay more for advertising for the shows that have the most viewers. Gol-damn them advertisements on NHL games must be awfully damn expensive based on that idea, ehh? (Come on guys – bring back my favorite ad: “Dodge Caliber – Silly Fairy”.) We’ve got commercials and advertising all over the damn place. After a while maybe we become sorta numb to it. Ehh? The last time you went to a game or watched one on TV, how many advertisements did ya see? The boards are covered with them. Right? Even the arena’s that the games are played in are named after big businesses that get the right to slap their name around.
I’ve got a University of Minnesota, Duluth vs Wisconsin on the tube right now. Tied at zero in the third period (missed a lot of this good game – season finale for each - while a damn basketball game was running into OT) and you can easily see ad’s even inked into the ice. Yeah, the boards are covered with them and the building structures between levels are coated with them too. We just sorta live and breath this marketing pizzazz every moment of our lives. Shoot folks, I even ‘member skatin with a kid from Finland a few years back that had so many ads on his pants that you couldn’t hardly tell what color they were supposed to be.
Got a little side tracked there folks. Sorry about that. But shit, I was awfully damned upset about the way my ‘pooter was running. I already had some antivirus software on it but it again was like weak defense – just not too good. So I left the woods for bit and rolled into town and picked up something better. Got home and loaded it but it was too late. This viral piece a shit was rewritin itself and stuff so fast that alone the new stuff was having a hard time too. But they’ve got a phone number that you can call to do some hands on fixin. This I did, ya betcha! Took a bit a time, several calls, several re-downloads, etc (I’d be bareassed to tell ya how much time I spent on it today) but I’m back up and runnin just fine. Because of the help I got I’m back poundin the keys for your swell entertainment again tonight. Hope ya’ve enjoyed it!
They say word of mouth is some damn good marketing. So with no regrets I want to commend them tech-heads at Symantec no matter where in the world they are. They’re walking with wood!
Jasper Wheats here – walking with wood again.
Sheeeeeeet! We can hardly function without these stinkin letter peckin processsors.
I get my hockey scores from my ‘pooter and even listen to my damned for losin LA Kings on it too (Oh yeah! Whooped the Ducks the other night in OT – Thank you Rob Blake!). What else? Oh yeah – the social club I belong to called myspace.com – ain’t that somethin – a place to make friends. Yeah I belong to a few large friendly groups there that ain’t bout nothin but hockey. Now that’s some good shit. I’ve still got some good drinkin buddies from the teams I played on but now through myspace I’m makin lots a new hockey buds and gals with my ‘pooter.
But I’ll tell ya something that just drives me nuts. Its when my ‘pooter ain’t kickin the shit the way its ‘sposed to. Its worse then skatin with weak defense that can’t take their man out. It’s like takin that killer slap shot that’s going to stretch some net and the damn shaft snaps below your lower glove. You’ve been there. You know the frustration….. oh fuckkkkk…….
Well, over the last couple of weeks my ‘pooter’s been on the shits. I mean some brown gravy coatin the shorts. Damn it – it hasn’t been good. Some a-hole sent me a friend invite on myspace that had some phony add covering up their user name and picture. When I clicked the damn thing to close it all kinds of shit popped up and a vicious ass-smellin virus climbed on board. It started accessin all sorts of my personal files, making ads pop-up for all kind a shit that I didn’t need and slowing my ‘pooter down to a crawl. You know how a puck stops when it hits a spot of water during times when the rink’s refrigeration system ain’t working right? Well that’s what my ‘pooter was up to. It really was pissin me off if ya know what I mean, ehh?
There are a variety of names that the techie folks use for this viral shit. They call it virus’s, Trojan horses, malware, spyware, adware, etc. Careful buds, some of this shit is really malicious and you certainly should protect your ‘pooters these crafty characters who think up this crap.
I’m sure some of it has some real business and marketing aspect to it. The adware and tracking cookies ain’t much different than those rating systems that the radio and TV folks use to keep track of what were watching and pay more for advertising for the shows that have the most viewers. Gol-damn them advertisements on NHL games must be awfully damn expensive based on that idea, ehh? (Come on guys – bring back my favorite ad: “Dodge Caliber – Silly Fairy”.) We’ve got commercials and advertising all over the damn place. After a while maybe we become sorta numb to it. Ehh? The last time you went to a game or watched one on TV, how many advertisements did ya see? The boards are covered with them. Right? Even the arena’s that the games are played in are named after big businesses that get the right to slap their name around.
I’ve got a University of Minnesota, Duluth vs Wisconsin on the tube right now. Tied at zero in the third period (missed a lot of this good game – season finale for each - while a damn basketball game was running into OT) and you can easily see ad’s even inked into the ice. Yeah, the boards are covered with them and the building structures between levels are coated with them too. We just sorta live and breath this marketing pizzazz every moment of our lives. Shoot folks, I even ‘member skatin with a kid from Finland a few years back that had so many ads on his pants that you couldn’t hardly tell what color they were supposed to be.
Got a little side tracked there folks. Sorry about that. But shit, I was awfully damned upset about the way my ‘pooter was running. I already had some antivirus software on it but it again was like weak defense – just not too good. So I left the woods for bit and rolled into town and picked up something better. Got home and loaded it but it was too late. This viral piece a shit was rewritin itself and stuff so fast that alone the new stuff was having a hard time too. But they’ve got a phone number that you can call to do some hands on fixin. This I did, ya betcha! Took a bit a time, several calls, several re-downloads, etc (I’d be bareassed to tell ya how much time I spent on it today) but I’m back up and runnin just fine. Because of the help I got I’m back poundin the keys for your swell entertainment again tonight. Hope ya’ve enjoyed it!
They say word of mouth is some damn good marketing. So with no regrets I want to commend them tech-heads at Symantec no matter where in the world they are. They’re walking with wood!
Jasper Wheats here – walking with wood again.
Saturday, February 24, 2007
Warroad's Olympians
One of my friends has a hockey blog that is pretty much devoted to hockey in the
I remember watching that team as they won games and the Gold Medal in Men’s Hockey for the 1980 Winter Olympics played at
Myself, never having been good enough for Olympic play, I still feel free to air some of my opinions. I miss the Olympics where the players are still “amateurs”. When you throw together a team composed of players from various NHL teams and give them a week or so to skate together, they’re never going to gel, not even in time for the last game of the series. The true Olympic team is a team that plays maybe fifty to one hundred games together. It’s a team that maybe starts out with forty or fifty guys competing together and against each other for the top spots to be carried on into the Olympic play. Some will make it and some will get cut. Some will get called back up because of injuries or what have ya – but it becomes a team that’s tight!
So that’s what the 1980 USA Olympic Hockey Team was. A group of amateurs that stuck together through all that shit, got tight and became champions – became heroes! In my book those boys were walking with wood. You know I’ve got a nice poster of those boys that I bring to work during the Winter Games as an object of inspiration. It’s big, about four and half feet wide by three feet tall and has everybody jumping on each other to the left of Jim Craig’s net. My sister won it at a 7-11 and gave it to me. Bless her heart. After 911 I put a little sticker in the left hand corner that says “UNITED WE STAND”. Ain’t that the truth, ehh?
I think about thirteen of those Olympians went on and became NHL pro’s. That’s the right way to do it, ehh. Not the other way by becoming a pro and then an Olympian. Sheeeeeet no!
One of those guys was Dave Christian. He signed on as a Winnipeg Jet and for about three years he averaged almost a point a game. His best season was 1985-1986 where he scored forty-one goals. All tolled he played in 1009 regular season games; scoring 340 goals and 443 assists. He also had over one hundred post season games with thirty-two goals and twenty-five assists. Not bad for a former Olympian, ehh?
Dave came from a hell of a hockey family. His uncle Roger played on the 1960 Olympic team that won gold also. That was in
The brothers, Bill and Roger, formed a hockey stick company in 1964 – Christian Brothers. “Hockey sticks made by real hockey players” was the marketing slogan that one of their friends used to inspire their decision to start the business. They made sticks, in the old days, from wood. Wooden sticks, yup – I’ve owned a few! The company was sold a few years back and I’ve kinda lost touch with what they’re doing with the original company.
But shit, Dave, his dad and his uncle were from
Ya can always snag something to eat from the Main Street Bar and Grill or the Lakeview Restaurant. If you’re in town during the off season for fishing and boating then ya can get a sundae at the Dairy Queen. Not bad, not bad at all.
Their still kickin out some good hockey here. The boys high school varsity team this season went 16 – 8 – 1. And the girls team went 20 – 4 – 0. Pretty damn good if ya ask me. Back in 2005 the boys won the Minnesota State Class A Championship. That’s talking wood my friends!
If ya check into Warroad anytime soon ya still might want to get yourself some traditional wooden hockey sticks. www.buildastick.com will give ya the “Tradition” and build ya “Full Length Wood Custom Hockey Sticks”. What more do ya want? So maybe this company is what became of the original Christian Brothers stick company, I don’t know.
But if ya are up in the North Woods near Warroad be sure to stop in and tell the folks that they’ve got a mighty fine town and that Jasper Wheats say’s “Howdy you guys, ya got me walking with wood again!”
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Road Trip with T-Ball
Boom Boom – Bernie Geoffrian – what’s that tell you?
The Golden Jet – Bobby Hull – blondie, ehh?
The Golden Brett – Brett Hull – like father, like son – you betcha.
The Pocket Rocket – HenriRichard – couldn’t be Rocket Richard could he?
Chopper – Al MacGuinnis – should have been Radar with that slapshot.
In some of the other sports ya got Catfish Hunter, the Babe, William The Refrigerator Perry and on and on and on. Ehh – what’s it all mean? Shit I don’t really know.
And then you’ve got nicknames that are some sort of abbreviation or modification of the player’s name. These I can understand a bit better. They sound like they mighta come from the guys on the bench or back in the locker room. Like what’s wrong with Grets for Gretzky? Here’s a few of them that I can think of:
Ziggy – Zigmund Palffy – great with the Kings.
O – Gerry Odrowski – I coached his boys.
The Flower – Guy Lefleur – yo Habs!
Cheesie – Gerry Cheevers – shit I thought he was in a museum.
Rogie – Rogatien Vachon – Habs and Kings goalie, but with a nickname that you’d give a dog.
Ollie the Goalie – Olaf Kolzig – hey in the Northwoods if we call ya Ollie its cuz your last name is Olson, ehh?
Beezer – John Vanbiesbruck – a nickname every want-a-be goalie wanted.
Cujo – Curtis Joseph – sounds like a damn mutt’s name again.
So being from the Northwoods and all maybe I don’t know shit about nicknames, ehh? I mean, I’ve had a few over the years, like Bobby-O (I’ll never figure out where they came up with that) and the Team Bleeder (the season I got stitched up a few too many times). A lot guys just call me by my last name, Wheats – shit it’s what’s on the back of my jersey dabnabit. My brothers generally go by Bronzy and Jingles. Bronzy’s just a jazzed up version of Brian and I guess that even a rock band or media head could come up with that. But Jingles is a definite bench derived name for Jimmy. During his years in juniors, Jingles would get sent out on the ice (pretty….damn…..often…..folks) to take guys out the game, but when he was a midget he really knocked the socks outta some jackoff. When he came back to the bench, I believe it was the back up goalie that said “You really shook the jingles out of that guy”. And it stuck.
So some guys get named by their team mates and some get nicknamed by the fans or media muthas.
Well T-Ball got nicknamed by his buds. I ain’t real sure whether it was his on ice antics or bar room charisma that led to his naming – but it fit. His real name was Tim (I won’t use his last name here ‘case he wants to sue me for some shit or other) so the “T” was for that. And he lived hockey and life like it was just a non-stop speed ball (Not to say that he didn’t have to get rushed to the hospital few times due to extracurricular activities).
He was from
T-Ball wasn’t always an Outlaw. I think when I first met him he played for the Rangers in our league. Really tough guy to play D against. He’s about 6’-2”; I’d guess and maybe 210 – 220 pounds of solid muscle. All speed and good puck control – balls out sort of business and yappin at ya all the time. The league got all changed around and eventually fell apart which was when we joined up with a semi-pro league and T-Ball joined us.
He was good acquisition and I was coachin the boys by then. He was loud but daggone stimulatin if ya know what I mean. The guys needed a charge in their shorts and T-ball could bring it.
He could be damn down to earth though too. If he’d a been my son he would a made me proud. Give ya an example here. I had season seats to the Kings back then and they made the Stanley Cup finals against
T-Ball jumps up out of his seat and says he’s got to get out to the lobby. I figure he’s got to take a leak cuz we’d really been chuggin em. But it was game on and you gotta hold it during play. Didn’t make any sense to me. I think the Kings scored while he was gone cuz it got really, I mean really loud. After a bit T-Ball comes running back up the stairs taking two or so at a time. He was beamin if ya know what I mean – thought maybe he’d just done a toot or two. But he yells at me “I just called my Dad back in
Yeah, he was ok.
On road trips he ruled.
Road trips are good hockey. Ya win some and ya lose some, but if ya got enough guys to ice a team its hockey at its best. Ya got rubber legs from the travel and ya got butterflies to counter that by pumpin ya full of adrenalin.
Secondly, road trips are partying. Folks, I’m telling ya, there ain’t no better partying then that of road trips. First thing that you do is designate whose hotel room gets the beer. That done then ya fill their tub with beers and ice. This shit is for casual thirst quenchin, gut bustin after last call and breakfast of course. Serious drinkin will be done at the bar after the game.
So the third thing is to scope out the neighborhood for a decent bar or two. You couldn’t always trust the local team’s recommendations and sometimes game results dictated that you really didn’t need to win in the bar too (though damn if we couldn’t if we had too).
On this particular road trip that I’m thinking of we were all set up at the hotel and had gone on to the rink to suit up. T-Ball dumps his gear out on the floor in front of himself. Kicks it around a bit and grabs a t-shirt and sniffs it then throws it in the trash. Grabs another one, sniffs it and throws it in the face of one our wingers. Kicks his gear some more and reaches out and grabs another t-shirt. He sniffs this one too and says “Aw, fuck they all smell like shit – what’s the dif? Probably’ll give me a little maneuvering room out there.” I’m telling ya that his gear just reeked.
Game on. Game over. Shower up and time to partaaaaaaaaaa!
T-Ball comes up to me before we head to the bar and says he’s got to run back to the hotel cuz he left his wallet there. Wanted to know if I could give him a ride. I thought about it for a sec – thinkin – he’s the chick magnet, I’ll look good walkin into the bar with him. So I tell him, “Yeah, lets scoot.”
We get back to his room and he snags his wallet off the top of the chest of drawers. He gives it a quick peek for cash and says to me “Wheats, ya need some protection? Grab a couple of those.” I look over at the chest and see that he’s got like thirty condoms of maybe five different varieties spread out on top. Holy shit, is he ready for the game later tonight, or what?
Good hockey! Good partying! Good night!
That was T-ball. That was road trips. That was walking with wood.
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