On behalf of SFG and Dawg Nation, please welcome Brian Delaney, and all the crew at GMAC Minneapolis!
Delaney
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Welcome GMAC!
It has come to our attention that we have some loyal readers at the GMAC ResCap facility in Minneapolis, Minnesota. In particular is a former hockey player named Brian Delaney, who is an "old and dear friend" of Dawgs captain Marty Richardson
On behalf of SFG and Dawg Nation, please welcome Brian Delaney, and all the crew at GMAC Minneapolis!
Delaney
On behalf of SFG and Dawg Nation, please welcome Brian Delaney, and all the crew at GMAC Minneapolis!
Delaney
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Superstitious? You Bet Your Ass
People have asked me over the years if I'm like those other goalies that are superstitious when they play. Do I talk to the goalposts, like Patrick Roy used to, or have I worn the same t-shirt for 10 years, like Pelle Lindbergh did when he was with the Flyers?
I always laugh, shake my head, and say, "Gosh, I'm not superstitious when I play hockey. I'm superstitious about my whole fucking life."
Now I'd like to think, except for the fact that I'm a goalie, I'm a relatively intelligent little fella. If I can remember that far back, I was near the top of my class in high school. All that studying by candlelight in my log cabin helped. And I did pretty well in college. I would have done better if there hadn't been an Elton John Captain Fantastic pinball machine in the student center. Missed a bunch of classes to set the scoring record on that sonofabitch. Totally worth it, though.
Today I came within one letter of completing the New York Times crossword puzzle (some asshole Japanese author's name got me). Hell, I'll go head to head playing Jeopardy with anybody. Let's go-bring your ass.
Plus, I've thought of thousands of very creative phrases to call my hockey teammates effeminate. So now I have that going for me, which is nice.
But there is a fairly large chunk of my life that is controlled by superstition. I'm a little ashamed to admit it, but it's true.
In the future, I'll tell you guys some of the ways that it guides my everyday life, but for this time, let's just stick with hockey, okay?
Hang on a second. I have to knock on wood so I don't fuck this article up. Okay, done. Here we go.
Hockey
Oh yeah, I've got a shitload of hockey quirks.
Let's start with the t-shirt. I didn't match Pelle Lindbergh's ten years, but when my Dawgs team went undefeated for 20 consecutive games, you can bet your Aunt Fanny I wore my "F The French" shirt for every one of those games. It was mostly because of the streak, but partly because I want everyone to know how much I hate the goddamn French. Arrogant, chainsmoking, no bathing, ungrateful, surrendering pricks. Fuck 'em.
I put my gear on the same way every time, but I think that's mostly so I don't forget anything. I can't tell you how many times when I first started playing that I would forget to put my cup on, and then have to take everything back off. That was before I was married. These days, it's kind of a moot point. My wife doesn't let me bring my balls to the games with me, so I don't even bother with a cup anymore.
When we win, I make sure that I wear the same sweatpants and Underarmour shirt for the next game. And yes, I get them washed. I can barely stand being around myself with my goalie stank as it is. Shit, I'm superstitious, but I want to be able to smell my grandkids' hair someday.
Right before the game, when the ref signals down to the goalies to make sure they're ready, I always raise my goal stick and wiggle it to reply. I raised my glove one time instead, and got lit up like that Elton John pinball machine. Gave up five goals in the first period. I couldn't have been that I was a sieve- it had to be that glove thing.
During the big winning streak, I had to play "When You Were Young" by the Killers every week right before I got out of the car at the arena. I don't know about other players, but I always have a song in my head during games, and it's usually the last one I hear before I get out of the car. Lately, I've been playing "Starlight" by Muse that a pal of mine loaned me, but we just got our ass kicked in the league championship, so I guess it's time to move on. Great song, though.
Yeah, I'm 50 and I like the Killers and Muse. And I know what you're thinking. Short guy is having a midlife crisis. Well, I've got your crisis swingin' right down here (you can't tell right now, but I'm pointing at my dick).
One night I wasn't paying attention before I parked, and ended up replaying this over and over in my noggin all game.
That's all they really waaaaaannnntttt!!!
Just fuuunnnnnnnnnnn!!!
When the workin' day is done
Oh, girls, they want to have fuh-unnn.
Oh, girls, just want to have fun!!
It was like in that Star Trek movie, when Ricardo Montalban put that creepy bug in Chekov's ear, and it crawled through his brain and drove him insane. Not a good night for your little buddy.
KHAN!!!!!!!
There was a time when I wouldn't drink water during the game. It seemed like every time I would take a sip, I'd get a goal scored on me. But that one didn't last, because I sweat like a moose during games, and if I don't drink water, my piss is dark orange for the rest of the week. That can't be a good thing, can it?
When I find a piece of tape or some other debris in front of my crease, I always sweep it to the outside of my goalpost, and not inside my net. I don't want anything inside my net. If the tape's in there, I know the puck will follow. No shit-I really think that.
At the start of the game, my goal feels like a virgin to me, all innocent and unpenetrated. It's my duty to keep everything out- keep her flower intact for as long as I can. But lately, by the time the game's over, I've usually let my goal get gang-banged. It makes me feel so...dirty.
After my team scores a goal, I always skate down the goal line to my left, and then turn around and skate down the other goal line. I don't know why. I've just done it for years and years. It reminds me of this chicken at Reptile Gardens in South Dakota. You put a quarter in the slot, and the chicken comes out of a cage, steps on a lever, and this mechanical bat hits a ball. Then the chicken runs around the bases, and then goes back inside the cage, where there's a piece of corn waiting for him. Put another quarter in, and he'll do the same damn thing.
That's me when we score a goal. Skate to the left, skate to the right, come back. Except I can do it without the corn. Because like I said, I'm, you know, intelligent.
And finally here's the one that most goalies have. It hasn't been an issue for me in many, many moons, but if I happen to have a shutout going late in the game, and you happen to mention the word "shutout", I will fucking kill you.
I'm serious. I'm talkin' dead. Not crippled. Not a coma. Dead.
You can say something like, "Let's keep that goose-egg on the board", or "Keep that thing going". But do not utter the "s word".
I can't tell you how many times my kid has had one going, and with a couple of minutes left, some jagoff parent will come up and say, "Hey, looks like Sam is going to get his shutout!". Then like four seconds later-bang:goal.
Those parents are no longer with us. But I didn't kill them. It was my wife. She's worse about the "s word" than I am. Sucks for their kids, being orphaned and all, but rules are rules.
Next time: Why I have a beard, gambling superstitions, and other words you never, ever say out loud.
I always laugh, shake my head, and say, "Gosh, I'm not superstitious when I play hockey. I'm superstitious about my whole fucking life."
Now I'd like to think, except for the fact that I'm a goalie, I'm a relatively intelligent little fella. If I can remember that far back, I was near the top of my class in high school. All that studying by candlelight in my log cabin helped. And I did pretty well in college. I would have done better if there hadn't been an Elton John Captain Fantastic pinball machine in the student center. Missed a bunch of classes to set the scoring record on that sonofabitch. Totally worth it, though.
Today I came within one letter of completing the New York Times crossword puzzle (some asshole Japanese author's name got me). Hell, I'll go head to head playing Jeopardy with anybody. Let's go-bring your ass.
Plus, I've thought of thousands of very creative phrases to call my hockey teammates effeminate. So now I have that going for me, which is nice.
But there is a fairly large chunk of my life that is controlled by superstition. I'm a little ashamed to admit it, but it's true.
In the future, I'll tell you guys some of the ways that it guides my everyday life, but for this time, let's just stick with hockey, okay?
Hang on a second. I have to knock on wood so I don't fuck this article up. Okay, done. Here we go.
Hockey
Oh yeah, I've got a shitload of hockey quirks.
Let's start with the t-shirt. I didn't match Pelle Lindbergh's ten years, but when my Dawgs team went undefeated for 20 consecutive games, you can bet your Aunt Fanny I wore my "F The French" shirt for every one of those games. It was mostly because of the streak, but partly because I want everyone to know how much I hate the goddamn French. Arrogant, chainsmoking, no bathing, ungrateful, surrendering pricks. Fuck 'em.
I put my gear on the same way every time, but I think that's mostly so I don't forget anything. I can't tell you how many times when I first started playing that I would forget to put my cup on, and then have to take everything back off. That was before I was married. These days, it's kind of a moot point. My wife doesn't let me bring my balls to the games with me, so I don't even bother with a cup anymore.
When we win, I make sure that I wear the same sweatpants and Underarmour shirt for the next game. And yes, I get them washed. I can barely stand being around myself with my goalie stank as it is. Shit, I'm superstitious, but I want to be able to smell my grandkids' hair someday.
Right before the game, when the ref signals down to the goalies to make sure they're ready, I always raise my goal stick and wiggle it to reply. I raised my glove one time instead, and got lit up like that Elton John pinball machine. Gave up five goals in the first period. I couldn't have been that I was a sieve- it had to be that glove thing.
During the big winning streak, I had to play "When You Were Young" by the Killers every week right before I got out of the car at the arena. I don't know about other players, but I always have a song in my head during games, and it's usually the last one I hear before I get out of the car. Lately, I've been playing "Starlight" by Muse that a pal of mine loaned me, but we just got our ass kicked in the league championship, so I guess it's time to move on. Great song, though.
Yeah, I'm 50 and I like the Killers and Muse. And I know what you're thinking. Short guy is having a midlife crisis. Well, I've got your crisis swingin' right down here (you can't tell right now, but I'm pointing at my dick).
One night I wasn't paying attention before I parked, and ended up replaying this over and over in my noggin all game.
That's all they really waaaaaannnntttt!!!
Just fuuunnnnnnnnnnn!!!
When the workin' day is done
Oh, girls, they want to have fuh-unnn.
Oh, girls, just want to have fun!!
It was like in that Star Trek movie, when Ricardo Montalban put that creepy bug in Chekov's ear, and it crawled through his brain and drove him insane. Not a good night for your little buddy.
KHAN!!!!!!!
There was a time when I wouldn't drink water during the game. It seemed like every time I would take a sip, I'd get a goal scored on me. But that one didn't last, because I sweat like a moose during games, and if I don't drink water, my piss is dark orange for the rest of the week. That can't be a good thing, can it?
When I find a piece of tape or some other debris in front of my crease, I always sweep it to the outside of my goalpost, and not inside my net. I don't want anything inside my net. If the tape's in there, I know the puck will follow. No shit-I really think that.
At the start of the game, my goal feels like a virgin to me, all innocent and unpenetrated. It's my duty to keep everything out- keep her flower intact for as long as I can. But lately, by the time the game's over, I've usually let my goal get gang-banged. It makes me feel so...dirty.
After my team scores a goal, I always skate down the goal line to my left, and then turn around and skate down the other goal line. I don't know why. I've just done it for years and years. It reminds me of this chicken at Reptile Gardens in South Dakota. You put a quarter in the slot, and the chicken comes out of a cage, steps on a lever, and this mechanical bat hits a ball. Then the chicken runs around the bases, and then goes back inside the cage, where there's a piece of corn waiting for him. Put another quarter in, and he'll do the same damn thing.
That's me when we score a goal. Skate to the left, skate to the right, come back. Except I can do it without the corn. Because like I said, I'm, you know, intelligent.
And finally here's the one that most goalies have. It hasn't been an issue for me in many, many moons, but if I happen to have a shutout going late in the game, and you happen to mention the word "shutout", I will fucking kill you.
I'm serious. I'm talkin' dead. Not crippled. Not a coma. Dead.
You can say something like, "Let's keep that goose-egg on the board", or "Keep that thing going". But do not utter the "s word".
I can't tell you how many times my kid has had one going, and with a couple of minutes left, some jagoff parent will come up and say, "Hey, looks like Sam is going to get his shutout!". Then like four seconds later-bang:goal.
Those parents are no longer with us. But I didn't kill them. It was my wife. She's worse about the "s word" than I am. Sucks for their kids, being orphaned and all, but rules are rules.
Next time: Why I have a beard, gambling superstitions, and other words you never, ever say out loud.
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