Dawgs Melt Ice Pack- Stay Unbeaten

The Dawgs I squad kept rolling through the first half of the winter EAHL season last Tuesday night, with a solid 7-3 victory over the Ice Pack. They are now a perfect 6-0 on the new campaign, and maintain a four point lead on the Ozone, whom they defeated 9-6 last week.

The Dawgs continue to feature a balanced scoring attack, with six different players lighting the lamp. They were again led by the "Beast From the Far East" Dan Pham, who dropped back on defense due to the unexplained absence of Tito Pijanowski. He tallied two key goals in the second period, and helped keep the high scoring Ice Pack team in check with solid play at the blue line.

The other Dawgs scorers included Tyson Dale, who managed a pretty goal before getting into a rumble with the Ice Pack's Jason Gregory and being ejected in the first period, Shaun Hollis on a shorthanded breakaway, and Michael Heaton, who banged in his first of the season.

Rounding out the Dawgs' scoring were Nathaniel Akell, who just keeps plugging along, knocking in his fifth, and teen wonder Josh Adams, who also notched his fifth of the fall. Adams also made the defensive play of the game, clearing the puck off of the goal line after it had eluded goalie Al Sterner. Adams was later admonished by his fellow center Matt McGarvey for playing too much defense, and vowed never to let that happen again.


McGarvey, playing his standard defense

The Dawgs jumped out early, scoring the game's first three goals, and never really looked back. The Ice Pack scored in the first to close to within two, but Pham's two markers in the second put things pretty much out of reach.

Even though they scored eight goals the last time the two teams met, the Ice Pack didn't have the same firepower, and Sterner actually played with his head outside his ass this time, holding them to a season low.


Usually gives up at least this many

But there were some interesting occurences during the game. In the first period, while coming off the ice on a line change, defenseman Brad Stabio played the puck after his replacement had already come on, resulting in a two minute penalty.



Later in the period Tyson Dale was given a game misconduct for fighting with Jason Gregory, even though neither player dropped their gloves. This resulted in a one game suspension for Dale. A distraught Dan Pham vowed this week not only to wear Dale's mildly gay purple sock as a sign of unity, but also to wear Dale's protective jockstrap.


Pham's bulge will never be this big

In the second period, young Josh Adams received a ten minute misconduct after delivering a hard check along the boards. Linemate Dennis Heaton told Adams' mom, and Adams was given a "time out" after he got home.


Adams

Later in the second, forward Danny Packard was nudged from behind by an Ice Pack player, and rolled around on the ice like a Portuguese soccer player. As he protested no penalty being called, a high pitched squeal came from someplace other than his mouth. It was later determined that Packard had executed the perfect queef.




The Dawgs attempt to keep their unbeaten streak alive tonight when they play against their old pals and charter members of Dawg Nation, Cobra Kai. Cobra Kai won their first game of the season last week over Dr Five Hole, 8-6, and are always dangerous, featuring Canadian import Jonathan Jay. Not an intelligent man, Jay still hasn't quite learned how to breath from his nose.


Leave him alone- he's from "America Jr."

In other Dawgs news:

This week Dawgs captain and former fanny miner Marty Richardson went on a business trip to Amsterdam, Holland. He wasted no time in blending in with his new surroundings.

The hardest part was finding wooden shoes that small

Richardson's wife Cindy showed how she will be spending the week while Marty is in Europe.


Geez, Cindy, this was just way too easy

My San Francisco Diary- by Marty Richardson

(Writer's note. My good friend and team captain Marty is in San Francisco this week, and it reminded me of the article I posted a couple of years ago featuring his "diary" from his trip. You new guys to Dawg Nation might get a yuck out of it. )


Monday, June 30th

Dear Diary,

Just flew in for another convention of the Financial Advisors Guild. Boy, are my wings tired! (I am such a hoot sometimes). I never miss a FAG convention. We don't start until tomorrow, so that gave me a chance to do a little shopping while I had some time. Now, Diary, you know what my favorite place in town is, don't you?



I hope I can sleep tonight. They have so many fun activities planned for the week, I'm just all a tingle! Talk to you tomorrow.

Love, Marty

Tuesday, July 1st

Dear Diary,

What a first day! It was so nice to see all my FAG friends again. It was such a pretty day here in San Francisco, we decided to get out and walk around during a break in the convention. It was a little embarrassing, though. We were all wearing the same uniform.



Not that many people stared. The folks in this city are so nice!

At lunch, I decided to go to a hair stylist to change things up a little bit. I'm not sure if this is my look, though.



I might try something else tomorrow.

The only bad thing that happened today was when I tripped on my shoelace and fell down in the street.



I scraped my knee, dammit! I hope that doesn't mess up the rest of the activities I had planned. My knees are really important for those.

Oh well, must get some sleep. See you tomorrow.

Kisses, Marty

Wednesday, July 2nd

Dear Diary,

I had the best day today! It was so beautiful again this morning, that my buddies and I just had to get out for a ride.



Then today during the convention, my friends elected me again to be the FAG Man of the Year. I have no idea how I won for the third straight year- just look at the competition that I was up against.



During lunch today, I did get a chance to meet with a new image consultant, and he gave me a complete makeover.



That didn't go as well as I had hoped. I'll be looking for a new consultant tomorrow.

Before the end of the day, I was able to visit my favorite statue in the city. I never miss it when I'm in town. Last time here, they had to pull me off of it.




Big day tomorrow, Diary. Talk to you then.

XOXO, Marty

Thursday, July 3rd

Dear Diary,

Sorry I'm so late tonight, but I've been pretty tied up with my friends.




Last day in Frisco! This has gone so fast, I can't believe it. Fortunately, I was able to cram a lot of activities in today, if you know what I mean (you do know, don't you, Diary).

First, we got to hear from the Keynote Speaker, and it was another dream come true. It was none other than my hero, George Takei from Star Trek. He was so gracious- everyone got to take a picture with him. I can't put my finger on it, but he looked a little bit different in person.



Before the end of the convention, I was given one more award. This was just so unexpected, and it was published in the local press. Is this the best week ever or what? The guy on my right is really happy that I won.




Later on, they gave the whole convention tickets to the circus. While I was there, though, something really bad happened. I was eating some popcorn, and I started to choke on a kernel. Thank God, one of the employees was able to give me the Heimlich, and even a little bit of a bonus.



I'm flying back tomorrow morning, so I'll be able to watch fireworks tomorrow night. There's nothing like looking at a big, Roman candle right before it explodes. Oh, look, I'm tingling again. I'm so patriotic!

Love you lots, Marty

Dawgs Make Hole In Ozone- Stay Undefeated

The Dawgs I squad remained the only undefeated team in the EAHL Tuesday night, after a solid 9-6 victory against the high-scoring Ozone. With the maximum 10 points earned, the boys are now four points clear of the closest teams in the league, which are Ozone and Dr. Five Hole.

Center Dan Pham led the way once again for the Dawgs, scoring his sixth and seventh goals of the young season, and adding two assists. He now has 13 points for the season, which strangely is only good for fifth place in the offense-heavy EAHL.

Dawgs rookie and 2009 Bear Creek High School graduate Josh Adams also scored his third and fourth goals, while the ambiguously gay duo of Shaun Hollis and Matt McGarvey each tallied in the third period.


"Hey-smell my finger!"

Nathaniel Akel continued his consistent play, knocking in his fourth of the year, Tyson Dale scored his fourth, and even Dawgs captain and former pickle smoocher Marty Richardson got into the act, netting his second of the fall season.

Goalie Al Sterner would have had a reasonable game, but checked out mentally for the final three minutes, giving up a trio of goals to make the score much closer than the game actually was. But even with that three minute abortion, Sterner still leads the wide-open EAHL in lowest goals against, with a wafer thin 4.6 average.

Sterner draws inspiration from his lovely, petite and shy daughter Lauren, who is his biggest fan.


"You're number one, daddy!"

Now having played every team in the league, the Dawgs start over again Tuesday night, when they clash with the Ice Pack at 10:40. The last time the two teams met, it was opening night, and the Dawgs won a tight goalie duel, 11-8. Sterner tried to shoot himself after the game after surrendering eight goals, but the bullet went straight through his five hole.

In other Dawgs news:

This week Kelly Fraser, girlfriend of Dawgs II defenseman Nigel Richardson, showed how she remains satisfied while living with a man three times her age.

Caught herself a whopper there

In a show of unity, last week linemates Tyson Dale and Dan Pham each decided to wear one purple sock as part of their game uniform. After the game, Pham revealed what he did with the other sock.

In a close vote, Pham was named the Dawgs' Asian Player of the Week. He just edged out Tito Pijanowski, who is not Asian, but does enjoy having sex with Siamese twins. So that's close enough.

"Tito not sure where to put pee-pee..."

Dawgs Bitch Slap Skanks To Go 4-0

The Dawgs I squad continued their perfect start to the winter EAHL campaign Tuesday night, breaking open a close game in the third period and romping to a convincing 9-2 win against the Skanks. It was a small measure of revenge for the Dawgs, as they defeated the team that took them out of the summer league playoffs back in August.

The Dawgs featured a balanced attack, getting goals from seven different players. Only centers Dan Pham and Nathaniel Akell scored more than once, and the team played solid defense, holding the high-scoring Skanks to just a pair.

The Dawgs jumped out early Tuesday night, when Akell found himself skating in on a breakaway, and completely undressed opposing goalie Mark Jacobsen, tucking the puck past his quivering carcass.

A few minutes later, Pham doubled the lead for the Dawgs, poking home a rebound from rookie linemate Tyson Dale. Whether playing center or defense, as he did last week against Dr. Five Hole, Pham has managed to remain consistently Asian for the entire season. And just cute as a button.


Pham

Before the end of the period, the Skanks struck back to cut the lead in half, as forward Eric Allen tipped a centering pass by Dawgs goalie Al Sterner.

A few minutes into the second, Dawgs forward Matt McGarvey banged one past Jacobsen to restore the two goal lead. Then, after Skanks winger Spencer Tscherpel made Sterner look like a complete boner on a breakaway, finding his massive five-hole, the Dawgs went back up again by a pair when Danny Packard scored his fourth of the young season.

Packard is playing his first winter season in several years after finally graduating from the Colorado State University at Pueblo. Packard is the first member of his family to achieve a four year degree, although it did take him just a shade under a decade to get it.


Future business giant

So beginning the third, it was 4-2 and still anyone's contest. But matters were quickly settled when the Dawgs exploded for five unanswered goals to put the game way out of reach. Akell scored his second of the game, new linemates Dennis Heaton and rookie Josh Adams each got one, Dale stuffed in his fourth of the season, and Pham completed the romp with his second of the contest and fourth of the winter campaign.

Heaton's goal was especially satifying, considering that he is 15 years older than the combined age of his two linemates.


Heaton, right

Now 4-0 on the new season, the Dawgs are the only undefeated team in the league. They face their toughest test of the fall this coming Tuesday night, when they play against an Ozone squad that has put up 12 and 13 goals in their last two contests. Which means:


There could be a lot of this...

In other Dawgs news:

Dawg Nation would like to give belated congratulations to the Dawgs II squad, who won another Edge Cup, taking home the 2009 summer league championship. It is quite an achievement, especially since the combined age of the team is 1639.


Click to enlarge. On second thought, don't. Jesus Christ...

Kelly Fraser, the teenaged girlfriend of Dawgs II defenseman Nigel Richardson, left her job as a stockbroker last week. She will now follow her lifelong dream of being a simple country hooker.


Will accept cash, hogs and chickens

Dawgs captain Marty Richardson rented his home in Ft. Collins this week to a group of Colorado State University cheerleaders. There was only one small stipulation as part of the lease.

Bending over was the easy part...

Because of a recent weight loss, a whole new career opportunity has opened up for Dawgs goalie Al Sterner.


Just try to get this image out of your head

Recent health problems have begun to plague the career of Marty Richardson. First, he received an arm injury that has hindered an already weak wrist shot:


Shake it off, pussy...

Then he received a high stick during a game that broke his front tooth:

In a totally unrelated matter, there has been a recent flood of visits to emergency rooms all over Denver, with hundreds of men suffering from a lacerated penis.

The Marine At Red Rocks

(Writer's note: For both of you out there that read this blog, you're probably used to a certain style of writing from me. I guess the best way to describe it would be "potty humor". But today I need to step away from the dick jokes for just a little bit. I promise I'll get back to the usual smut, but something happened a couple of weeks ago. And it wasn't funny. But I can't stop thinking about it, and I feel like the story needs to be told, so bear with me, okay? Thanks.)

So a few Saturday nights ago, I was working a concession stand at Red Rocks Ampitheater for the last concert event of the season, featuring the Irish punk band, Flogging Molly. Annie and I volunteer periodically to work there, because the funds that are raised benefit our kids' soccer and hockey programs.

For those of you that aren't from around here, if you're ever in Denver, you need to experience a concert at Red Rocks. It's a beautiful natural ampitheater, and the acoustics are terrific. Even if there's no concert, just go up to the park and walk around. Just trust your little pal on this- you have to see it.

Anyway, the concert was nearing the end (surprisingly entertaining- great combination of Irish music and rock), and I was standing at the top of the stairs waiting for Annie to finish up with some paperwork. She's our stand manager- just another excuse for her to tell me what to do.

While I was waiting, this kid came walking up to me, saw my Red Rocks hat, and I guess assumed that I worked there. He asked, "Sir, is there anywhere here that I can still get a beer?" I flinched a little bit from being called "sir", but I explained to him that alchohol was cut off an hour before the end of the concert, so that everyone could sober up a bit before they drove down the mountain and went back to Denver. So no beer in the whole park.

The kid was bummed, just like everyone is when I tell them that alchohol is cut off. "Sir, is there a bar around here? I'm not ready to stop partying yet- this is so great up here! I've only been in town a couple of days."

He seemed like a nice kid- honestly, I was surprised that he was old enough to be able to buy a beer. Big boy- around 6'2", maybe 210 pounds, and built like a brick shithouse. But he had a teenage kid's face. I asked him why he was in town.

"I just got stationed here, sir. I'm a Marine."

Well, at least that explained why he kept calling me "sir", instead of "dude", which was my usual moniker at Red Rocks. And for the first time, I didn't mind it a bit. Kind of seemed right coming from him.

Then I did what I always do when I meet a member of our Armed Services. I looked him in the eye, shook his hand, and thanked him for his service. They don't hear that nearly enough, and they deserve to. When I'm volunteering at Red Rocks, and I see a military ID when I'm carding for alchohol, I almost always find a way to give them a free beer or two.

Because I love these guys.

Without launching into a big flag waving musical number, these young men and women, along with cops and firefighters, are my heroes. I mean, how can you not love people that will put their lives on the line every day for somebody that they don't even know? It boggles my mind how they can go to work knowing that there is a chance that they won't come home that night. And what it must be like to be a member of their family.

Anyway, I introduced myself, and found out that his name was Joe, and he was from Atlanta. I asked him if he was having fun at the concert.

"I was, sir, but I got into a little fight with a guy a few minutes ago. The guy was drunk, and bumped into me while my friend and I were watching the show. Next thing I know, he's jumping around, showing me these karate moves, and asking me if I want to "go" with him."

I laughed. "He must have been plastered. You're the size of a Chevy."

He smiled. "I identified myself as a Marine, and told him that I didn't want to fight. Then the security guys came over, and it looked like everything was calmed down. Then the guy breaks away from the guard, rushes over and tries to take a swing at me."

"Big mistake?"

"Yes, sir. I had to put him into the ground. His face was bleeding a little bit when security took him out."

"You're still here, though. You didn't catch any shit?"

"The security guy was pretty pissed when the other guy broke away from him. He told me that he heard me identify myself, and that he was actually happy that the guy got fucked up. I wish it hadn't happened, though. I don't like to fight."

Then he apologized for his language, and I explained to him that I was a hockey goalie, and have invented more ways to say "fuck" than he could ever imagine. He smiled again.

I continued with Joe while I wondered how drunk a guy has to be in order to take a swing at a big mother-ripper that has identified himself as a Marine. Holy cow, I've been drunk, but I've never been that drunk.

"Have you done a tour in Iraq yet, Joe?"

"No sir-I just got back from Afghanistan. I was there for nine months."

"See any action?"

"I'm a sniper, sir. It's my job to make sure that our patrols can go from one place to another without being shot at or bombed. It's really hard, though, because there are mountains everywhere, and it's pretty easy for the enemy to hide."

"They don't let just anybody be a sniper, do they?"

"No sir. There were 300 in my training class, and only 12 of us made it all the way through. It's all I ever wanted to do." I could tell he was proud of that.

I know a little bit about guns- not because I ever shoot, but because my dad and brother are big-time hunters. Myself, I never really got that gene. I can knock the shit out of spiders, but other than that, I'm not real big on making other things die. I don't have a problem at all with the concept of hunting, and I very much enjoy a big juicy steak- it's just not my thing. Anyway, we talked a little bit about his weapon, and how hard it is to shoot accurately from great distances.

I asked, "Can you tell if you've made an accurate shot, other than that their shooting stops?"

"I have a partner, sir. He's my spotter. He has a high powered scope, so when I take a shot, he looks for a puff of blood. That's how we know if I got him."

At that very moment the entire tone of our conversation changed. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised, but it hit me right then that I was speaking to a kid that had killed another human being. As far as I know, that was a first for me.

"Does that happen a lot, Joe?"

"Yes, sir. I have 22 confirmed kills, but I know it's a lot more than that." And as much as I could tell that he was proud to have been selected as a sniper, I knew from his tone and his facial expression that he was absolutely not proud of that fact.

Quietly, I said, "Well, your fellow soldiers are pretty lucky to have a guy like you watching their backs, Joe."

That's all it took. It was like I flipped a switch. Maybe it was because Joe had a few beers in him, but he certainly wasn't drunk. Maybe it was because I'm probably around his dad's age. Maybe it was because I'm pretty easy to talk to. But whatever the reason, Joe needed to let some things out, even it was to a total stranger.

So I did what I thought was the best thing I could do. I listened to the kid.

He spent the next 15 or 20 minutes talking to me about some of his experiences over there.

"Sir, I know it's my job, and I know they're the enemy, but I can't explain how it feels to kill a guy. It just doesn't seem right. I mean, I've taken maybe 50 guys out since I've been a Marine, and I think about it every day. I have nightmares. I try to put it out of my mind, but it never leaves me. "

I said that it must help knowing that he's protecting his brothers from potential harm.

"It's how I get through, sir. The guys in my unit are my family. We don't ever call anyone by their last names. It's way too impersonal. I'm closer to those guys than I'll ever be with my own family. They're the only ones that understand how I feel."

He hesitated a second, and looked down at the ground. I could tell there was something specific on his mind, and it wasn't good. I was torn between wanting him to tell me, and dreading what he might say. But it was clear that he needed to get something off his chest, and the absolute least I could do was give him my ear.

"What are you thinking, Joe?"

"This one day, we were on patrol, and the guys on the ground spotted an abandoned car. That's where the enemy will plant IED's (improvised explosive devices), so they approached, while my partner and I were up in the hills, looking for snipers. My best friend Michael was one of the guys by the car.

"Then I heard some shots from the mountains, but my partner and I couldn't find where they were coming from. The only way to really spot a sniper is to look for the flash from his rifle when he shoots. Otherwise, it's just too hard to find them in all those rocks. We knew the general direction, but we just couldn't find the shooter.

"I radioed down that we couldn't spot the gun yet, and they needed to take cover. Then I looked through my scope down at our guys, and..."

He stopped. I looked up at him, and this poor, tortured, giant kid was choking back tears. Oh, no...

"Mike got hit. I saw his chest explode. I watched my best friend die, sir. He got killed because I couldn't find the sniper in time."

By the way, my oldest son is called Mike. I thought about him right then.

I tried, "Joe, you can't blame yourself because you couldn't find a gunbarrel that was 1000 yards away. You just can't."

"It's my job, sir. I have to keep my guys safe."

Holy shit, this kid was in a lot of pain. "Joe, you need to talk to somebody about this. You can't just bottle it all up, and hope it gets easier. You have to talk to somebody."

"I can't, sir. I'm afraid they won't let me be a Marine anymore. It's all I know. I drink a lot, sir. It helps me forget for awhile sometimes."

I found myself thinking, how many of these kids have the same stories, and the same memories? I grew up watching war movies, and the soldiers were all like John Wayne, or Henry Fonda. They were all in their 30's or 40's, and tougher than hell. The movies made it look like it was almost romantic, going to war.

But it's not like that at all, is it? The majority of today's soldiers are children, most just a year or two out of high school. They've had their friggin' driver's license for two or three years. And I know the Army needs them to be young because they're in their physical prime, and can be easily molded to do what they're told.

But what happens to these kids when they get back from battle? How do they reconcile what they've seen, and what they've done? There has to be thousands of young men and women like Joe, that will be seeing enemies die by their hands, and watching their friends die over and over in their minds for the rest of their lives. How is it possible to ever live a normal life after that horror?

I'm sure this problem has existed as long as there have been soldiers going to war. But it never really hit home for me until my conversation with Joe. These kids don't stop being soldiers when their service ends, and they come back to the real world. They're soldiers for the rest of their lives, and I'll never be able to repay the sacrifice they've made to keep all of us safe.

I've thought a lot about Joe since that Saturday night at Red Rocks. The last thing I did was shook his hand again, put my hand on his shoulder, and thanked him a last time for so bravely serving his country. I wish we would have exchanged phone numbers, so that I could have called and checked on him every once in awhile. Or he could have called me if he needed someone to talk to again, since he was so far from home in Atlanta. I really regret that. I wish there was a way I could find him, but I never even got his last name. But I'll never forget that night, and that Marine.

And one thought keeps going through my mind over and over again.

God, please make sure my kids never have to go to war.

They Should Call It the South Bitch Diet

So a few months ago I had just gotten home from playing hockey with my Dawgs team, and I was feeling worse than I ever had after a game. I was exhausted, my arthritic knees were killing me, and I had played like warmed-over shit. Saves that used to be routine were now really hard, and I just didn't have the same old jump.

I thought to myself, "Is this it? Are you finally getting to the part where you can't do this anymore? You're 50, for Christ's sake- it's going to have to happen sooner or later."

Then, just on a whim, I jumped on the scale in the bathroom. I hadn't weighed in for almost a year, because I normally avoid that thing like the Black Death. The scale and I have always had a "don't ask, don't tell" policy. But it was right there, and for some reason, I needed to know what the damage was.

So I crossed my fingers, and stepped on. I looked down at the dial, and it said "tilt". That may have been a bad sign. So I stepped on again. The dial went back and forth, back and forth, until the needle finally settled on:

Drum roll, please...

202.

Have you ever seen "Ferris Bueller's Day Off"? There's a part where Cameron looks at the odometer of his dad's Porsche, and discovers that the guys in the parking garage put three hundred miles on it, and his dad is going to kill him when he gets home. You can hear him scream all over Chicago- it's funnier than shit.



Well, that's kind of what happened after I made sure that number on the scale was right. Yep, it really said 202, and nope, I didn't have an anvil shoved up my ass.

Fuuuuuuuuuuccccccckkkkkkkkk!!! Meeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!

My friends, 202 would be pretty good if I was, say, six foot three. But your Uncle Al comes in at a little under five foot seven, so those numbers just don't really add up, do they?

So after I stopped sobbing, I figured that I had three choices. The first was to change my blogsite name from "Short Fat Goalie" to "Short Morbidly Obese Goalie". While I was intrigued with the handle of SMOG, that didn't seem like the right decision.

The second was to develop a Scottish accent, and learn to yell the phrase "Get in my belly!" at midgets. That sounded like fun, but you almost never see a midget in this part of town, so that was out.

So I was left with the least attractive of my choices: get my head out of my chubby white ass and lose some goddamn weight.

I had a pretty good "Come To Jesus" meeting with myself right there in the bathroom at midnight.

I know I don't have much time left to play at a decent level. I mean, come on, who am I kidding? I'm 50, have arthritis in both knees, a bad back, and a torn rotator cuff in my left shoulder. Between 40 years of competitive soccer, baseball, softball, hockey, and acrobatic sex, I'm pretty much physically beat to shit. The morning after games, I look like a walking question mark.

But you know what? Every now and again, when I find just the right combination of Advil and Red Bull, I can still play a little bit, even in the higher leagues, and that's what keeps me going. Plus I still have that little tingle in my enormous belly on game days- I love playing so very much.

So I decided right there that if I'm going out, it's not going to be because I'm a fat fuck. I'll be going out because I'm a broken down, old fuck, thank you very much. I can live with that.

Lose the weight, bitch...

But how? For those of you that don't know me very well, I have about the same level of will power as golfer John Daly (that's funny if you know who he is- he's a smokin'/drinkin'/gamblin' train wreck). I've never smoked one cigarette, hit one bong, or done one drug. Not because I think there's anything wrong with it- shit, I think marijuana should be legal. It's because I always knew that if I started, there would be no fuckin' way I could ever stop, and I'd spend all my money on that shit, instead of the Eskimo porn that I invest in now.

(Don't laugh- Eskimo porn is way underrated. There's something special about a girl with four teeth, having skin tone that looks like a baseball mitt, and wearing nothing but mukluks- always good for a "totem pole", if you know what I mean. Uh, that may have been an overshare. Let's just move on...)

Anyway, I had done the Atkins diet before with some moderate success, but that is one boring mother-ripper. If you're not familiar, with it, you can basically eat all the meat, cheese, eggs, and salads you want, but there are no carbs allowed. So no breads, pastas, any fruits or vegetables with sugar in it, and anything potato related is out. So basically, nothing good to eat.

Now kids, there are only so many ham and cheese omelets a guy can consume, and as much as I am a huge carnivore, meat and then more meat gets pretty old quickly. There had to be a better way to go.

Then I read about the South Beach Diet. It's pretty similar to Atkins, but you get a few more liberties with some fruits, cereals, and pasta. It's like you get a little reward every once in awhile for dealing with the boring shit the rest of the time.

I thought, what the hell? The diets like Weightwatchers and Nutrisystems let you eat a better variety of foods, but the portions are so goddamn small, there would be no friggin' way I would make it. Homeboy needs a full belly, even if it's enough meat and cheese to stop my heart.

So I bit the bullet (no carbs in bullets, by the way), and started on my journey. Since I'd been down this road before, I knew the first couple of weeks would be the toughest. That's when you go cold turkey on the carbs, and your body has to kind of filter all the bad shit out. In case you were wondering, it's not a barrel of laughs.

I'm struggling to find the best way I can to describe those first two weeks. When I can't find the right words, I usually fall back on one of my dad's old sayings. Here goes:

You ever get a thumbtack in your pecker? It was a little like that...

When you're used to bad eating habits, it's really hard to adjust to a new regimen. The worst time was at night, when I was watching TV. I drink gallons and gallons of Diet Pepsi, so thank God that didn't have to change. No fuckin' way I make it if I would have had to give up the Diet Pepsi.

But it was the things that went with the Diet Pepsi that had to go. Chips, cookies, crackers- all that shit. Plus, I had to give up that bowl of Fruit Loops that I had almost every night before I went to sleep. I've loved cereal since I was a little kid, and that was probably the hardest thing to let go.

Now, I had to find something else that would keep my hands occupied and my mind off of the Fruit Loops, etc. It would have to be something tasty, and preferably, something salty. I love salt almost as much as I love the Diet Pepsi. And to boot, it had to be something low in carbs.

I found just the thing a week into the program, and it saved my ass. It was David's Pumpkin Seeds. I've always hated sunflower seeds, because they're like being married. It's way too much work for the little that you get out of it.

(I love that joke-I've been telling that one for years. Annie doesn't think it's nearly as funny as I do. She really needs to lighten up.)

But pumpkin seeds have a little more substance once you crack them open, plus they are a salty sonofabitch. The problem is, once you've eaten a few million of them, the salt wears a big hole in your tongue and the inside of your cheeks. Totally worth it- those fuckers are good.

So the seeds became my nighttime snack. But I still missed the cereal. How much, you ask? Well, every night, during those first couple of weeks, I'd have this ongoing dream of me being in a love threesome with Cap'n Crunch and Tony the Tiger, while Snap, Crackle and Pop sat on a couch beside the bed, watched us and whacked off. Did I mention that I really love cereal?

(I may need to talk to a professional about that someday. Again, let's move on. Quickly.)

So I made it through the first two weeks, eating basically nothing but meat, cheese, eggs, salads and vegetables. Plus those beautiful, beautiful, pumpkin seeds. How was my mood, you ask? Well, let's just say that there have been bears caught in traps that have had a happier outlook on life than I did in that time frame. It was a bitch (and I was a bitch), but it helped when some of the weight started coming off.

Shit, I was just happy to be back under two bills- I still can't believe I let myself get that fuckin' big. I guess I should have noticed something was wrong when my heart would beat like a hummingbird when I brushed my teeth. Live and learn, I guess...

So the weeks went on, and I was finally able to introduce a few fun foods into the diet. There were three things that helped get me through the program without killing myself or one of my children:

Balsamic vinegar dressing- Boys and girls, I've eaten so much lettuce in the past few months, that last week, I actually shit a rabbit. But Wendy's balsamic vinegar dressing on their BLT salad is really tasty, and pretty low in carbs. Dave Thomas would have been making big bucks off me, but he sort of went "tits up" a couple of years ago. Bummer for Dave.

South Beach Granola Bars- They make a cinnamon-raisin bar with only 15 grams of carbs that is a decent breakfast. They're a little expensive, but at least it was something sweet. You don't realize how much you miss sweets until you don't have them for awhile.

Breyers Low-Carb Ice Cream Bars- These are a little gift from God. They only have five grams of carbs, and they are fucking brilliant. Satified every sweet craving I had. Now, I imagine there are enough chemicals in them to render my liver and kidneys useless, but let's address one problem at a time, shall we?

I continued on the diet, and let those three things I mentioned above serve as my South Beach "rewards". In the meantime, I would continue to play hockey at least three times a week, but there was one problem. "No carbs" means "no fuel", and it's tough to find energy to play when there's nothing stoking the old furnace. I was more sluggish than Detroit's housing market, and believe me, I need all the pep I can get on game nights.

So, once a week on Tuesday afternoon, before I would play in summer league with my Dawgs brothers, I would allow myself to have a bowl of oatmeal before the games. Oh, and I'd slam a couple of sugar free Red Bulls on the way to the rink. The pregame meal of champions.

After not having anything with sugar for a few months, eating that first bowl of oatmeal was kind of like being paroled from prison after 10 years and then getting laid. I mean, laid by a girl instead of a triple axe murderer named Bubba. Well, you know what I mean. It just tasted real good, okay?

Anyway, I kept going, and after awhile, I could really start to see some changes. My clothes fit much better, I was moving a lot faster in goal, and I got to have a sweet, tearful reunion with my dork. We hadn't seen each other in a long time, but there he was again, right where I left him before I got so goddamn fat. Hadn't changed a bit.

For those of you out there that have been on a diet and seen some results, you know that once you make decent progress, you kind of get a little obsessed. That was me after I got down to 185 (still can't believe I'm writing down to 185). Even though by that time I was allowed to have 60 grams of carbs per day (that's the equivalent of four pieces of bread, or one serving of spaghetti, in case you were wondering), I kept down to around 20 most of the time. I was pretty religious about everything- I didn't want to take the chance of going back the other direction, and I still had a long way to go.

A couple of more months passed, and more and more people started to notice that I wasn't quite the giant blob of shit that I used to be. Trust me- that helped a bunch. I was starting to feel like those people on "The Biggest Fatty", or whatever the hell that show is on TV. Except without all the crying, and that horrible, loudmouthed female trainer that looks like a dude. Fuck, I hate her...

See? She looks like Steven Tyler's little brother

Then, at the end of July, I jumped back on the scale one day to see where I was. I hadn't looked in awhile- just got busy with other things. The dial went back and forth, only this time without the sheer centrifugal force of that first time I weighed myself. It gave me hope.

Drum roll, please...

165.

Now for those of you not so good with the math (and if you're spending your time reading this bullshit, you can't be too fuckin' smart), that's a total weight loss of 37 pounds. Or approximately 1/5 of my body weight. Or a small child. Or Barry Bonds' head.

Kids, I haven't been this low in many, many years. And I'm pretty close to where I want to be- maybe five more pounds if I could somehow manage it. The only bad part about a low carb diet is that if you start eating bad shit again, you'll put the weight right back on. Been there, done that. So it's going to be a constant battle against my willpower, and Toucan Sam.

(Writer's note: Stop scratching your head-Toucan Sam is the Fruit Loops mascot. Yeah-I've had sex with him in my dreams as well. Snap, Crackle and Pop waited outside.)

I know I'll get enough exercise- shit, I'll continue to play three or four times a week, and be on the ice another four times a week coaching my kid's team. He's a goalie too, except he can play circles around my sorry old ass. 13 year old legs can bend in ways 50 year old legs can't- but that's a whole other article.

Now, I have no excuses. I guess I'm in decent shape considering Eisenhower was president when I was born, and there were only 48 states (that's not a joke, by the way). My weight is at an acceptable level. My knees, shoulder and back are still fucked up, but the strain is a lot lower with 37 less pounds to carry around. This is probably as good as it's going to get.

Can I still play? Winter season starts in two weeks. I guess we'll find out soon.

Fuck, I hope so.

Family Night and the Spelling Bee II

So the other night, the family and I sat down to continue our yearly tradition of watching the Scripps-Howard National Spelling Bee. To be fair, this is only the second year we've watched, but for us, this event is right up there with Christmas, Easter, and Billy Mays' birthday.

Why, you ask? Because this is by far the largest gathering of mutants and dorks on the planet, and it is a gold mine for making fun of people. We're talkin' motherlode.

You see, to put it in medical terms, my family and I are what has been diagnosed as "insecure assholes", and we just aren't happy unless we are making sport of others to feel better about ourselves.

I believe it's healthy that we at least recognize and embrace this character flaw.

Anyway, last year I kept a running diary of the event, and it went over pretty well with other dickheads like myself. So let's try it again, shall we? Once again, we have your little pal, his wife Annie, and the two oldest boys, Mike-14, and Sam-13. So grab your Funk and Wagnalls, and button the top button on your shirt- it's party time! Here we go...

7:00- Jesus Tap Dancin' Christ, does Tom Bergeron have to host everything? Oh, I'm sure he'll just keep me a chucklin' all night with his folksy humor. What a cumspot that guy is...

Oh well, buckle up kids- it's time to meet the 11 finalists! Now, just like last year, I'm going to give most of them nicknames, and you'll see why in a moment. Some of the names are a little excessive on the number of letters, and to be honest, I type like old people screw.

Gee, come to think of it, I screw like old people screw. I just figured out what people mean when they use that expression. Damn, that's a little depressing. We'd better just move on...

There are three finalists that were here last year. They are:

Kyle Mou- Last year, he was 12, and looked like he was seven. This year, he's 13, and looks like he's seven. Tiny little fella- can't weigh more than 50 pounds. Has a perfectly round head, and his dad still looks like the Donger from "16 Candles". NO MORE YANKIE MY WANKIE! THE DONGER NEED FOOD!

Kavya Shivashankar- See what I mean about typing all the letters? It gets worse. Kavya is from Kansas, her dad's name is Merle, and her little sister is still a dead ringer for Dora the Explorer. She's very sweet, and as close to normal as you can get in this group. This makes her a longshot for success.

(Quick note if I could, please. There is no fuckin' way her dad's real name is Merle. It's like when you call one of those help lines, and some dude answers with a thick Indian accent, and says, "This is Jimmy, may I help you?" Bullshit- he's not Jimmy, his name is dizxsfdhgsgfhysojsan. I'm just saying...)

Sidharth Chand- Sidharth was the runnerup last year. At that time, he looked like Pedro from "Napolean Dynamite". This year, his mustache is thicker, and he's wearing glasses and a rumpled suit. He looks like a little Jewish old man. We'll call him "Ira the Jew". He has to be the favorite tonight.

And here are the eight finalists that are here for the first time:

Tussah Heera- Age 13, from Las Vegas. Scared shitless- you can see it in her eyes. I'll be shocked if she gets very far. Like almost all the kids, she's homeschooled, which means she'll spend her life living alone with 17 cats, because she won't be able to interact with human beings. She'll kick ass when Jeopardy comes on, but only the cats will know. I'll take Old Maids for $200, Alex...

Aishwarya Pastapur- Her family may not be from around here. Every year, there is some poor Indian girl that has one giant eyebrow, and a distinctive mustache. This year, it's Aishwarya. Like my dad always said, "If your girlfriend can grow a better mustache than you, you might want to check under the hood". Her role model is Amelia Earhart. I have so many jokes my head is about to explode. We'll just call her "Wolf Girl". Yikes...

Neetu Chandak- Neetu's another tiny little bugger, has braces, and speaks with a distinctive lisp. My boys latch onto this straightaway, and say she sounds just like Stan Marsh's sister Shelly on "South Park". Mike does a terrific Shelly impression- God, I hope she stays in a long time; Mike's going to bust me up if she does. Of course, we'll call her "Shelly Marsh".

(Unless you watch South Park, you're probably not going to be that amused by this. But if you don't watch South Park, there's something wrong with you, and you probably shouldn't be reading my blog. So there.)

Anamika Veeramani- She's from Cleveland, and her eyes are way, way too far apart. She really looks familiar, though. We try for awhile, but can't quite put our finger on who she looks like. Then it finally dawns on me.

From now on, she'll be "E.T."

Kennyi Aouad- Is it legal to have a last name that starts with four vowels? Anywho, Kennyi has a Jamaican accent, and looks like a miniature Bill Cosby (ladies and gentlemen, please start your Bill Cosby impressions!). He is incredibly outgoing, and mugs for the camera a lot. We determine that he hit the bong before the telecast. He's "Jamaican Cosby".

Serena Skye-Laine Lobsinger- You gotta be shittin' me. She's 13, so I have to believe that she's not married. Why is her goddamn name so long? She's from West Palm Beach, Florida, and has to be the whitest girl ever from that state. She's a big girl, and has a mop of bleach-blonde hair that looks just like Jon Bon Jovi from 1983. She'll be "Plus Sized Bon Jovi".

Tim Ruiter- Sound the alarm! We have a Category 5 dork alert here, kids. Tim is 13, and looks like the love child of Milhouse from "The Simpsons", and Big Bird. He hikes his pants up all the way to his nipples, and has a hunch when he walks. His profile says "he's devoted a lot of time to Star Trek, Star Wars, and Lord of the Rings". Wow, what a fuckin' shocker that is. If this kid ever gets laid, I'll eat my goalie cup. He'll be "Frodo".

Ramya Auroprem- Holy Mother of God. Ramya's face droops to one side, her mouth hangs open, and she has the biggest teeth I have ever seen. John Elway would say, "Goddamn, those are big teeth". Even Hillary Swank would say, "Goddamn, those are big teeth". The boys and I work on a nickname for what seems like an eternity, and after heavy negotiations, we settle on "Seabisquit". I was lobbying for "Barbaro", just out of respect to a great champion, but I got overruled.

(Another quick note: I believe the phrase you're looking for is, "Wow-you're a bunch of dicks". Yeah, I know. But we're sure laughing our asses off over here. Did you laugh with your kids tonight? Didn't think so. Bite me.)

7:15- So we finally got through all the preliminary crap, and we're spelling words in the first round. Just like last year, the stage is set up so that all the spellers are on one side, and all the parents and family are sitting on the other. I'll tell you what, kids- this is one motley crew of parents. The old apples sure didn't fall far from the trees in this crowd.

Almost everyone makes it through the round, except poor little scared shitless Tussah Heera. She spoke like she was trying to pass a kidney stone, and couldn't make it through "herniorraphy". She stumbles to the other side of the stage, and collapses in tears into the arms of her father, who is wearing one of those funny nose and glasses disguises.

Holy shit- those aren't the funny nose and glasses. Dude...

7:25- Before the next round starts, they have the attractive Erin Andrews from ESPN backstage interviewing Jamaican Cosby. Right in the middle of the interview, he puts on glasses and stares directly at her boobs. Swear to God. She notices, cuts the talk short and sends it quickly back to Tom Bergeron. I do my best Cosby (which sucks, by the way) and say, "Ya see Erin, your breasts look just like... the Jello Pudding Pops". The boys crack up. The wife...not so much.

7:30- Right before Plus Sized Bon Jovi's turn, they do a little feature on her. Her hobby, when she's not spelling, is making pillows? When asked to describe herself in one word, she says "effervescent". Sam says, "Dad, does effervescent mean fat?"

I have to pause the DVR for several minutes because I'm laughing so hard, I'm crying like a little girl. This happens all the time, and annoys the shit out of Annie. It takes about 90 minutes to watch one episode of "Family Guy". I can't help it-I'm an easy laugher.

Anyway, of course ABC put the Kiss of Death on P.S. Bon Jovi, and she misses the word "conchyliated" right after the feature. So I guess you could say that she was shot through the heart, and ABC was to blame. You know what? They give TV....a BAD NAME!

(Sorry- it was right there...I had to.)

The round continues, and Shelly Marsh bombs out on "derriengue". I think it was because she lisped so badly when she said "Are there any other pronunciations?" that some drool hit the microphone and electricity arced straight to her braces, leaving her stunned for a minute. As she leaves the stage, Mike lisps "Go suck it, turds", and makes me stop the DVR again.

Goddamn, this is fun so far...

Next, in the most shocking development of the night, the heavy favorite, Ira the Jew, misses "apodyterium". He then shuffles over and sits between his parents, and holds his head in his hands. Mike says "oy- what a woid", and I mention that this is worst thing that's happened to his family since his great grandparents vacationed at Auschwitz during World War II. The Holocaust joke puts me in the early lead for Most Inappropriate Comment of the Evening. I've got my fingers crossed...

7:45- We're back for round three, and we're down to seven players. Erin Andrews interviews Plus Sized Bon Jovi, and when they're side by side, it looks like one of those before and after pictures. "In just 12 weeks you can go from this....to this!"

Seabisquit comes up for her word, and Sam says, "Hey, why the long face?" DVR pause again- that one just killed me. She spells "axolotl" correctly, sits down, and straps the feedbag back on.

There's been something wrong with little Kyle Mou all night. He spells his words quickly, and then sits right down without a trace of a smile. They go to his short feature, and he says that he doesn't really like spelling- he thinks it's boring. This explains a lot- I'll bet The Donger slaps him around at home. YOU WANT TO QUIT? NO WAY, JOSE!

Frodo comes up, and his pants are hiked up so high, he has to unzip his fly so he can speak into the microphone. He spells "byssinosis", and they get a shot of his parents on the other side of the stage. His dad has a giant beard, and looks just like Yukon Cornelius in "Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer". This works out great, because his mom closely resembles the "Abominable Snowman" from the same show. This is not a small woman.

E.T. makes it through another round, correctly spelling "iliopsous". Her grandmother claps like she's on The Price Is Right. Settle the hell down, grandma...

8:00- Everyone made it through round three, so we're still at seven. Little Kyle Mou spells his word correctly, then goes back to his chair, sits down, and stares straight ahead without any emotion. He looks like he can't wait for this to be over. I know this look- my wife gets the same expression when we're making love.

Wolf Girl advances, but she's a little too intense. She yells into the microphone when she's asking for information, like "CAN YOU USE IT IN A SENTENCE!". I'll bet security guards are loading their guns with silver bullets, just in case she gets out of hand.

Jamaican Cosby gets the word "palatschinken" (a stuffed pancake, just in case you wanted to amaze your friends when you go to IHOP) , and stares at the judge like he just shit in his hat. He misses badly, and shuffles off the stage to see if he can share a doobie with Erin Andrews. I know he's going to try and "hit that" before the night's over.

Damn, there goes E.T.- she misses the word "fackeltanz". Mike says, "Ouch...". Her heartlight goes out, and she makes her way to the other side of the stage. It's too bad- with the prize money, she could have gotten surgery to bring her eyes closer to her nose, and away from her ears. What a bummer...

Dammit, down goes Seabisquit! She tanks the word "amarevole", and her dad immediately takes her out behind the barn and puts her down. I'll bet if she had won, they would have taken her to a stud farm, but instead, she'll be a bag of Dog Chow by next week. It's just tragic.

8:30- Down to four. Oops, I lied...now it's three. Kyle Mou just missed "schizaffin" (pronounced shiz-a fin), looks relieved that it's over, and then hesitantly walks to the other side of the stage, where The Donger is having a "shiz-a-fit". I'll bet a paycheck that Kyle gets beaten with a dictionary when they get back to the hotel room tonight. Nice parenting, Donger...

So we have our final three, and we immediately go to the Championship Round. They are:

Kavya- she's really flown under the radar tonight. Just pleasantly spells her words with a smile on her face, and waits for her next turn. We can't find any reason to crack on her. That pisses us off- we need to buckle down and work harder.

Wolf Girl- The eyebrows and mustache have filled out even more as the night has gone on. I'll tell you what- if she ever wants to wax that shit, the fuckin' bees are going to have to work overtime.

Frodo- He needs to lose. Instead of asking questions politely to the judges, he arrogantly says stuff like "What does that word mean?", and "Part of Speech". All the other kids say "please", but not our Frodo. I'll bet that little fucker has had more Melvins and Swirlies at school than you can count.

8:40- All three are doing great- they've coasted through the first six words. The camera pans over to Frodo's parents, and his mom is staring at Kyle Mou. It's been a few hours since she's eaten- I'll bet it's like the cartoons, and Kyle turns into a ham when she stares at him. Did I mention that she's kind of a big girl?

8:45- We have our first casualty of the final round. It's Wolf Girl- she can't negotiate "menhir". She's devastated, and can't be consoled by Wolf Parents. As a consolation prize, she is awarded a Weedeater so she can get to work on those eyebrows. Stat.

8:50- Now it's Kavya and Frodo, and we're all pulling for Kavya. We're tired of Frodo's dismissive bullshit attitude, and Kavya has remained pleasant all night.

When Frodo comes up for his word, we all start yelling "Noonan!", like when Denunzio is trying to make Danny Noonan miss his big putt in "Caddyshack" (again, if you haven't seen Caddyshack, I have no use for you).

It works! Frodo misses "maecenus" (pronounced my-seen-us), and Mike says "The sentence should have been, 'Hey! Why don't you suck maecenus!' " That was close to being over the line, but it was funnier than shit. There aren't any little kids in the room... fuck it, I'll go ahead and let him slide this time.

Okay, all Kavya has to do is spell one word, and she's the champion. That word is:

Laodicean

Kavya's dad Merle (or Shamalamadingdong, or whatever the fuck his real name is) gets a big old smile on his face. Kavya's had this word before. She nails it quickly, and she is our 2009 champion!

Back to the Klingon chat room, Frodo! You arrogant little pecker...

Kavya is quickly presented the Queen of the Dinks trophy by a guy named Richard Boehne. We can't help but wonder if his nickname growing up was "dickbone". Probably not...


Anyway, that's it for another year. Thanks for playing along once again. I think the next time we'll do something like this will be the Miss Universe pageant in August. See you then...