I live in the Denver area, so for the past six months, I've had to endure the saga of Carmelo Anthony almost every day. And it's been especially bad lately, dominating our sports pages before mercifully he finally got traded to the New York Knicks.
If there's a basketball God, Melo won't win a championship in New York. He doesn't deserve one, because he doesn't concern himself with defense, and he's not a team player. I hope it all goes to hell in a handbasket-I don't have time for gifted players with no character. I'm just glad it's over, and I don't have to hear about it any more.
To be honest though, even if he would have done us a big old favor by staying and reluctantly signing that 65 million dollar contract, I still wouldn't have given three shits. Why? Well, mainly because I think he's an arrogant fuckhead, and I wouldn't piss down his throat if his heart was on fire. But also because basketball is a bad game, especially in the NBA, and goes against everything that is great about sports. I watch basketball once a year, and that's only when the college tournament starts, and I waste $10 filling out a bracket. Because I have what's called a "Gamblin' Jones".
Kids, I submit that hockey is a lot better game than basketball. And I know what you're going to say. "But SFG, basketball is much more popular. Hell, more people watch poker than hockey. You're obviously a dipshit". Fair enough, but in the future, please try not to confuse me with logic. And I'm not a dipshit.
If you'll allow, I'd like to make a case why hockey is better. After you read this, please feel free to throw in a comment at the end, either telling me I'm right, or I'm full of crap.
1. Speed- Hockey is absolutely the fastest of all the major sports (and please don't tell me NASCAR is a major sport there, Zeke, or Dale, or Ricky, or whatever the fuck your name is). Players reach speeds of 20-25 miles per hour, which is right up there with how fast Usain Bolt ever ran the 100 meters. They can shoot pucks at over 100 MPH, which makes it kind of fascinating why assholes like me would ever stand in front of that on purpose. But that's a whole other article.
Now, combine that skating speed with: a) the fact that they're in a pretty enclosed area, and b) there are boys going approximately the same speed trying to knock their fucking head off their shoulders, and you have the potential for some pretty good wrecks. And wrecks are a good thing, right Zeke?
Unfortunately. that very thing that makes it better actually hurts the popularity of the sport. Because the puck moves so fast, they haven't found a way to follow it yet on television, even with HD. I think that's the most common objection I've heard, and it's a fair point. If technology ever catches up, I think the game will grow by leaps and bounds.
(Writer's note- Remember when Fox tried the "glow puck" back in the nineties, and it would have that red flame coming off of it after a slap shot? Goddamn, that was a bad idea. Right up there with Teen Mom and ever allowing Dane Cook to tell a joke. What a queef that guy is.)
2. Watching the game live- Boys and girls, it isn't even close. At a basketball game, things don't get exciting until there are about two minutes left. Until then, you can go get a beer, grab a bite to eat, or go read the paper while taking a life changing, half hour crap. You aren't going to miss anything except the twentieth monster dunk of the night, because those jagoffs don't play any defense.
At a hockey game, you don't dare leave your seat until the end of the period. If you do, you could miss a goal, which is an event compared to basketball. There are around a hundred baskets made every night in the NBA, but maybe four or five goals in the NHL. Scoring goals is very difficult, so you really need to stay and watch so you don't miss anything. Not to mention all the other things hockey has, like great passing, acrobatic saves, huge hits, and of course, fighting.
Speaking of which...
3. The fights- Come on, don't act all indignant and shit, you know you fuckin' love the fights. What other team sport in the world lets two guys hook like a sonofabitch for 30 seconds or a minute, and then five minutes later, they're back playing like nothing ever happened?
People are always screaming about how fighting should be banned from hockey. I say bullshit. Fighting is a necessary way for players to police themselves, and keeps them from retaliating more with their sticks. That's when you can really hurt a guy.
And here are the cool parts about it. First, they never let a fight happen if there is too much of a size difference between the players. If a big guy is matched up with a little guy, the refs either break it up straightaway, or the big boy just skates away and waits for someone his own size to fight.
Second, when a player starts to gain an advantage, and he has the other guy either at his mercy or down on the ice, he'll just stop fighting and skate to the penalty box. There is absolutely a code to fighting in hockey- they all know that sometimes it's their job, but when they win the fight, they don't pummel the loser, they just let him go and skate away. Normal people might think the players are a bunch of thugs, but there is real honor in that.
And every once in a blue moon, a couple of goalies will square off, and that always makes for some real fun. Unless you're Timmy Thomas (see the clip below this article).
On the other hand, have you ever seen a basketball fight? I think it's because the players are so tall and their arms are so long, but it always turns into an open handed, bitch-slap fest, with guys swinging wildly like a whirling dervish. Or they'll sucker punch a guy, and then run away like a pussy, like my pal Carmelo did in New York a couple of years ago.
Hockey players never do that. When they throw a punch, they stick around and own it.
4. Trash talk and taunting- Basketball players are good at talkin' shit- no doubt about it. It's just part of the game's culture. But you know what? It gets old after a while. How often are you watching Sportscenter, and see a player dunk over his opponent, and then just glare at him, or yell something like, "What's my name, bitch!"
They do this because they know that clip will get them on Sportscenter. That program is maybe the best and worst thing that has ever happened in our sports culture. It's terrific being able to get sports news 24 hours a day, but it's also been a Pandora's Box for bad behavior.
I'll tell you what- if a hockey player ever scored, and then went back to the goalie and said something like that, I guarantee you that he'd be playing the rest of the game with at least three sticks stuffed up his ass. Like I said, they police themselves, and the game is better off for it.
5. Teamwork- Hockey, in my opinion, is the ultimate team game. A group of five guys busting their ass and working together on the ice can a lot of times outperform a team of higher caliber players (see:1980 Winter Olympics). One hockey player cannot carry an entire team by himself because a) nobody has been able to skate through all five guy since Bobby Orr in the 60's, and b)even the best players are only on the ice for about a third of the game.
You may ask, "What about Wayne Gretzky?". As great as Gretzky was, and for all the goals he scored, he never would have won one Stanley Cup, much less four, without the likes of Mark Messier, Jari Curry and the goaltending of Grant Fuhr. Edmonton won a cup after Gretzky moved to Los Angeles, because they still had most of their group together, and they were one hell of a team.
By contrast, look at what's happened to the Cleveland Cavaliers this season because LeBron made his "decision" to "take his talents to South Beach" (maybe the biggest cocksucker move ever). They set a team sports record for consecutive losses, and are currently the worst team in the league. This is one year after they had the best record in the league. That would never, ever happen in hockey.
Basketball, especially now in the NBA, has become a game of isolation. The scorer gets the ball, his four teammates take their defenders off to the side, and they play one on one. Passing has become almost a thing of the past. There is only one team that plays unselfish, team ball, and that is the San Antonio Spurs. Oh, they have the best record in the league, in case you were wondering. Can you name two players on that team? Didn't think so. Team play isn't very sexy.
That's what the NBA has become.
6. Character- Okay, here's the biggest thing for me. The main reason I can't stand to watch the NBA anymore is because how the players conduct themselves on the court. Too many act like a bunch of punks, and are just horrible role models for kids. Ron Artest wades into the crowd in Detroit and attacks a fan who threw ice at him (he got the wrong fan, by the way). Gilbert Arenas pulls a loaded gun on a teammate in the locker room over a gambling debt. The list goes on and on.
And the selfishness in basketball is overwhelming. Here's a good example- I hate to pick on my man Carmelo again (well, no I don't), but the other night in his Knick debut, he scored 27 points. Great night, right? He got those points by going 10 of 25 from the field. With one lousy assist. The rest of the entire team took 55 shots. That was a regular thing while he was here in Denver. It's like that all over the league. The good players are going to take most of the shots, and it doesn't really matter whether they're having a bad night or not.
Hockey is an entirely different story. You hear all the time from journalists how hockey players are the nicest, most accommodating guys in sports. I think it's partly because so many of these boys come from small towns, and partly because so many are raised in good, solid family units.
Last season, I got to coach on my kid's team, and we played against Joe Sakic's kid in the playoffs. He was an assistant coach as well. We scored with less than a second left in double overtime, and knocked his team out of the playoffs. In the handshake line after the game, he could not have been nicer to our kids, and all of our coaches. All class- I'll never forget that.
But the biggest thing is the culture of the game itself. One player cannot do it all by himself, while the others stand on the side and watch. Every phase of the game has to be good for a team to be successful. A decent example is Roberto Luongo, who might be the best goalie in the world right now. He's easily in the top three. A few years ago, he played for the Florida Panthers, and they lost a lot more than they won. Now he plays for Vancouver, and they have one of the best records in the league. Is Luongo better now than he was then? Nope. He's just surrounded by a better team.
Next time you watch an NBA game, look what happens when a player makes a big shot. More often than not, you'll see them beating on their chest, mugging for a camera, or doing that bullshit thing where they pop their jersey. When a hockey player scores a goal, the first thing he almost always does is point at the guy who passed him the puck. Maybe it's just me, but I find that a lot more appealing to watch.
And I swear to God this isn't a white/black thing. There are some good guys in the NBA, like Chauncey Billups and Tim Duncan, and there are some assholes in the NHL, like Sean Avery and Todd Bertuzzi. Avery is a complete waste of flesh, and Bertuzzi should still be in the slammer for almost killing Steve Moore and ending his career. Race has absolutely nothing to do with it. You're either a dick or you're not.
So anyway, that's my case. Like I said earlier, I'm apparently in the minority, because lots more people watch basketball than hockey. Ratings are up, and highlights dominate ESPN every night.
But you know what? I don't think I'm wrong.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Sunday, February 13, 2011
My Man Tim Thomas Sort Of Fights Carey Price
I love Tim Thomas- he's the NHL version of me- old, short, and chubby. Except he has, you know, ability, and I flop around like a drunk walrus. But other than the ability thing, we're kindred spirits.
I've never had a fight as a goalie (way too old now-I'd break a hip). But if I did, I would imagine that it would go something like this. Looks like Timmy went to the Don Zimmer School of Fighting. I have to believe it was at around the 20 second mark of this clip that Thomas realized that this was a very bad idea.
Price was actually pretty cool for not hammering Timmy when he had the chance. I guess it would feel like beating up your dad. Sure, it would feel great at the time, but it would always be awkward at Thanksgiving.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
The Seven Stages of an Ass Kicking
(I wrote this a couple of years ago after a particularly bad game, and I just came back upon it while I was going through some archives. If you new readers hadn't seen this before, especially my fellow goalies, you might get a yuck or two out of it.)
I understand that when people have a terminal illness, they go through seven stages before they finally get the big game misconduct from God, and head up to the penalty box in the sky. I never really understood that concept until my hockey game Thursday night.
You see, your little pal likes to think that he can still play goalie at a decent level, even at the advanced age of 49. One of the leagues I play in is the “B” league in Lafayette, featuring several players that competed in college. Good, fast skate.
Last season, I was lucky enough to lead that league with a 2.7 goals against average, of course with the help of a very good defense. In the NHL, the goalie leader wins a trophy called the Vezina, named after former player Georges Vezina. In Lafayette, the players jokingly say the top goalie should win the Vagina award, because we're all a bunch of pussies.
I think they're joking.
Call the sumbitch whatever you want. I won it in a good league where the other goalies were much, much younger, and I'm proud of that. I can only imagine what the Vagina Trophy looks like. Probably somebody that's French. Goddamn, I hate the French.
Anyway, when we started a new season last Thursday, I had no reason to believe things would be that much different. We lost a few key players from last season, but our team has been together for awhile, so we could certainly overcome that, right?
We played a team called Damaged Goods, whom we pretty much owned last go-around. But before the start of the game, I looked over at the other side of the ice, and noticed that most of that team had changed, and had gotten much younger.
No worries- we’d use our experience and cunning to give these kids a hockey lesson.
Well, it turns out that some of these new boys also play on the club team at the University of Colorado, and were looking for a place to get some extra ice time. I knew after approximately two minutes that this was going to be a long night.
Would you consider losing 11-1 a long night? Yeah, me too. I actually heard my goals against average explode in the middle of the second period. During that agonizing hour and a half, I believe I experienced those seven stages that everyone talks about. I’ll try to describe them, in order, without getting tears all over my keyboard:
Stage one: Shock
From the opening drop of the puck, those boys were all over us like a second date. We had several players missing for the game, and were down to 10 skaters, versus the usual 13. Not good.
I looked at their three starting forwards, and I’m sure that if you combined their ages, they were still younger than me. Once again, not good.
I pulled a save out my ass early to keep them off the board, but it was clear that it wasn’t a matter of if they were going to score, but when, and how many. About five minutes in, a shot bounced off our player and right onto one of their sticks, and he put it in. Two minutes later, they shot one right between my defenseman’s leg that I never saw, and it was 2-0. I played fairly well the rest of the period, but they still got two more, and it was 4-0 after one.
The shock part was that I hadn’t given up four goals in an entire game in this league since last October. Welcome to the new season, son.
Stage two- Denial
At the end of the period, I actually said, “They’re not that good, boys. Let’s stop chasing them around, and play a little smarter, and we can get right back in this thing”. We’re talkin’ about denial here, kids. I couldn't even keep a straight face when I said it.
It took them five minutes of the second period to build the lead up to 6-0. It was at this point that we came to our next stage, which is…
Stage three- Bargaining
For the first time in forever, I was looking at giving up double figures in goals. As a goalie, you’ll do almost anything so that second digit doesn’t go up on the board.
I really started encouraging the rest of my team, because I could see them losing interest quickly. Have you ever heard that when a dog is humping your leg, you should just let him finish, and he’ll leave you alone? You haven’t? Anyway, that’s where we were. Just like me, they wanted to get it over with, wipe the spooge off their leg, and get to the part with the beer in the locker room.
But I still had three goals to play with to stay below 10, so I was doing everything I could to get them to buy into trying hard for me.
Stage four- Guilt
I was trying my best, but the goals kept coming, climaxing with the ultimate sucker punch, their eighth with four seconds left in the second period. I went to the bench, and tried to appeal to the pride of my mates; the guys I’ve been playing with for seven years.
“Boys, you know how much crap we’re going to take if they score 10 goals on us? Let’s try to save some respect here, fellas”.
One of the guys said, “Al, they’ll be laughing at you. I can live with that”.
At that point I realized that I play with a bunch of dickheads. Seems like I would have noticed that by now.
So much for stage four. The lesson here- you can’t make a hockey player feel guilty. Let’s just move on…
Stage five- Anger
I got through the first eight minutes of the third with no goals, and was starting to think that I was going to make it. Then I looked up when the puck was in the other end for a change and noticed that one their kids was “cherry picking”.
For those of you that don’t know, cherry picking is when a player will completely disregard playing defense, and move way forward, hoping to get a long pass out of the zone, resulting in a breakaway. It’s a bullshit way to play hockey, and really bullshit when your team has an eight goal lead. It’s the same thing as stealing bases with a big lead in baseball. You just don’t do it- it shows no class.
I had a brief word with him when he came to my side of the ice.
Me- “Are you really cherry picking with an eight goal lead?”
Punk Ass- “I’m trying to get my hat trick. No offense, dude.”
Me- “None taken, dude. Oh, just one more thing, sonny. If you do it again, I’m not even going to try and stop the shot. I’m going to skate out and tomahawk your motherfucking knees with my stick. Thought you might want to know that.”
I lifted my helmet so that he could see my eyes when I told him. He knew I meant it, and he didn’t do it again.
Like I always say to my wife- kick my ass, but don’t embarrass me.
Stage six- Depression
The ninth goal came with ten minutes left, and then two minutes later, a guy took a shot from a bad angle that squeezed in between my skate and the near post. Goal number 10 just had to be completely my fault, didn’t it? It wouldn’t have been a perfect night otherwise.
And there it was. Ten goals. All of a sudden, I felt like I couldn’t hang with the kids anymore, even though I was playing in the league championship game and winning the Vagina less than a month ago. Now, I felt like I was…almost 50.
I haven’t really thought about how much time I have left playing hockey. I’ve always said that I want to play until I’m 50, and we’ll see where we are at that point. Both knees are shot to hell, and I have a torn rotator cuff. I keep a barrel full of Advil in the trunk of my car. But I still have one good shoulder, and these wits. So I have that going for me, which is nice.
I always promised myself that if I suck, I’m hanging ‘em up. I’m way too competitive to keep playing if I can’t cut the mustard. No old-man leagues for me, either. I like playing with and against the kids, you know, like 35.
(Writer's note: It's three years later, and I'm playing in an old man league. Way to stick by your convictions, Al.)
Plus, because I waited until I was old to start having children, I have to somehow stay active so that they don’t have to wheel me in to their high school graduation ceremony. Haven't been mistaken for my kids' grandpa yet- don't want that to happen if I can avoid it.
Stage seven- Acceptance and Hope
After goal 11, I actually played pretty tough the rest of the way, and when the final buzzer sounded, the kids finally stopped humping my leg. The referee, who’s a friend of mine, skated up to me and said, “Why didn’t you play this well earlier? You might have held them to eight.” Some friend, eh? What an asshole...
I checked with the scorekeeper after the game, and it turns out we were outshot 49-20. I guess that would partially explain the carnage, and why my heart was beating like a rabbit until three in the morning.
The next day, I got back on the horse and played my usual Friday lunchtime pickup game. After enduring no end of shit from the lads in the locker room for my performance the night before, I went out and played fairly well.
It gave me hope.
I hope I can make it across the border.
I hope to see my friend, and shake his hand.
I hope the Pacific Ocean is as blue as it has been in my dreams.
Wait…that’s Shawshank Redemption. Here’s what I really hope (still try to imagine Morgan Freeman’s voice for this- it’s pretty cool):
I hope that it was just a bad night, and I haven’t turned into a giant block of Swiss cheese. (Because Swiss cheese has a bunch of holes in it. Old goalie joke. Try to keep up.)
I hope that I have a little more time left playing the game, because I love playing it so much.
I hope I never have to look up at the scoreboard and see the number 11 ever again.
I hope…
I understand that when people have a terminal illness, they go through seven stages before they finally get the big game misconduct from God, and head up to the penalty box in the sky. I never really understood that concept until my hockey game Thursday night.
You see, your little pal likes to think that he can still play goalie at a decent level, even at the advanced age of 49. One of the leagues I play in is the “B” league in Lafayette, featuring several players that competed in college. Good, fast skate.
Last season, I was lucky enough to lead that league with a 2.7 goals against average, of course with the help of a very good defense. In the NHL, the goalie leader wins a trophy called the Vezina, named after former player Georges Vezina. In Lafayette, the players jokingly say the top goalie should win the Vagina award, because we're all a bunch of pussies.
I think they're joking.
Call the sumbitch whatever you want. I won it in a good league where the other goalies were much, much younger, and I'm proud of that. I can only imagine what the Vagina Trophy looks like. Probably somebody that's French. Goddamn, I hate the French.
Anyway, when we started a new season last Thursday, I had no reason to believe things would be that much different. We lost a few key players from last season, but our team has been together for awhile, so we could certainly overcome that, right?
We played a team called Damaged Goods, whom we pretty much owned last go-around. But before the start of the game, I looked over at the other side of the ice, and noticed that most of that team had changed, and had gotten much younger.
No worries- we’d use our experience and cunning to give these kids a hockey lesson.
Well, it turns out that some of these new boys also play on the club team at the University of Colorado, and were looking for a place to get some extra ice time. I knew after approximately two minutes that this was going to be a long night.
Would you consider losing 11-1 a long night? Yeah, me too. I actually heard my goals against average explode in the middle of the second period. During that agonizing hour and a half, I believe I experienced those seven stages that everyone talks about. I’ll try to describe them, in order, without getting tears all over my keyboard:
Stage one: Shock
From the opening drop of the puck, those boys were all over us like a second date. We had several players missing for the game, and were down to 10 skaters, versus the usual 13. Not good.
I looked at their three starting forwards, and I’m sure that if you combined their ages, they were still younger than me. Once again, not good.
I pulled a save out my ass early to keep them off the board, but it was clear that it wasn’t a matter of if they were going to score, but when, and how many. About five minutes in, a shot bounced off our player and right onto one of their sticks, and he put it in. Two minutes later, they shot one right between my defenseman’s leg that I never saw, and it was 2-0. I played fairly well the rest of the period, but they still got two more, and it was 4-0 after one.
The shock part was that I hadn’t given up four goals in an entire game in this league since last October. Welcome to the new season, son.
Stage two- Denial
At the end of the period, I actually said, “They’re not that good, boys. Let’s stop chasing them around, and play a little smarter, and we can get right back in this thing”. We’re talkin’ about denial here, kids. I couldn't even keep a straight face when I said it.
It took them five minutes of the second period to build the lead up to 6-0. It was at this point that we came to our next stage, which is…
Stage three- Bargaining
For the first time in forever, I was looking at giving up double figures in goals. As a goalie, you’ll do almost anything so that second digit doesn’t go up on the board.
I really started encouraging the rest of my team, because I could see them losing interest quickly. Have you ever heard that when a dog is humping your leg, you should just let him finish, and he’ll leave you alone? You haven’t? Anyway, that’s where we were. Just like me, they wanted to get it over with, wipe the spooge off their leg, and get to the part with the beer in the locker room.
But I still had three goals to play with to stay below 10, so I was doing everything I could to get them to buy into trying hard for me.
Stage four- Guilt
I was trying my best, but the goals kept coming, climaxing with the ultimate sucker punch, their eighth with four seconds left in the second period. I went to the bench, and tried to appeal to the pride of my mates; the guys I’ve been playing with for seven years.
“Boys, you know how much crap we’re going to take if they score 10 goals on us? Let’s try to save some respect here, fellas”.
One of the guys said, “Al, they’ll be laughing at you. I can live with that”.
At that point I realized that I play with a bunch of dickheads. Seems like I would have noticed that by now.
So much for stage four. The lesson here- you can’t make a hockey player feel guilty. Let’s just move on…
Stage five- Anger
I got through the first eight minutes of the third with no goals, and was starting to think that I was going to make it. Then I looked up when the puck was in the other end for a change and noticed that one their kids was “cherry picking”.
For those of you that don’t know, cherry picking is when a player will completely disregard playing defense, and move way forward, hoping to get a long pass out of the zone, resulting in a breakaway. It’s a bullshit way to play hockey, and really bullshit when your team has an eight goal lead. It’s the same thing as stealing bases with a big lead in baseball. You just don’t do it- it shows no class.
I had a brief word with him when he came to my side of the ice.
Me- “Are you really cherry picking with an eight goal lead?”
Punk Ass- “I’m trying to get my hat trick. No offense, dude.”
Me- “None taken, dude. Oh, just one more thing, sonny. If you do it again, I’m not even going to try and stop the shot. I’m going to skate out and tomahawk your motherfucking knees with my stick. Thought you might want to know that.”
I lifted my helmet so that he could see my eyes when I told him. He knew I meant it, and he didn’t do it again.
Like I always say to my wife- kick my ass, but don’t embarrass me.
Stage six- Depression
The ninth goal came with ten minutes left, and then two minutes later, a guy took a shot from a bad angle that squeezed in between my skate and the near post. Goal number 10 just had to be completely my fault, didn’t it? It wouldn’t have been a perfect night otherwise.
And there it was. Ten goals. All of a sudden, I felt like I couldn’t hang with the kids anymore, even though I was playing in the league championship game and winning the Vagina less than a month ago. Now, I felt like I was…almost 50.
I haven’t really thought about how much time I have left playing hockey. I’ve always said that I want to play until I’m 50, and we’ll see where we are at that point. Both knees are shot to hell, and I have a torn rotator cuff. I keep a barrel full of Advil in the trunk of my car. But I still have one good shoulder, and these wits. So I have that going for me, which is nice.
I always promised myself that if I suck, I’m hanging ‘em up. I’m way too competitive to keep playing if I can’t cut the mustard. No old-man leagues for me, either. I like playing with and against the kids, you know, like 35.
(Writer's note: It's three years later, and I'm playing in an old man league. Way to stick by your convictions, Al.)
Plus, because I waited until I was old to start having children, I have to somehow stay active so that they don’t have to wheel me in to their high school graduation ceremony. Haven't been mistaken for my kids' grandpa yet- don't want that to happen if I can avoid it.
Stage seven- Acceptance and Hope
After goal 11, I actually played pretty tough the rest of the way, and when the final buzzer sounded, the kids finally stopped humping my leg. The referee, who’s a friend of mine, skated up to me and said, “Why didn’t you play this well earlier? You might have held them to eight.” Some friend, eh? What an asshole...
I checked with the scorekeeper after the game, and it turns out we were outshot 49-20. I guess that would partially explain the carnage, and why my heart was beating like a rabbit until three in the morning.
The next day, I got back on the horse and played my usual Friday lunchtime pickup game. After enduring no end of shit from the lads in the locker room for my performance the night before, I went out and played fairly well.
It gave me hope.
I hope I can make it across the border.
I hope to see my friend, and shake his hand.
I hope the Pacific Ocean is as blue as it has been in my dreams.
Wait…that’s Shawshank Redemption. Here’s what I really hope (still try to imagine Morgan Freeman’s voice for this- it’s pretty cool):
I hope that it was just a bad night, and I haven’t turned into a giant block of Swiss cheese. (Because Swiss cheese has a bunch of holes in it. Old goalie joke. Try to keep up.)
I hope that I have a little more time left playing the game, because I love playing it so much.
I hope I never have to look up at the scoreboard and see the number 11 ever again.
I hope…
Sunday, February 6, 2011
COME PLAY IN DAWG BOWL I
Click to enlarge
I know there are a bunch of men's league hockey players that read this crap, because I get emails from all over the country. I design a lot of my articles for the beer league in general, and my Dawgs teams in particular. It's amazing how many of you guys out there relate to the stories, especially the goalies. I've discovered that I'm not the only broken down old fart trying to hang onto his youth, and honestly, it's nice to know I have company.
Well, if you play here in the Denver area, and I guess even if you don't, we'd like to invite you all to our first ever adult men's tournament, being held the weekend of April 1-4 at the Edge Ice Arena in Littleton, Colorado.
We're calling it Dawg Bowl I, and we'll be hosting 24 teams in four different divisions. The fees are going to be better than any adult tournament in Colorado, and all proceeds will go to a special charity that we've just recently set up. I'll tell you all about that in a minute.
If you sign up before the end of February, the cost of the event will only be $800 ($850 after that). Compare that to other tourneys, which normally run over $1000 for the same amount of games. Hell, those of you that have ever played in Las Vegas know that you can pay up to $1800, so this is a rockin' deal.
Now, if you will just give me a minute, I'll tell you why you should enter:
1) There will be a division you can play in. We're going to have four different brackets- Novice (E level/beginning teams), Bronze (Lower C/D level), Silver (high C/lower B), and Gold (A and high B levels).
We're setting that Gold bracket up for a very hot skate, so make sure you know we're talking about former junior league players and that type of level. The reason we included "High B" is that in some areas like Superior and The Edge arenas here in town, the B is the best skate, and they can certainly hang in that division.
2) Three game guarantee. Each division will have three games of pool play, and the top two teams will face off Sunday for all the marbles and a very cool trophy that we've designed.
3) Silent auction- The Colorado Avalanche and others have come on board with us, and we already have some items that we're planning to silently auction off during the weekend. They include everything from a laptop computer, a signed Adam Foote Canadian Olympic jersey, a stick signed by the entire 2010 Avalanche team, and even a helmet signed by one of the best players on Earth, none other than "The Great 8"- Alex Ovechkin.
4) Food and Drink- The Breckenridge Brewery here in town has graciously supplied beer for us, and we will be selling it for charitable contributions during the entire weekend. Also, we will be grilling up hamburgers, hot dogs, and brats, along with other food items, so you can stop by before or after your games for some terrific and inexpensive food. One thing for sure about us old farts- we know how to barbeque.
5) The Edge Ice Arena- The Edge is one of the nicest places to play in the Denver area- two sheets of ice, big locker rooms, lots of seating for all your fans, plenty of parking, and a beautiful view of the mountains.
6) Our charity- Pay attention now-here's the best part. Every dime of the proceeds from the entry fees, auctions, beverages and food goes to the new charity set up by Dawg Nation. We've recently come across some guys that play adult hockey that have either hurt themselves badly in games, or have gotten seriously ill and need help with their medical bills. Our foundation was set up to give a hand to our hockey playing brothers and sisters, hopefully lightening their load a bit as they recover.
A good example of one of the guys we're going to help is a player named Dennis, who shattered his ankle going into the boards in an Over 40 game. He had surgery to put everything back together, but caught an infection during the surgery. He's had to have several other operations, but the effects of the infection have remained. Bottom line is that he has to have one more surgery, but it's a coin flip right now as to whether he gets to keep the leg or not. He's a good guy- just the kind of person we want to help with our foundation.
Kids, there is not another adult tournament I know that is set up so that 100% of the net goes to charity. So many tournaments say "a portion" of the proceeds go to a cause, but it ends up being like 5%. Not one of our board members or volunteers is taking a cent for the hundreds of hours an event like this requires.
So not only do you get to play great hockey at a good price, but you'll be doing a nice thing for your fellow player. I can't sell it any better than that.
Like I said earlier, I have a bunch of readers from outside Denver, and if your team would like to make a road trip, we'd love to have you here in town. There are several hotels close to the arena, and there is absolutely nothing like Denver in the spring. In fact, the Colorado Rockies team will be opening their season here the same weekend, so you could make it one hell of a hockey/baseball trip.
Dawg Nation now has their own website, and here is the link to where you can sign up for the tournament.
https://sites.google.com/site/dawgnationhockey/hockey-tournament
Oh, and if you're not a hockey player but would still like to contribute auction items or a couple of bucks, we will absolutely take it. Our biggest expenses will be ice time and referees, so anything that would put a dent in that and push more money to the bottom line would be greatly appreciated.
If you have any questions at all, please shoot me an email at sfg35@comcast.net. We only have room for 24 teams, and we're already getting a huge response, so please sign up quickly in order to assure your spot. We're going to work hard to guarantee that you have a great experience, and also to make sure you come back next year for Dawg Bowl II.
Thanks from the entire Dawg Nation family, and we'll see you in April!
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Coyotes Howl After Old Dawgs 6-0 Win
There has started to be some grumbling among the other teams in the SDOHL that the Old Dawgs are too stacked and too good for the rest of the league. This is despite the fact that they were barely over .500 after seven games, and two weeks ago they were handily beaten 5-1 by the Touchstone squad. Every week, league director John Ling keeps hearing complaints.
You know what might help even things up? How's about showing up with more than nine skaters? That would almost certainly narrow the odds. Until then, perhaps they should shut the fuck up.
But that is exactly what happened last Thursday night. The Coyotes could only field less than two full lines, made no effort to acquire substitutes before the game, and subsequently got what they deserved, easily going down to an almost full Dawgs side, 6-0.
Defenseman only in his fantasies Tito Pijanowski continues to tear up the SDOHL, this week scoring a hat trick to build his season total to 20 goals. Team captain and former spooge dumpster Marty Richardson notched his sixth, and the French were well represented this week as Bernie Levesque also banged in his 20th and unbelievably added an assist, while his brother in law Chris Courtiol slapped in his fourth, and shocked his teammates by avoiding a misconduct penalty.
Courtiol
The two teams had played twice earlier in the season, and both games were as close as you could get. On October 28, the Coyotes prevailed in a shootout, 4-3, and then on December 9th, it was the Old Dawgs turn to squeak out a shootout victory, this time by a 5-4 margin.
Thursday night, things were way, way different. The Old Dawgs dominated the shorthanded Coyotes almost from the opening faceoff, outshooting their opponent by a 34-13 margin. Dawgs goalie Al Sterner picked up maybe the easiest shutout of his life, and the only time he was really worried about the other team scoring a goal was when a certain unnamed player was on the ice.
It's a crapshoot every shift
Pijanowski opened the scoring just a minute into the first period, when he took a pass from rookie Mike Wimmer, skated in using his patented "Polish Snowplow" move, and easily beat Coyotes goalie Ted Cetaruk. It was Wimmer's second assist since joining the team, as he shows vast improvement every week.
Polish Snowplow
Richardson doubled the Old Dawgs lead five minutes later after being set up on a breakaway by a nice feed from Rand Peterson. Richardson fought the usual urge to fire the puck right into Cetaruk's pads, deked to his right and tucked the puck low past the Coyote goalie. It was Peterson's fourth assist, to go along with his versatility of being able to play both forward and defense.
So the Old Dawgs headed to the second leading 2-0, with Sterner courageously stopping all three shots that came his way in the opening period. The lead quickly became three, as Pijanowski knocked in his second of the game, a power play goal at around the three minute mark. Levesque made it 4-0 and game over in the eleventh minute, with the assists going to Richardson and linemate Dan Cashman.
The third period was pretty much a formality, because the Coyotes were completely exhausted. Halfway through the frame, Courtiol received a pass from Levesque, took just a moment to shake off the surprise that Levesque actually passed the puck, and then roofed one past Cetaruk to make it 5-0.
Pijanowski closed out the scoring with 30 seconds remaining, going on one of his patented end to end skates that will now be called "Oh, by the way... fuck you!". He cut across the net, and buried the puck past Cetaruk, thus assuring that the Coyotes would piss and moan right after the game.
The Old Dawgs are now nine points clear of the rest of the league, and will try to expand that lead this Thursday night when they take on B&K Supply. Game time is scheduled for 9:55, but will probably start sometime Friday morning. The last time the two team met, the Old Dawgs prevailed 7-6 despite the fact that their goalie Al Sterner forgot his skates, borrowed some and played the worst game in his 52 years on Earth. This week, he tied his skates around his testicles Wednesday night to remind himself to bring them to the game.
In other Old Dawgs news:
After years of hockey experience, Old Dawgs goalie Al Sterner finally found something he can do well. He can look look behind himself for the puck and creatively swear better than anyone currently playing the game.
"Monkey fucker!! Vaginal belch!!"
This week Old Dawgs forward Bernie Levesque finally appeared in a picture that made him look like a real hockey player.
Shooting off the wrong foot, but other than that...
Better hide from the Easter Bunny, Wilksie
You the man, Tito...
You know what might help even things up? How's about showing up with more than nine skaters? That would almost certainly narrow the odds. Until then, perhaps they should shut the fuck up.
But that is exactly what happened last Thursday night. The Coyotes could only field less than two full lines, made no effort to acquire substitutes before the game, and subsequently got what they deserved, easily going down to an almost full Dawgs side, 6-0.
Defenseman only in his fantasies Tito Pijanowski continues to tear up the SDOHL, this week scoring a hat trick to build his season total to 20 goals. Team captain and former spooge dumpster Marty Richardson notched his sixth, and the French were well represented this week as Bernie Levesque also banged in his 20th and unbelievably added an assist, while his brother in law Chris Courtiol slapped in his fourth, and shocked his teammates by avoiding a misconduct penalty.
Courtiol
The two teams had played twice earlier in the season, and both games were as close as you could get. On October 28, the Coyotes prevailed in a shootout, 4-3, and then on December 9th, it was the Old Dawgs turn to squeak out a shootout victory, this time by a 5-4 margin.
Thursday night, things were way, way different. The Old Dawgs dominated the shorthanded Coyotes almost from the opening faceoff, outshooting their opponent by a 34-13 margin. Dawgs goalie Al Sterner picked up maybe the easiest shutout of his life, and the only time he was really worried about the other team scoring a goal was when a certain unnamed player was on the ice.
It's a crapshoot every shift
Pijanowski opened the scoring just a minute into the first period, when he took a pass from rookie Mike Wimmer, skated in using his patented "Polish Snowplow" move, and easily beat Coyotes goalie Ted Cetaruk. It was Wimmer's second assist since joining the team, as he shows vast improvement every week.
Polish Snowplow
Richardson doubled the Old Dawgs lead five minutes later after being set up on a breakaway by a nice feed from Rand Peterson. Richardson fought the usual urge to fire the puck right into Cetaruk's pads, deked to his right and tucked the puck low past the Coyote goalie. It was Peterson's fourth assist, to go along with his versatility of being able to play both forward and defense.
So the Old Dawgs headed to the second leading 2-0, with Sterner courageously stopping all three shots that came his way in the opening period. The lead quickly became three, as Pijanowski knocked in his second of the game, a power play goal at around the three minute mark. Levesque made it 4-0 and game over in the eleventh minute, with the assists going to Richardson and linemate Dan Cashman.
The third period was pretty much a formality, because the Coyotes were completely exhausted. Halfway through the frame, Courtiol received a pass from Levesque, took just a moment to shake off the surprise that Levesque actually passed the puck, and then roofed one past Cetaruk to make it 5-0.
Pijanowski closed out the scoring with 30 seconds remaining, going on one of his patented end to end skates that will now be called "Oh, by the way... fuck you!". He cut across the net, and buried the puck past Cetaruk, thus assuring that the Coyotes would piss and moan right after the game.
The Old Dawgs are now nine points clear of the rest of the league, and will try to expand that lead this Thursday night when they take on B&K Supply. Game time is scheduled for 9:55, but will probably start sometime Friday morning. The last time the two team met, the Old Dawgs prevailed 7-6 despite the fact that their goalie Al Sterner forgot his skates, borrowed some and played the worst game in his 52 years on Earth. This week, he tied his skates around his testicles Wednesday night to remind himself to bring them to the game.
In other Old Dawgs news:
After years of hockey experience, Old Dawgs goalie Al Sterner finally found something he can do well. He can look look behind himself for the puck and creatively swear better than anyone currently playing the game.
"Monkey fucker!! Vaginal belch!!"
This week Old Dawgs forward Bernie Levesque finally appeared in a picture that made him look like a real hockey player.
Shooting off the wrong foot, but other than that...
This week Old Dawgs forward Eric Wilks tried to impress the ladies with a sophisticated new look. But all they noticed was that Wilks' head is the same shape as an egg.
Better hide from the Easter Bunny, Wilksie
After his outstanding performance in the Dawgs' last game, Tito Pijanowski won the SDOHL award for "The Outstanding Polish Sort Of Defenseman Of The Week- With An IQ Less Than 60". All of Dawg Nation could not be more proud.
You the man, Tito...
Friday, January 7, 2011
2 Old To Play 2 Games
For those of you new to this website, I play hockey with a terrific group of fellas, and we call ourselves Dawg Nation. Dawg Nation is comprised of four teams:
Young Dawgs- A group of kids, all in their teens and twenties, that play in a very high level league during the summer. Believe it or not, I don't get to play on that team. I know-it's an outrage.
Dawgs I- A fun combo of young and old, ranging anywhere from 19 to my old ass at 52. We play in the highest league offered at the Edge Ice Arena (B level at most places), and we're good and competitive. In fact, we won the whole shootin' match last year, and got to skate around with the Edge Cup, which for me was better than sex. Here I am after we won.
I dry humped it- nobody wanted to touch it after that
Dawgs II- A little older group of boys (almost all over 40), that play in the next level down. They've been very successful- they also won last season, which we called the Dawgs Double. I don't play on that one either- a great kid named Bryan patrols the crease for them.
Old Dawgs- We just started it this winter. It's an over 40 league, and the level of play is quite a bit slower than any of the others. But it's a really nice group of guys who just come out to get some exercise and hang out with dudes their own age. We combined a few old Dawgs I players, a lot of Dawgs II, and some new guys to make this squad up. I wasn't expecting much, but it's been a total kick in the ass so far. Not because of the actual hockey, but socially it's been great.
So we had an Old Dawgs game the other night, and I got a pretty good workout. You see, on both Dawgs teams that I play on, to put it mildly we don't actually put a ton of emphasis on defense. Our defensemen really enjoy skating deep into the offensive zone, which leaves us open for the counterattack, and can result in extra goals given up by your little pal.
I stopped worrying about that shit a long time ago. Sure, the competitive prick in me wishes that we would play it a little more conservatively sometimes, especially when we're trying to hold a lead late in the game. But that's just the way we roll, and all I can do is try my hardest to keep the puck out of my net. We have a lot of games that end up like 6-5.
So we ended up winning the Old Dawgs game 5-2, and I probably got around 30 shots for the game. Most of their chances were down low, so I stayed pretty busy, and was tired by the end. I'd like to think I put in a good night's work, and was ready to retire to the locker room, where we would drink some beers, laugh, fart and tell stories like only old people can.
However, just as I got off the ice, the captain of one of the teams from the next game approached. I've been playing long enough to know what was happening next: their goalie wasn't coming, and they needed somebody to play for them in ten minutes.
Fuck me.
The absolute last thing in the world I wanted to do was play another game. I hadn't slept well the night before, my knees were aching, and honestly, I wanted to drink a beer and bullshit with my friends. But I just couldn't let a team skate without a goalie- it would completely ruin the game for 30 guys, and I'd feel like a dickhead. So I reluctantly said okay.
I hadn't pulled a doubleheader in a long time, and I told the guys before the game not to expect a lot, because I was pretty worn out. One of them said, "Don't worry, none of our defensemen showed up tonight, so we're not expecting much at all."
Uh-oh...
Young Dawgs- A group of kids, all in their teens and twenties, that play in a very high level league during the summer. Believe it or not, I don't get to play on that team. I know-it's an outrage.
Dawgs I- A fun combo of young and old, ranging anywhere from 19 to my old ass at 52. We play in the highest league offered at the Edge Ice Arena (B level at most places), and we're good and competitive. In fact, we won the whole shootin' match last year, and got to skate around with the Edge Cup, which for me was better than sex. Here I am after we won.
I dry humped it- nobody wanted to touch it after that
Dawgs II- A little older group of boys (almost all over 40), that play in the next level down. They've been very successful- they also won last season, which we called the Dawgs Double. I don't play on that one either- a great kid named Bryan patrols the crease for them.
Old Dawgs- We just started it this winter. It's an over 40 league, and the level of play is quite a bit slower than any of the others. But it's a really nice group of guys who just come out to get some exercise and hang out with dudes their own age. We combined a few old Dawgs I players, a lot of Dawgs II, and some new guys to make this squad up. I wasn't expecting much, but it's been a total kick in the ass so far. Not because of the actual hockey, but socially it's been great.
So we had an Old Dawgs game the other night, and I got a pretty good workout. You see, on both Dawgs teams that I play on, to put it mildly we don't actually put a ton of emphasis on defense. Our defensemen really enjoy skating deep into the offensive zone, which leaves us open for the counterattack, and can result in extra goals given up by your little pal.
I stopped worrying about that shit a long time ago. Sure, the competitive prick in me wishes that we would play it a little more conservatively sometimes, especially when we're trying to hold a lead late in the game. But that's just the way we roll, and all I can do is try my hardest to keep the puck out of my net. We have a lot of games that end up like 6-5.
So we ended up winning the Old Dawgs game 5-2, and I probably got around 30 shots for the game. Most of their chances were down low, so I stayed pretty busy, and was tired by the end. I'd like to think I put in a good night's work, and was ready to retire to the locker room, where we would drink some beers, laugh, fart and tell stories like only old people can.
However, just as I got off the ice, the captain of one of the teams from the next game approached. I've been playing long enough to know what was happening next: their goalie wasn't coming, and they needed somebody to play for them in ten minutes.
Fuck me.
The absolute last thing in the world I wanted to do was play another game. I hadn't slept well the night before, my knees were aching, and honestly, I wanted to drink a beer and bullshit with my friends. But I just couldn't let a team skate without a goalie- it would completely ruin the game for 30 guys, and I'd feel like a dickhead. So I reluctantly said okay.
I hadn't pulled a doubleheader in a long time, and I told the guys before the game not to expect a lot, because I was pretty worn out. One of them said, "Don't worry, none of our defensemen showed up tonight, so we're not expecting much at all."
Uh-oh...
I can see now why their goalie didn't show up. He probably discovered what kind of team he was going to have in front of him, and blew his fuckin' brains out rather than have to play that night.
Kids, it wasn't pretty. I started out fairly well, even though they spent most of the first ten minutes in our end. About halfway through the first, I got beat on a shot where I was completely screened. The bad part is that it was my guy doing the screening.
This happens all the time with guys that don't regularly play defense. They think the place to stand is directly in front of the goalie, and instead of challenging the shot, they just get in the way. I always yell, "Screen! Screen! Let me see it!", then after the puck goes in, they turn around and say, "Were you talking to me?". Why, yes. Yes I was, Bobby Orr.
Anyway, the flood gates pretty much opened after that, and we ended up losing 4-1. I played okay under the circumstances- the only fugly goal I let in was the last one, where I was just so tired that I let the puck get under my stick where it should have been an easy save. But the puck was in our end so much during the game, I think Roberto Luongo could have been the goalie, and they still would have lost. At least that's what I'm telling myself.
But your chubby little pal was one tired sumbitch afterwards. It was absolutely everything I could do to get my gear off and drive home. I tried to drink as much water as I could, but my calves kept cramping up, and I couldn't bend my fingers. I figured I was either dehydrated, or rigor mortis was setting in.
When I got home, I hung up my pads in the garage like I always do, and brought in my roll of clothes that I wear during the game, which includes a pair of sweatpants, socks, underwear (boxer briefs, so my cup doesn't chafe my taint meat) and an Under Armour shirt. When it's dry, the roll weighs maybe a pound.
That night it seemed heavier than usual. Just out of curiosity, I put the roll on the scale. It weighed seven pounds. Boys and girls, that's a whole lot of perspiration, tears and butt-gravy, even for a fat boy like me.
On the best days, I'm a walking question mark the morning after I play. It takes a little time and Advil to loosen up the old back and other parts. But the morning after the doubleheader, I could barely move. Not only was I walking like Quasimodo, both knees were killing me, and my calves were still cramping. It wasn't my favorite Friday morning.
So what did we learn? Well, I think it's finally time to admit that I can't play two games in a row anymore. I have an hour and a half in me, and that's about all there is. Three hours of hockey just isn't going to work. My brain might be saying, "Come on, body- we can do this!", but my body is now saying, "Uh, brain, how's about you go somewhere and fuck yourself?". It's time to listen to my body, even if it uses abusive language.
So I'm done with doubleheaders.
Of course, until the next time someone gets in a pinch. Then I'll play, because, you know, I'm an idiot.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Forget Your Equipment-Pay the Price
Last week I had a game in one of the leagues I play in, and I was going to the arena right after my kid's practice. For those of you new to this site, I coach hockey to 13 and 14 year old boys. My kid Sam is also a goalie (God help him), and I've been coaching on his teams for the past nine seasons.
Obviously, nobody in our association knows about my hobby of writing the smut that you read here, otherwise I'd be out on my ass. So let's just keep that our little secret, okay? But I really enjoy coaching- most of the kids are terrific, and really want to learn the game. I'm getting too old to play this shit, but I can certainly still teach it.
Anyway, I got to the rink about twenty minutes before gametime, and discovered that I had left my goalie skates in my coaching bag. I live about a half hour away from the arena, so there was no way I could get home and back, or even call my adorable wife and ask her to bring them to me.
This usually happens about once a year. I'll either forget an an article of equipment, or something will fall out of my bag when I hang my stuff up in the garage to air out. Trust me- you don't want to be anywhere near my garage when my gear is in there, especially during the summer. It smells like the fuckin' monkey house at the zoo.
But this was twice in the past month that I had something important come up missing when I got to my game. Three weeks ago, it was my nut cup. I ended up borrowing one from a very hesitant teammate, promising that: a) I wouldn't wear it against my bare skin, and b) I would have it sandblasted before I gave it back to him. So I placed it on the outside of my sweatpants, and it ended up rolling around inside my breezers the whole game. Because it moved around so much, it actually spent more time covering my butthole than my fellas. I wasn't real worried about it- I have four kids and a vasectomy, so I don't have that much use for my gonads anymore.
Not having skates was a whole other animal, though. It's not like my teammates had an extra pair bouncing around in their bag, and even if they did, goalie skates are different than regular ones. For those of you who don't know, the blade is a lot longer, and there is a plastic shell on the outside of the boot to protect the foot if the puck hits the skate.
So what was I going to do? I went to the guy at the front counter, and asked without much hope if by any chance they had some goalie skates I could borrow. He said he thought maybe they had some in their equipment room, and I could go back and take a look.
It turned out unbelievably that they had two pairs back there. I hoped that one of the pairs was somewhere near my size. I wear an eight, which is pretty small for an adult. Oh, and you can just save the small foot/dick jokes, thank you very much. My wife assures me it's much more important what you do with it. She always stifles laughter and looks away when she says that, but still...
I checked out the first pair, and I think both of my feet could have fit inside one skate. Not good. I crossed my fingers, and went to the other pair. They were a lot closer, so I tried them on. They were still too big, but I thought if I tied them as tight as possible, I could make do. It was 15 minutes until game time- beggars can't be choosers, right?
So I went back to the locker room, and absorbed the requisite amount of shit from my teammates for leaving my skates in my other bag. After taking just a quick moment to show everyone my middle finger, I started strapping my gear on. The holes were different from mine between the skate blade and the bottom of the boot, so I had to thread the straps a little bit differently. No problem.
I stood up with my pads on, and my feet were moving around inside the skate a little bit, but I tightened them so much, it wasn't too bad. No problem.
Then after the Zamboni got off the ice, I set foot onto the surface for the five minute warmup before our game. I took that first stride, and my right skate slid out from under me, like I still had the skate guards on. Then I took a stride on the other foot, and the exact same thing happened. I went to my knees, reached back, and ran my finger over the blades, expecting to remove some tape or other debris that might have gotten on the edges. It was then that I discovered that neither skate had any inside edge. I couldn't have sliced fuckin' butter with either blade.
Now we had ourselves a little problem. It was five minutes to gametime, and I had no way to put my weight on the inside edges of my skates. And for those of you who know nothing about playing goalie, you spend an enormous amount of time on your inside edges. You need them to push off to move from side to side across the goal crease, and move off your goal line to cut the angle from a shooter.
I thought to myself, "Who the fuck uses these skates?". They were sitting next to a set of pads that were still wet, so they must have been worn pretty recently. I supposed that it must be some dude that plays the game a whole bunch differently than I do.
But I had no choice. I had to try and make do with what I had, because we were out of time, and I had no other options. I very gingerly went over to our bench and told my teammates the problem, and warned them to look out for anything because I could barely stand up. One of them said, "How will we know the difference from usual, Al?" I won't tell you what I said in response, but it involved asking him to wrap his lips around a certain part of my anatomy.
So I skated back to my crease, almost falling twice on the trip. I could feel it- this was going to be the longest hour and a half of my life. Even longer than when I watched The Bounty Hunter with Jennifer Aniston. Holy shit, was that a bad movie. But I digress...
Anyway, I've thought about it a lot, and it took awhile, but I finally figured the best way to describe how I looked during the game.
Imagine a walrus with Muscular Dystrophy. One of "Jerry's Walruses", if you will. Well, I wasn't quite that graceful.
Sweet dancin' Jehovah, was I bad. In that league, I'm used to letting in just over two goals per game. It's an Over-40 league, so the level of play isn't real fast. My biggest concern normally is being patient, and waiting for the slower shots to get to me, and not overreacting.
But kids, that night I allowed a half dozen goals. And at least five were shots I would have stopped easily any other night. The worst one was a little wrist shot from the damn blue line. I tried to push off to just stick it off into the corner, but my skate went out from under me, the puck hit the heel of my stick, and went in. Kids, I've let in some fugly goals before, but this might be the biggest howler of my life.
Now, there are two silver linings to my evening from hell. First, I'm so fucking old, I'm not capable of being embarrassed anymore. The fact that I'm even writing about this debacle proves my point. Besides, there are a bunch of people out there with many more problems than letting in shitty goals. That includes a few of my Dawgs brothers that are going through some serious health problems- I'm pretty good these days about keeping things in perspective.
And second, we won the goddamn game. My mates put up seven for me, so at least I didn't bring down the entire team with my stupidity. What should have been a blowout win turned into a tight game, so I guess in the big picture, I helped make things more exciting. You're welcome.
Also, I've learned something. From now on, I will turn on the lights in my stinky garage, and make sure all my equipment is in my bag before I take off for the game. I'm already getting forgetful in my old age- it feels like I'm on a one way train bound for Senility City. Taking an extra minute may save me some future problems, or at least keep my teammates from killing me after a game.
Obviously, nobody in our association knows about my hobby of writing the smut that you read here, otherwise I'd be out on my ass. So let's just keep that our little secret, okay? But I really enjoy coaching- most of the kids are terrific, and really want to learn the game. I'm getting too old to play this shit, but I can certainly still teach it.
Anyway, I got to the rink about twenty minutes before gametime, and discovered that I had left my goalie skates in my coaching bag. I live about a half hour away from the arena, so there was no way I could get home and back, or even call my adorable wife and ask her to bring them to me.
This usually happens about once a year. I'll either forget an an article of equipment, or something will fall out of my bag when I hang my stuff up in the garage to air out. Trust me- you don't want to be anywhere near my garage when my gear is in there, especially during the summer. It smells like the fuckin' monkey house at the zoo.
But this was twice in the past month that I had something important come up missing when I got to my game. Three weeks ago, it was my nut cup. I ended up borrowing one from a very hesitant teammate, promising that: a) I wouldn't wear it against my bare skin, and b) I would have it sandblasted before I gave it back to him. So I placed it on the outside of my sweatpants, and it ended up rolling around inside my breezers the whole game. Because it moved around so much, it actually spent more time covering my butthole than my fellas. I wasn't real worried about it- I have four kids and a vasectomy, so I don't have that much use for my gonads anymore.
Not having skates was a whole other animal, though. It's not like my teammates had an extra pair bouncing around in their bag, and even if they did, goalie skates are different than regular ones. For those of you who don't know, the blade is a lot longer, and there is a plastic shell on the outside of the boot to protect the foot if the puck hits the skate.
So what was I going to do? I went to the guy at the front counter, and asked without much hope if by any chance they had some goalie skates I could borrow. He said he thought maybe they had some in their equipment room, and I could go back and take a look.
It turned out unbelievably that they had two pairs back there. I hoped that one of the pairs was somewhere near my size. I wear an eight, which is pretty small for an adult. Oh, and you can just save the small foot/dick jokes, thank you very much. My wife assures me it's much more important what you do with it. She always stifles laughter and looks away when she says that, but still...
I checked out the first pair, and I think both of my feet could have fit inside one skate. Not good. I crossed my fingers, and went to the other pair. They were a lot closer, so I tried them on. They were still too big, but I thought if I tied them as tight as possible, I could make do. It was 15 minutes until game time- beggars can't be choosers, right?
So I went back to the locker room, and absorbed the requisite amount of shit from my teammates for leaving my skates in my other bag. After taking just a quick moment to show everyone my middle finger, I started strapping my gear on. The holes were different from mine between the skate blade and the bottom of the boot, so I had to thread the straps a little bit differently. No problem.
I stood up with my pads on, and my feet were moving around inside the skate a little bit, but I tightened them so much, it wasn't too bad. No problem.
Then after the Zamboni got off the ice, I set foot onto the surface for the five minute warmup before our game. I took that first stride, and my right skate slid out from under me, like I still had the skate guards on. Then I took a stride on the other foot, and the exact same thing happened. I went to my knees, reached back, and ran my finger over the blades, expecting to remove some tape or other debris that might have gotten on the edges. It was then that I discovered that neither skate had any inside edge. I couldn't have sliced fuckin' butter with either blade.
Now we had ourselves a little problem. It was five minutes to gametime, and I had no way to put my weight on the inside edges of my skates. And for those of you who know nothing about playing goalie, you spend an enormous amount of time on your inside edges. You need them to push off to move from side to side across the goal crease, and move off your goal line to cut the angle from a shooter.
I thought to myself, "Who the fuck uses these skates?". They were sitting next to a set of pads that were still wet, so they must have been worn pretty recently. I supposed that it must be some dude that plays the game a whole bunch differently than I do.
But I had no choice. I had to try and make do with what I had, because we were out of time, and I had no other options. I very gingerly went over to our bench and told my teammates the problem, and warned them to look out for anything because I could barely stand up. One of them said, "How will we know the difference from usual, Al?" I won't tell you what I said in response, but it involved asking him to wrap his lips around a certain part of my anatomy.
So I skated back to my crease, almost falling twice on the trip. I could feel it- this was going to be the longest hour and a half of my life. Even longer than when I watched The Bounty Hunter with Jennifer Aniston. Holy shit, was that a bad movie. But I digress...
Anyway, I've thought about it a lot, and it took awhile, but I finally figured the best way to describe how I looked during the game.
Imagine a walrus with Muscular Dystrophy. One of "Jerry's Walruses", if you will. Well, I wasn't quite that graceful.
Sweet dancin' Jehovah, was I bad. In that league, I'm used to letting in just over two goals per game. It's an Over-40 league, so the level of play isn't real fast. My biggest concern normally is being patient, and waiting for the slower shots to get to me, and not overreacting.
But kids, that night I allowed a half dozen goals. And at least five were shots I would have stopped easily any other night. The worst one was a little wrist shot from the damn blue line. I tried to push off to just stick it off into the corner, but my skate went out from under me, the puck hit the heel of my stick, and went in. Kids, I've let in some fugly goals before, but this might be the biggest howler of my life.
Now, there are two silver linings to my evening from hell. First, I'm so fucking old, I'm not capable of being embarrassed anymore. The fact that I'm even writing about this debacle proves my point. Besides, there are a bunch of people out there with many more problems than letting in shitty goals. That includes a few of my Dawgs brothers that are going through some serious health problems- I'm pretty good these days about keeping things in perspective.
And second, we won the goddamn game. My mates put up seven for me, so at least I didn't bring down the entire team with my stupidity. What should have been a blowout win turned into a tight game, so I guess in the big picture, I helped make things more exciting. You're welcome.
Also, I've learned something. From now on, I will turn on the lights in my stinky garage, and make sure all my equipment is in my bag before I take off for the game. I'm already getting forgetful in my old age- it feels like I'm on a one way train bound for Senility City. Taking an extra minute may save me some future problems, or at least keep my teammates from killing me after a game.
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