Post hockey update:

My team really kind of sucks. I took 54 shots. Let in 4. I hurt all over.

But on the bright side, I just saved a ton of money by switching my car insurance to Geico!

-ccm

One thing I've been doing for over a decade or so is play hockey as a goalie. This sport has really just been a huge part of my life. I love it dearly, and it really has helped me both socially and physically. It's just one of those total package deals. It's my secret hobby that beats the shit out of me, but I love every second of it.

I'm sitting here right now at 6:27 pm trying to kill time before a game, and I realized something. I'm nervous. Really nervous. This happens every single time I play. It kills me to think about it, that the last line is me, and if I have an off night the team loses. That's the killer, the team aspect of it. There are about 15 guys out there that are counting on me having a good night. Just a little pressure.

So for over 10 years I've been getting nervous, losing my appettite, and in generally feeling unsure. Butterflies are a regular occurance, and something I know far too well. There are stories about old time NHL goalies throwing up before every game because they were so nervous. I understand that. I'm playing in a nothing league to kill time. They were playing in the majors, with Lord Stanley's Cup on the line.

Then again, you have guys like Lester Patrick. Mr. Patrick was the coach of the New York Rangers way back in the day. During one playoff game, his goalie was hit in the face with a puck. Being before the time of face masks, the goalie was lost, having to get a few dozen stitches in his face. The ref confronted Patrick and said he needed a goalie. In a bind, and already down a few players, he bit the bullet and got in nets. The team knew this was a precarious position, and that Patrick had never played goal before. They bolstered his confidence with some light shots, and then threw him to the wolves.

Patrick won the game. The Rangers also won the cup that year, partially with Patrick in nets. Because of his fearlessness and just shear ability, the NHL made the Lester Patrick trophy to honor outstanding coaches who put it all out there.

Or there's the story of Georges Vezina. He played for the Montreal Candiens in the 20s, and was so devoted to his team that he played through the playoffs with a fever, eventually collapsing on the ice. He knew that all his boys were relying on him, and he gave it his all, literally. He died of TB about a month or two after collapsing on the ice. Today, the Vezina Trophy is given to the best goalie in the NHL.

There are also little stories too. The goalie mask was created by Jacques Plante after he had been hit in the face during a game and had been stitched up. He went to the back and realized his team didn't have a backup, so he needed to get back in the game. He came out wearing a goalie mask, which actually had been created before Plante, but never really used. It was a matter of pride, but Plante knew that his face mattered more than pride, and that his team needed him. He wore the mask for the rest of his career, and eventually other goalies started to as well.

While we're here, let's not forget Charles Rayner. He was a NY goalie who later would make it into the Hockey Hall of Fame. He posted good numbers, but one story always got me. During a scramble behind his net, where everyone was tied up, the puck squirted out in front of the net. With the ice mostly to himself, and being one of the more mobile goalies ever to play, he took the puck and skated the length of the ice, scoring a goal. People like Ron Hextal would later score goals, but this is probably the only case of a goalie scoring on another goalie. It's partly legend, having occurred outside of the NHL, but it persists.

I'm not sure really why I started talking about those guys, but I did. I've always liked the lore that surrounds this position, the grace, and the athleticism. Superstition is a huge part of it too. You have to get into your game mode, after all. Personally, I put everything on my left side first, skate the same pattern whenever I first get on the ice, and generally remain stoic. I know that if I get it into my mind that I can get a shutout, I won't. The most memorable occasion of this happened during a game I was playing for my father's team. I was a minute away from a shutout, and there was a timeout. I went to the bench, and someone mentioned the possibility to me. I knew I was doomed.

So we get out on the ice again. There is a faceoff, they win it. The puck gets taken back to the point, and there is a fair amount of traffic, but I can see the shooter. He shoots wide. I move to play it wide, but then something happens. The puck hits my father in the ass, changing the trajectory. It goes from left to right, and I can't get back in time. My father's ass cost me a shutout.

It's a fun sport, funny at times, intense, demanding, but it's something I love, and as much as it takes out of me, I can't stop playing. My knees, ankles, shoulders, and hands have all taken some abuse from it, but I keep coming back.

And in about an hour, I'll be back again.

Here's to a good game.

-ccm

But it's 5!

1) Talking to people you miss is always a good thing

2) It is even better at a wedding

3) It's even even better better when you see two people that are amazing as individuals join to become something that is just astounding and beyond all words. For a few days now I've been trying to find the words to express how I feel about the new couple, and I can't. When you see a bride and groom beaming at each other, smiling in love, the world just seems perfect. The weather favored them, and in the noontime sunlight they were wed. I want only good things to happen to them for the rest of their days. They're the first ones to tie the knot out of our group, and they'd better set a good example...

They did make this weekend special. It's been a while since i've seen people in such love with each other do something so good. That's the only thing that can really describe the whole bloody affair: good. It was good. Emotionally. It made us all feel that, and more. I wonder what they're doing with it? I wonder how it feels?

Pretty damn good, I would imagine.

4) I found out why Grandpa doesn't go to the supermarket: Vampire Ho Chi Minh

5) Wonderful times had in a wonderful place with wonderful people. Really, just a good good goodly time. Everyone was so nice. Except for that old guy who tried to make us not go to the wedding rehearsal reception. He was a tool. Honestly, he thought we must've just been townies trying to get some free booze, not caring about our friends. Josh put him in his place, which was awesome.

appendix A) The steak bomb. A good foot and a half sub, truly meant to be consumed when watching the classic movie "Tron". (Shut up, we're watching Tron!)

appendix B) surgically removed

appendix C) City of God is a damn fine film. Go see it. Seriously.

There is just so much that I want to say about this weekend that I can't even comprehend yet. To think of people you know, that are your peers, getting married is just something that puts life into perspective, puts your place in the world in your mind, and makes you think about how much time you really have to get things in order. I'm not in any rush, not at all, but Pat and Becky really have set a high standard. They're good for each other. You can tell by the way their parents reacted. Pure joy. Joy all around. Rapture. It was too good to be true, and too strange to process.

Here's to good, joyful things: may they come often to reunite us.

-ccm

It's one of those little things, but it made me feel really good.
Hadn't played hockey for the better part of the year, and came out tonight against a fairly tough team. Scraped out a 3-2 win, letting in one soft goal. I can live with that. Got to make a save with my face too, which was kind of cool. It just felt really good, and really smooth, being back in net. I think I've found my way to pass the time.

On another note, the Pat and Becky weekend of power is upon us, and as of tomorrow, I'm out of town doing things related to that. I hope that it all goes down without a hitch, knock on wood, and that everyone makes it there okay...it'll be crazy to see everyone assembled again. This'll be one of the first mass meetings of the Society of Gentlemen (and assorted women) since college ended.

Excitement, they say, abounds.

Here's to hope.

-ccm

The black bear was looking up at that sky, looking at a cloud perhaps.
I think that he and a deer were saying hello to each other.
They decided to have tea in the middle of a highway.
The deer had his reservations.
"My dear sir Bear. Why have you chosen such a dangerous place for our monthly meeting?"

The bear, to the annoyance of the Deer, did not return the call. The deer decided to go to the meeting anyway, bringing shortbread. The bear was in a bad mood to begin with, and was sassing the deer.

"Oh, shortbread. How nice.", said the bear.
"You like shortbread. You've always liked shortbread!", moaned the deer.
"Well, you know that, but seriously, it's always shortbred! Why not something else for once?"
"Like what?"
"Well, coffee cake..."
"I got you coffee cake that one time! You just sat there saying, "This would be nice if we met for coffee every month!""
"Oh please!"
"Oh please what!"
"Truck!"

Then, as the deer had feared, a massive truck came barrelling down the highway. Red and silver, it smashed through there table throwing the table into the woods. The poor bear saw his close friend, the deer, torn in half in front of his face. Before him was only the back part of his closest friend in the world. He had no idea where the face he loved for all those years went, where his forbidden love had gone.

His heart felt heavy. Why was his life spared while his friend was taken? This couldn't be happening. Why had he decided to have tea on a highway? Why was he so stupid! He should have returned that call. They could have gotten together in the woods, or on the dam, or something. They could have kissed and made up, away from the rest of the world, but foolish pride had blinded him to the flaw in his ways. For a bear, he was awfully pig headed.

So the bear saw some berries. The bad kind. They were black as his fur. He knew what they would do. He had nothing else to be there for, to be on earth for. He was done. He ate them. He ate the whole bush. He wandered over to the road, on the opposite side of his deer, and he took his place on the ground, staring to the heavens where he knew his love awaited him.

That's how we found them on I-80 in Pennsylvania. Lovers lost on a lonely highway.

-ccm

So the rest of the trip was good.
We played golf, got beef jerky, hung out with Tim's Grandfather, hit Betsy's again, saw La Grange, Kentucky, and drove the way back. Also got a bottle of Mad Dog 20/20 Blue Raspberry flavour (BLING BLING!). Good times were had all around. I'll refer back to the trip at some point. There was just so much, and so little, that it would really be hard to write about it at length, and honestly, I want to write more about my current life and living, and not about that. Yet. But it was a good time, with lots of traffic, randomness and fireflies. I couldn't think of a good third thing to mention. I guess that will do.

Ok, more real life later.

-ccm

Day 2: We awaken after we should, thanks to comfortable beds and an exhaustion we didn't know we had. What greets us is a good meal and a happy dog. This is the way to wake up. We intend to leave by 9.30 or so, but end up bumming around until close to 11. We say our goodbyes and hop into Tim's car, dubbed Walter, and head to Indiana.

The car is named Walter. This comes from the fact that we started to call unidentifiable roadkill "Wally". Why did we call it this? Because we started a log of roadside fatalities to try and determine which road is indeed the most lethal. "Wally" describes something most unpleasant, and far too common, but sounds cute. What makes a "Wally"? A Walter, of course.

After a stop at an Ohio White Castle, we continue on the road, heading towards Indianapolis, where our Fong lives. 5 hours later we find our man crossing the street, surgically repaired shoulder in a sling and a silly straw hat on his head. We hang out at his house playing with swords and all sorts of boyish things for a few more hours, enjoying a rest, but also being completely exhausted. Then there would be more driving, but only after root beer floats and chili.

Indianapolis is, from what I have seen, a very nice city. It is clean and just felt fresh. The sun was shining and the architecture old. Almost industrial, very late 1800s feeling. Brick. I like that. Butler University was also a nice thing to see, and now when Fong refers to it, I can say, "Hey, I've been there. There was a very silly dance class going on when we passed by. Yeah..."

Tim and I would think that we had been to Fong's house on the first day for the rest of the trip, we were that out of it. No good reason either. We weren't on the road for that long. In fact, our sense of time would be radically altered for the entire duration of our venture. Somehow being in a car for hours on end makes you lose your sense of time. Hours start to blend together, and what is considered a day changes.

We would drive a few more hours after Indy to Leyden, Tim's family homestead. There we would find his cousins and unlces, some of them. They invited us to make S'mores, and we did. By the fire we sat and looked at the stars, talking every now and again, and wondering about the place where we now were.

For Tim, it must seem like home, a childhood memory come to life. I know places like that, and they always feel good. Like you never left. For me, it was confusing. It's always odd being thrust into another person's family, but there is something about a fire and a clear sky that just makes one feel better. Tired as I was, and I'm sure Tim was, it was a most welcome end to a long day.

-ccm

The long awaited travelogue begins:

Day 1: THe morning after my grad party. I slept in my brother's apartment to be closer to Tim, and the sleeping wasn't good. Uncertainty and light filled my night, waking me up occasionally. The morning came soon enough, and the trip was to be underway. Leaving early enough we cut through New Canaan and started our trip to Indiana. The trip had a few main points, with the main one revolving around Tim's grandfather, and Tim seeing him. Other points would follow, mainly focussing on stopping and visiting friends.

The trip was to be cut into two legs. The first leg would take us to Ohio, about a 8-10 hour drive, then we would hit Indiana. Rinse and repeat on the way back too, but only a little messier and through some new states. The first leg went well enough. Hit Penn and I-80, and the long haul started. Tim and I drove about half way and stopped for food at the Cottage, a nice little shack where one can grab some sub par food. The people were nice though. The food really wasn't that bad either, though we had been told to look for this place for their deep fried mac n' cheese balls, which they did not have. Very dissappointing.

Here we realized a fatal flaw in our plan. We were going to stay at a friend's house, a lady named Betsy. The catch is that we lacked a housewarming gift. In the cottage we looked at all sorts of cheaply made trinkets, and decided that wine would be the way to go. There was trouble though. Penn is notoriously fascist about their booze, and the combination of this and a national holiday put a damper on our alcoholic hopes. Even a winery was closed, not only on Mondays, which it was, but ALSO major holidays. Ohio, it seemed, would be the place to get a gift.

On the way to our gift, however, we saw something near the side of the road that was a little out of the ordinary. Majestic in form, and black in fur, the black bear was on its back, looking at the sky. Dead. Roadkill. On the other side of the highway, opposite the bear, was half of a deer. It was a strange scene to say the least. To make things more interesting, there was what looked like some sort of big cat/big dog a mile up the road. We were indeed in the wilds of Pennsyltucky.

Ohio is reached, and we missed taking a pic of the sign, so we have to make our own. It was sad. Looking for a gift, we stop at the trusty Trucker's Mall, where we proceed to buy an assortment of chocolates. The trouble is that the sale took a good 40 minutes. I guess they do things slower in the Midwest. The man was very nice though, and he appreciated our business. I appreciated the stretching time.

Wooster, of the Ohio variety. This is the town. We follow a road through some fields, and Tim is on the mobile trying to get directions to the house we are to warm. The fork in the road, it turns out, is behind us, passed while getting directions. We needed to take that fork. We end up in an industrial part of town. Tim calls for directions, and Betsy chides him, "Gertsenlager? If you're there you're way hssssssssssssss", and the phone cuts out. We laugh histerically.

Eventually we get to the questionable fork in the road, and we find the brick house that is not the only one there, as Tim said, but the one in the middle. We are introduced to a very nice family and an even nicer dog that has the ability to control minds, making us pet its belly like Sirens used to make sailors jump ship.

She promises to show us Ohio people. We go to Walmart, and though there are some strange folk, they aren't THAT strange. We go to a place called BW3s. The full name only had 2 Ws, but I guess 3 sounds better. This place is surprisingly spared of Ohio's finest, but there was a man there with a Dale Ernhart(?) tattoo that covered his entire upper arm. Most impressive. Combine this night with some semi-skunked honey brown and the "Muppets Take Manhattan" and that's day 1.

I couldn't help but notice the similarity between what I would love to do next year and Kermit's dreams in that movie. He even gets into advertising. Maybe I saw that when I was little and got programmed by it. Hell, he even works a shitty job in a diner, like I want to. Wait, no I don't. But man, if I found a bunch of singing and dancing rats, I would go get therapy. If they were still there after that, I would think it was awesome.

Ok, off to a poker night, winner takes all, no mercy, no prisoners. Grrrrr.

-ccm

Back in town. Really, but I am way too tired to even begin. Tomorrow, after a good meal and not driving, I shall begin to tell and account of this trip. Well, don't hold me to tomorrow. The future is the only thing to hold me to.

-ccm