I don’t know that I ever really planed to stop working, not in the traditional sense anyway. Perhaps I am in a different position than most right now in that I really like my job other than the occasional travel shenanigans. I am good friends with many of my coworkers, I make good money, I enjoy my work and my boss kicks ass. So I don’t sit around counting down to the date of my freedom like I did when I was ETSing from the Army. This doesn’t mean I don’t have a dream, I do, but it doesn’t burn inside me with a white hot intensity.
My dream will not surprise anyone who knows me or anyone who has taken 2 seconds to read the URL of my website. It is a good want nonetheless; I want to own/run a hockey rink.
Yes, yes I know what you’re saying; “You know that doesn’t mean you get to close it and have it all to yourself.” Yes, I know and furthermore shut up, it’s my rink Ill close it if I want to.
No, I know it’s a business and one that exists on a pretty thin margin these days. Every time I go up to my local rink I see promotions and tricks that they are trying to get bodies in the door and money out of wallets. My main rink has actually shut down one of their surfaces and transitioned it over to an indoor soccer/ lacrosse rink/surface/ thingy. Initially I was full of indignant middle aged hockey player rage but every time I was up there that place was full of mildly effeminate rugged soccer players running around. They have to be making money hand over fist on that thing.
But here is the main thing, I love rinks. Seriously. I love the way they smell, the way their floors are rubberized the way most of them are in some state of disrepair. In an age of sterile buildings these structures ring true to me. They speak of early morning practices and late night pickup games. There are ghosts of championships won and relationships that were launched during couples skate one Friday night. I have never been in a local rink that did not reek of “character”.
I would love for that to be my office; I would love to help something that is a niche market at best to survive. Being able to bring my son to his families rink would be a big plus as well.
Financially I know that most are a money trap and that there can be long hours involved, but hey, HEY! This is my dream and I’ll continue to focus on the good stuff.
In the end I know it’s a long shot. There are only 2 buildings around where I live and I don’t have anywhere near the money I would need to even buy the pro shop in either of them. But I will continue to dream, when I am stuck in an airport with flights stacked up through the roof, of “Puck Eater Palace” and the iced fun therein.

After a hot beginning to the playoffs we got eliminated last Sunday losing 3-1. In the end we fell victim to bad scheduling and one bad game. The bad scheduling was the first of our three game series where only 7 skaters were in town to play. If you know hockey and do the math that leaves one sub for the three forwards and one sub for the two Defencemen. Yeah, that a lot of skating. We played well, and kept it close but in the end we just ran out of gas and fell 3-1. In the second game we were excited to have 11 of 12 guys there and ready to go. We were technically the third seed skating against the second seed but we had beaten them twice during the regular season by playing a solid team game and being patient. Well on Sunday we were neither of those things we were 11 guys all trying really hard, not one team playing to win. Again we played alright and kept it close but fell 3-1.
So were were swept out of the playoff by what was probably a better team, but it was still a bitter pill to swallow. When we played our game we could beat anyone in the league and I really thought we had a shot. Personally I was playing some of the best goal of my life and I wanted to be able to carry a team if it needed me. I wanted to improve my reputation in the league. I wanted to win a championship the year my son was born. In the end none of that happened and that is all…ok.
Sure its bittersweet but we improved on what we did last year, we finished 3rd out of 11 in a very competitive league, I put up my best regular season numbers and pretty good play off numbers (1 shutout, 2.00GAA) and had a great time with the team. I have had a hard time shaking off the loss (this fucking cold isn’t helping) since I tend to take my teams success or failure pretty personally, but we really did have a great year.
In other hockey news I have decided to take the upcoming season off for many reasons. The first and foremost is money. Hockey, even old man hockey, is not a cheap sport. Like around $500 a season not cheap and while you average that out over 25 weeks its a decent entertainment value its still $500 when we are in sticker shock from having started to pay for Child Care for the boy. Also my left knee could use some maintenance and rest. I might need to get it scoped, but I am hoping some therapy and maybe acupuncture can get it back to healing.
I am going to miss playing and especially miss the team. They have been fantastic to play for and I’m hoping there is a slot for me in the fall when I look to come back. I know they need to find a goalie in the meantime though and I wish them the best of luck in the summer.

More soon.

I don’t think that I was a prude, just a nerd. To be honest I think it was a case of not really seeing the point behind drinking, when I was a teenager. I was hanging out with my friends, gaming, and doing well with the ladies so how was drinking going to make any of that better? I was not straight edge or righteous about the whole thing, I just did not drink. To the best of my recollection my first full beer was shared with my dad, on a family vacation to Canada, on my 21st birthday. It was a Labatts Blue and I ordered it over everything else because they advertised during Flyers games. Hooray marketing.

In the military I continued my standoffish relationship with alcohol but mostly because of bad examples. I was assigned to a room with 3 other guys who were nicknamed “the Beam Team” as in Jim Beam. They were all around great guys but I watched them get hammered and break ankles, throw furniture out the window, shave each other’s eyebrows and chest hair, ride shopping carts out of second story windows, and accidentally cut themselves wide open. So yeah, I appointed myself designated driver of the room and held off on the full-scale drinking.

But I told you all of that so that I could tell you about the “Saint Patrick’s Day Massacre.” It started as an innocent get together. My Ex-wife, my friend, who we will call Bear since he is the size of one, and I decided to open up our house to all our friends for a hootenanny. Somewhere along the line my brother decided that this was the night I needed to get hammered. He was going to be my usher into the theater of fuckedupitude.
Im going to skim over a lot of it, partially because I want to focus on one particular moment and partially because a lot of my memory is hazy for some of the details.
I remember we started with Bowman’s vodka (classy in the screw top bottle!) moved on to Aftershock, then hit the beer in earnest. Yeah…
I do remember the following happening:
-I grabbed and pointed out my ex wife’s breasts to the party
-I had several heart to hearts with good friends that ended in hugging
-I drank more than one thing handed to me in a cup that I had not identified

And then came the moment. It was late in the party and folks were getting ready to go home. There was a bit of discussion and general amusement about what should be done to keep me from having a terrible first “morning after” and it was decided that I should be made to throw up. That way I would purge my system and not get sick in bed. So my brother, my Ex-wife and I all crammed into a half bath downstairs with the idea of getting me to throw up. It was not happening and my brother left. Then the door flew open and my friend Bear pushed into the small room. He was very drunk, very large, and very angry.
He shoved his big finger in my face and demanded. “DID YOU SLEEP WITH MY SISTER?” I forced my eyes to focus; looked up at him and asked…”which one?” this apparently was not the answer he was expecting and he left the bathroom to figure out which sister. At that point I was hustled upstairs and into bed. Truth be told I’m not sure why I asked that because I had never slept with either of his two sisters but I am convinced to this day that response saved me from a drunken ass beating.
I have since settled into a comfortable relationship with booze. I have learned I don’t throw up, I don’t pass out and I don’t get hung over. Even with all of those plusses I still count the ability to be clever while hammered among my greatest assets.