"I have a bad feeling about this..."

Found this unfinished essay in the Archives from back in October.... ohhhhh the memories....   ; )  - kirby

"I have a bad feeling about this..."

Those were the words my wife muttered as I walked out the door last night for the 3rd Annual "Dodge Out Hunger" - charity Dodgeball tournament to benefit the Pine City Food Shelf.

Andy, my buddy from church, sent out an exploratory text message in the middle of last week wondering if I would be up to join a team for a little dodgeball. I have been as busy as a beaver this fall with everything from coaching to carpeting. All I needed was one more reason to fill in the smallest of empty spaces on our organizational refrigerator calendar. But Andy had been reaching out to me often over the past few years and rarely are we able to connect. We've had good intentions to take the boys for a walk in the woods or for a launch trip on Lake Mille Lacs but nothing has ever seemed to come of our intentions. Andy is a good guy and it was hard for me to say "No" - so with nothing scheduled for Tuesday, I agreed to play. Besides - it was for charity!

I knew nothing of this little local competition.

I didn't know that Pine City folk had been coming together to hurl squishy balls at each other for the last two years. I didn't realize that teams representing a few small town businesses had matching jerseys and deep rosters. I couldn't tell if the "Prison Team" consisted of employees or inmates. I didn't know that local softball legends clung to their summer triumphs by taking this childish game serious as if Gold Medals and Hall of Fame ballots hung in the balance. After signing the obligatory "Release of Liability", I began to see that this was no small potatoes. I was about to enter the coliseum of competition as a gladiator defending his honor.

*********************************************************************************here is where the story was abruptly cut short....no doubt more important things came up - more important than documenting my dodgeball heroics.

CONTINUED.....

Andy had pieced together a team of 4 old duffers - so old that although unofficial, I think it was pretty obvious that we held the highest average age of teams in attendance. Actually one short of a full squad,  meant we would start every game a man down. We lost our first tilt just getting some of the squeaks out; oiling up the joints; sizing up the competition; playing possum. But from there we went on a terror. It seemed like the old dudes could play. Down went the prison team and their matching Under Armour headbands. Down went the potpourri of City Workers. People started to take notice of the only team playing with only four "athletes".

You laugh?

Finely tuned athletes that through years of experience and battle have learned when to attack and when to play defense. Andy had some how magically crafted our old timer team to be a perfect mix of mind and muscle. We worked harder as the crowd cheered louder. Before you could dodge a wrench we were posting a record near the top of the heap. With only two games left to play, we had only lost once. In the Food Drive bracket only the top two records would advance to the "ship". And for that second to last game we drew the all women's team..... mint!

To open up the game with a gentlemanly offer, the four of us backed off on the initial rush to mid court to get the first supply of squishy balls. Perhaps it was a move of machismo but I honestly thought that the first volley would be one we could withstand. I was wrong. One man went down in the first 5 seconds, as we scrambled to return fire. The ladies on the other side of mid court wearing eye black, chucked it with all their might and seemed to be targeting ME. All that service to their children in local youth soccer and hockey teams and you'd think that they'd take it easy on me but that was far from what was happening. I ran back and forth, in and out, up and down as fast as my formally fit body would take me. I nailed an unsuspecting mother, right in the hip to even things out....grabbed the closest rolling ammo I could find and charged ahead. With two women bearing down on me, I reversed fields and backpedaled as they simultaneously fired. Wingggggg..... Whizzzzzz.... I was in the clear. As I planted my right foot and leaned forward to begin the charge - SNAP!

I honestly thought that I had been stabbed from behind in the calf, reminiscent of the 1993 stabbing of Monica Seles when a psychologically abnormal fan rushed from the stands to stab the young tennis star between the shoulder blades. I immediately looked over my shoulder in disbelief that someone was threatened enough by my DodgeBall skills that they felt necessary to cut my calf wide open. No attacker in sight. As a matter of fact, there wasn't another person standing within 15 feet of me. I clutched at my right leg, expecting to see a gaping wound and flowing blood. There was none. I skipped and hopped to the sidelines, calling for a substitution as spectators and competitors alike knew that something had gone amiss.

An athletic trainer (Yes - and athletic trainer at the Food Shelf Dodgeball Tourney) met me near the bleachers as my calf muscle coiled in to a nice little ball. We headed right for the training room and the immediate diagnosis was easy - A pulled calf muscle. Elevate, Ice and Rest.

My team of three went on to loose to the women without me. With one more regularly scheduled game before the decisive playoff, I assured my team that I could stand at the back line and play defensive dodgeball. I avoided being hit without moving as much as three feet left or right. I threw no attack balls that round yet we won playing now with 3 and a half men. I crawled my way up the bleachers and wretched on my aching calf. I could barely stand the pain but would not let on to anyone in the gym the agony that I was in. Most everyone thought I had rolled my ankle. We waited with baited breath for pool play to finish and the announcement of the championship teams... there I laid....across the bleachers, bag of ice on my calf, kneading my leg like a batch of lumpy dough...

One loss away from contention!
One lousy loss away from being in the top two!
And to add insult to injury - we had beat the two teams playing for all of the glory.
What would my wife say???

"I had a bad feeling about this..."

Craving Entertainment

I have been put on notice.

There is a following of this Blog that wishes it were more like the days of old. A following that expects to find a fun-to-read story of no consequence here at least somewhat periodically. Periodically enough that they could expect to fill in some of the time lapses while stuck in their own cube farm.

I have failed our readership.

For that, I apologize.

Speaking of  “Craving Entertainment”, I was lucky enough to take in not 1 but 2 Minnesota WILD hockey games at the Xcel Energy Center the first week of December. Two distinctly different trips to the Minnesota Mecca of sticks and blades followed. Those of you that are familiar with my tight financial ways know that the highbrow, big city life is not something that I venture in to frequently. That is of course unless it involves HOCKEY, made all the better with words like “free” and “inexpensive family adventure”.

Monday Dec. 2, 2013 MN Wild vs. Philadelphia Flyers :

Mid-morning I received a text message from the artist formerly known as Coach Dillon. This beer swilling, softball playing, father of two simply asked if I “wanted to go to the Wild game that night – Free Ticket?”

He had me at “Free.”

Via text messages, I sought approval from the Missus and wondered how Coach acquired the tickets. More texts flew asking who’d be joining us for the 7 o’clock game. Excitement built throughout the day as the season’s first snowfall started to mess with central Minnesota. With sufficient spousal approval I had to change a few things around in my evening schedule. I left junior high basketball practice a bit early and managed to safely return my own kids home in spite of the snow blanketed interstate. Michele bid me farewell on my hockey journey letting me know just how crazy she thinks I really am.

To conserve on gas mileage, I unwisely chose to drive into the mouth of the blizzard in our Pontiac Grand Prix, taking no note of its poor ground clearance and inability to swiftly handle accumulating trenches of snow pack. At one point 25 or 30 miles south of my house, it had become impossible to distinguish one lane from the other on southbound I35. I questioned my own sanity. Free or not, I wondered if the game could meet my expectations and make this hellish commute worth it. Still I pressed on, gripping the steering wheel like it owed me money.

I did, in fact, make it to the hustle and bustle of St. Paul in one piece. Found a place to park and waited for my friends. For an evening of NHL Hockey, I would be joined by: Matt Dillon (the chew spitting, ticket man), Chris Carroll (A funny man with an aptly appropriate name given the current Holiday Spirit) and Frogman (A poignant fellow of few words). The 4 of us held tight to $90 dollar tickets while an over-anxious security guard waved his magical wand around our nether regions.

The Club Level at the X is a unique setting in which the extravagant hockey elite act like they somehow are more knowledgeable of the game than the savages of the lower deck. Don’t get me wrong, the Club Level folks aren’t as recklessly wasteful with their money as the fans in the costly suites below but my friends in current company had no problem dropping 9 bucks for a cup of tap beer. As a matter of fact, before I even found my seat I lost my three obscure named friends to the procurement of sweet mead.

Shortly thereafter, the four of us squeezed in to our adjoining seats at which Dillon proclaimed, “I need skinnier friends.” I didn’t exactly know if I should take the gentle ribbing in stride as he was the one that scored complimentary game tickets at work from a Latin American vendor or if I should remind him that he was lucky enough to conjure up 3 men willing to admit that they were actually his friend. Nevertheless, we took in the awe-inspiring sights and sounds of this cathedral dedicated to the beautiful game on ice. The fastest 1^st period of hockey ensued. Fast paced, back and forth hockey went on without a whistle. Under the scrutinizing eye of 4 other Bemidji State University Alums from above, number 24 of the Philadelphia Flyers, Matt Read, played scrappy hockey for the visiting team.

ZERO –ZERO End of 1.

At intermission we took to the Club Level causeways in search of more mead. The Frogman abandoned that mission in favor of a more potent remedy. Drinks in hand, we exchanged pleasantries while the zamboni did its work below. I have routinely stayed in touch with the ticket man and have even seen Frog on occasion but CC and I have probably only met up once since college. As guys that once frequented the fine establishments of the Bemidji area of the late 90’s, it was good for old friends to catch up in the air of an arena.

Club Level passes afford the upscale fan a higher selection of indulgent food. As the winter storm pressed on outside, I had a built in excuse not to buy more than one nine-dollar beer. The rest of the crew had no such worries. That didn’t stop me from dropping 11 bills to fill my belly. The sliced roast sandwiches have become a treat that even makes me a spendthrift. Thick, mouth-watering and smooth. Perhaps in a different setting it would be like any old sandwich but here at the X – it’s a delicacy. A delicacy that I savored as the second period was much of the same.

Again - Scoreless at the End of 2.

A revelation was made during the second intermission. Dillon asked about playing the “Clock Game”. I had come with a pocket full of quarters, prepared to defend my honor on the scoreboard, only to be disappointed that we hadn’t started the game at the beginning of the contest. Frogman was in. Double C’s knew not of such a competition. We laid the groundwork so the rookie could join us for a fierce battle on the board.

Each “player” chooses a number 0-9 and each time the clock is stopped, there is an opportunity to either take in or pay out. If the clock stops on your digit – you pocket a dollar from each of the other schleps in your party. On the other hand, if the WILD takes a penalty and the stoppage happens on your digit, you pay out to everyone in the game. In the past the game has been played with quarters but because we were behind, we decided to play a dollar at a time. Case in point, Charlie Coyle took a penalty to start Dillon 3 bucks in the hole.

The Clock Game is a classic fan favorite. Those in the know can recognize the nuances quickly. How else could you explain a grown man cheering wildly for an Icing call? Clock Game = he just took 3 bucks from his mates. For those that have never seen said game, they’re quick to catch on. Trash talk and defense are part of the repertoire of all Clock Game Veterans.

As the digital battle waged in the seats, the WILD fought on below to take a commanding 2-goal lead in the third. Dillon dug deep in to his pocket book paying out more often than taking in. Meanwhile, WILD goalie Josh Harding stood on his head, making a few spectacular saves to preserve the shutout. With the season’s first real snow storm barreling down on Central Minnesota, the four of us scurried for the exits and with a handshake were on our separate ways.

WILD Win! 2-0

Sunday Dec. 8, 2013 MN Wild vs. San Jose Sharks :

6 short days later… the Elf on the Shelf that had been occupying my children’s discipline patterns for a couple of weeks, delivered more hockey tickets. This time the home team was hosting the Sharks of San Jose for a 5 o’clock Sunday game. As my family dressed in team colors, I scurried to find a supply of dimes. It was time for my wife and our brood to learn the ins and outs of hockey gambling. I supplied each participant with 10 dimes. Sista Emma secured the forty coins in a Ziploc bag for the ride in. Excitement filled the air as we recalled watching our boys pummel the Boston Bruins for the kids’ first NHL game 2 long years ago. Up against a formidable opponent on Sunday, I hoped for a similar outcome.

Our assigned seating this night would be at the very top row of the X, but as cliché as it may sound, there’s not a bad seat in the house. We were close to snacks and refreshments. We were close to the biffy. We had room to stand up and spread out a bit. It was great to be in the big arena again. On this night the hard charging San Jose Sharks kept the pressure on and peppered goaltender Josh Harding with 38 shots on net. Harding held strong and only let one squeak by with 1:41 remaining in the game. The WILD played solid defensively and forced most of the action outside for the evening. Only able to muster 12 shots on goal, they did punch in 2 well-earned goals and an empty netter to top off the win.

From on high, Emma kept a close eye on Matt Cooke. The left wing joined the team this off-season and was wearing the number 24 on his jersey. This was hard for Emma to comprehend because #24 was a number that she felt was best left between her and the late Derek Boogaard. Each shift that Cookie took the ice he was under the watchful eye of my darling daughter. Matt Cooke honored the Boogie-man’s memory by playing a solid game. Minnow approved.

Logan on the other hand was a stickler for the rules. Every stick check was a potential Trip. Every two hander was a Slash. Too much body contact and it was Interference. I think the boy may have a future in refereeing. As the NHL’ers flew around the ice, the Bear was on the edge of his seat, hoping that someone/anyone was going to drop the gloves. Ironically, as much of a stickler for the rules as he is, Logan enjoys the time held truths of honor and respect that is commanded by a good old-fashioned hockey fisticuffs. No such luck this night. Nobody “put on the foil.” But we did get to see heroes like Zach Parise and Mikko Koivu pot a couple of goals!

This was a great evening of hockey entertainment. We got to see a few recognizable faces from Pine City Youth Hockey seated in the same general area. We experienced the ups and downs of defending dimes from your family. Mom and Logan were busted broke by the end of the second period. Emma and I each took on another digit for the third but in the end, I walked with $3.40 and Emma took home 6 dimes. I’ll pleasantly remember the excitement and pure emotion on my kids’ faces as the horn blew signaling each of the WILD goals - the high fives and hugs throughout the tilt. And lastly, together singing the WILD anthem that my kids have come to call their own.

“We were raised
 with the stick

And a pair of blades

On the ice we cut our teeth

We took our knocks
In the penalty box

Our mother was the referee...

This sport was here
 before we came

It will be here when we're gone

The game's in our blood

And our blood's in the game

Lay us down under
 a frozen pond…”