Canada or bust.

I will be in Toronto next week for our big hockey tourney. All of my Canadians are western Canadians, eh? Do you have a name for eastern Canadians? (Other than hoser.)

While it should be fun, I will be playing for 2 teams at the tourney. My second team's goalie got injured early in the year and I was called on to replace him.

I love playing goalie. I always have lots of fun and it's challenging and all that, but I am 34.83 years old. If both teams make the next round, I will be playing like 8+ games in 3 days.

Can one of you come and pretend to be me for a few games? You can let in as many goals as you want.

best regards

I wasn't going to use "your baby doesn't love you anymore" for the 3rd time. (YES! I had used it before. I didn't realize it until afterwards though.)

100,000 bonus points to Janny (aka Teacher Lady) for being the lone commenter around here lately. You see, it is hard to be a blogger and when someone takes the time out to comment on your stupid posts, it's a warm ray of appreciative sunshine on an otherwise cloudy b(l)og. Especially since I know it hasn't been 24K gold around here lately.

So, instead of burying my response way down on the comments to that post, I'll do it here. AHL games in real life are indistinguishable from NHL games on TV. There are equal gobs of awesometude. This being true despite the fact that even the one-level leap from A- to NHL is considerable. But real-life NHL from a reasonable proximity is both hypnotic and mind-blowing. I play hockey; you play hockey; what they are doing is something else entirely. As a goalie, I think they would score on me approximately 90% of the time.

There you have it. I netted 34(!) people to attend my little shindig. We got the group rate AND I got to name our group. The Lincoln Louis V Admiration Society. Now, apparently that name was too long, so I had to condense it to the L V Admiration Society. Stupid character limitations.

shutout bitches!

From the, what do you care?, file - I got a shutout tonight. Booyah! It wasn't that impressive really. There were only 15 shots, but 15 shots I stopped, which is totally sweet. This is the first one I've had with this team and only the second in my almost 3 years of ice hockey. I think I've had one in roller hockey. This, I know, isn't impressive, but, for serious, there's not a lot of defense. So when there is some defense, it makes it pretty easy on me. That's not to say that I was completely worthless. I probably made 3 non-easy saves. Saves that if they had scored I wouldn't have been too upset. But the other 12 were pretty routine.

Otherwise, it was an eventful game. There was some shoving, which is fun. But then there was also a 2-handed, baseball swing slash on one of our dudes. I didn't see it, but apparently the lady on the other team (they have a lady), took a hack at one of our guys. She only got 2 minutes for slashing despite the attempt to maim. But, really, what could we do? You can't really retaliate against a woman, right? I mean, I'm the goalie, so I'm usually like way too far away to care about this stuff, but it's kind of BS that she took a hack knowing that our guy wasn't going to do anything about it. It's the same reason women are allowed to beat their husbands. This isn't a cry for help or anything. TheMonica has never laid a finger on me in anger, but traditionally there is a separate set of punishment depending on the aggressor's gender. Not sure why I'm going on about this - probably because she could have done some serious damage.

At any rate, ultrasound tomorrow! (Ok, in 7 hours). So pictures to follow, I would think. Give a shout out to our baby boy (or girl that looks like me, Rogetta, according to theMonica. Well, she thinks it's a boy because she thinks the last ultrasound looked like me). Hugs!

and there's today and there's no spaces

Today I was putting my hockey equipment into the trunk of my car just as my neighbors were coming out of their garage. I should have just said, "Please excuse me whilst I stuff this body." The equipment bag is quite bulky, you see.

How was the game? Tiring. Dang. I was just filling in for an absent goalie and the team I was playing with was playing a team a division above them. The shots were coming fast and furiously. It was fun, but goal-y.

Then I come home to write this post via laptop and the stupid spacebar is not working. And I want to write more, but each word requires me to jam the spacebar 5 or 12 times. I don't have thenecessarymotivationtocontinue.ThereforeIamgoingtobed.GOODNIGHT!

i have 3 followers

The revolution begins tomorrow . . . you know what I'm talking about. It will be blogged, but I am going to write in generalities so as not to reveal my plans.

Well, I had a roller hockey game tonight (technically last night). We won. So there. I fell though once, unassisted, just kind of slipped. It is . . . moist on that sportcourt stuff. As the humidity builds, your wheels get kind of slick. And boom, there I go as the breakaway finishes. Yes, he scored. I only mention this because I wretched my back. And I only mention that because I want to complain about getting old and how you can fall and hurt yourself pretty much at any time. Like, I just fell out of my chair and broke my hip. Fantastic.

Anyway, I am all over Amazon's MP3 Daily Deal. I have gotten a bunch of albums I now really like for 2 to 4 dollars. I was going to make a bunch more links - you know like the WHOLE sentence was going to be a series of links, it was going to be CRAZY - but I know you don't really care. If you do, White Rabbits (uh, ok), Police - Synchronicity (comes in handy for Rock Band), Neko Case, Fleet Foxes . . . all things I wouldn't have bought had they not been inexpensive. I guess this is why everyone hearted Napster. Oh, now I get it. At any rate, go type that stuff into a search engine yourself. I need to go to beds.

get in my head? HA. I don't let anything in there!

So, my hockey team, despite being a few games under .500, was in the playoff hunt. Going into our last game we were 1 point behind the 3rd place team. We needed a win and loss by them or a tie and a loss by them (as we owned the head-to-head advantage).

We were playing the first-place team (allegedly short-handed, but not understaffed). At the start of the second period, I noticed that 5 or 6 of the guys from the 3rd place team were behind the glass. Ok . . . ? Their game wasn't until Thursday, but surely 24 hours was enough time to discover the outcome of our game. I also found it odd they were at my end as there were some nice bleachers to occupy, but whatever, people stand there all the time.

I let one in at the beginning of the 2nd period. Wasn't too horrible of a goal to give up, the guy kind of backhanded swatted an on-edge, rolling puck right into the corner of the net. (I will admit to the soft prejudice of low expectations. I had seen him moving around and determined he would need to settle the puck before shooting. But kudos to him for just whaling at it. Though I'd give him 20-to-1 against doing it again on one try.)

This goal tied the game at 1. Shortly thereafter, we scored again. That made it 2-1 us (if you're incredibly bad at math/short-term memory). There was no more scoring in the 2nd.

3rd period starts. I skate down to the other end, have some water, wring out the headband dealie in my helmet (yah, sweat. yah, nasty.) and look over and what do I see? The 3rd place team watching me. Totally. They followed me down to the other end. Who is that motivated to walk to the other end of the ice? No one. They were trying to put the bad juju on me! Fortunately, theMonica's mom is old school and probably has created a bubble of invulnerability around me for voodoo blocking.

At any rate, I showed them. I got lucky 2 or 3 times but none of it was bad luck and we ended the game with the win, 2-1.

So, yes, I do win sometimes, but my lifetime winning percentage over all sports is poor. 40%? I'm not sure. I always fall in with guys that "just want to have fun" or "hey, we all need to get to work in the morning" or "won't bring in a bunch of ringers to win the important games" (an amazing number of teams do this, which I find odd).

The lesson here is: I can't be beaten. I can be beaten because I suck, but I can't be beaten by psychic powers.

boredom awaits you!

Roller hockey season started last night. FAIL. 7-5. I didn't play too badly. The transition from ice to sportcourt (or whatever they call that stuff) is a somewhat difficult one. I'll get 'em next week, I promise.

All of this was uneventful, really. Except at one point, I shrugged or something and pulled a muscle in my neck. Have you ever done this? I call it the "pump fake" muscle because I've pulled it before whilst being overzealous in my attempts to lose a defender. Is this what whiplash is? Yowzer. Naturally I did that in warm-ups, so I had a pain in the neck for the game. But afterward, when it tightened, I felt like a robot. Must move head with torso.

It woke me up a few times when I, you know, moved. Never have I needed a hot water bottle more. And all day today I would forget that my neck was busted and I would turn my head. Ouch. And it got me to thinking of that Brady Bunch episode where the guy sues the Bunch for a car accident or some such. During the trial, the kids figure out he's faking it and slam a briefcase on their table. Guy turns his head; ipso facto, he is now a PROVEN faker. All day I was that dude, "What's the behind me?" Gah! That dude got a raw deal.

you can tell it's a goal by all the "yay"ing

I was think that as I lay on the ice last night. "Do I have it?" YAY! "You know it's a goal by all the 'yay'ing." And it's true. There was a delay though, so I must have had it for a split second. Here's to small victories.

The captain of our team rather unexpectedly and tragically passed away a couple of weeks ago (he was 36!). It's very strange when a peer dies and the game was kind of sad. I badly wanted to win as some of his family came to watch as the league had set-up a collection/tribute, but, alas, FAIL. It was frustrating. Doing your best is all well and good, but often a win is just more satisfying. Oh well. We'll get 'em next time.

7, 8, 9, 14 . . . does it matter?

You know, it's frustrating to give up 8 goals. It's frustrating to know that had I made 8 more saves and scored a goal, we would have been able to get the win. But, no, I was unable to produce. It's just that tomorrow when the boxscore isn't in the paper and no one sees/cares about my like 80% save percentage and they don't think that I'm failing as a goalie and there is complete disinterest entirely across all humanity . . . yah, you get the idea.

It's frustrating and at this rate, it's going to take me at least another year to go pro.

9 times . . .

That's how often I looked dejectedly behind me to see a puck within the confines of my net. You know, it does look kind of cozy and safe in there. Maybe I'll just curl up in there until everyone goes away . . .

Being a goalie is a weird gig. Everybody loves you BECAUSE you're a goalie and inherently a rare commodity. They need you. But, when you suck, you can feel the hate - the smiling, judging, watching. No one (well, no one that I know of) will say, "Hey, you really sucked out there." Because they don't want that bridge burned and I think they fancy that if they were to criticize they would irreparably harm the goalie's psyche.

So, when you give up 9, even if the team doesn't play well, you feel kind of dirty when a teammate will say, "We had a terrible game, but YOU did great!" I feel like one of those kids that plays in a community where they don't keep score. "Thanks for showing up and dressing yourself! You're always a winner in my eyes Roger!" Yah, well, maybe, but I just let those guys score 9 times and I'm pretty sure they were hammered.

where does one buy neck bolts?

In, broken face news, I got one. I gave myself a nice, Frankenstein-sized scratch on my forehead. How? It’s all about cascading injuries. As noted earlier, I hurt my rinky playing roller hockey. So, when I play hockey, I wear a splint to strengthen/protect it. Well, this makes it difficult to take my mask on and off for quick water breaks. Being unable to grab the mask, I kind of slide it up and down my face. Well, said face caught something scratchy and RIP! Oddly, the day after, no one really asked me about it. I was expecting at least 5 to 10, “Dude, what with your beautiful face?”

Incidentally, because of the disparity between the ice temperature and the air temperature, there was a dense fog throughout the rink. I literally could not see the other goalie. It was like Gorillas in the mist or something, but no Sigourney Weaver to safeguard me.

my finger hurts . . .

The first rule of goalie is OUCH. My freaking pinky! That smarts! Yah, the first rule of goalie is that eventually, you're going to get hit with the puck in every, un/not-as-well-protected spot on your body. The logistics of my pinky strike are probably too convoluted to explain, but I will try nonetheless.

I was reaching with my blocker hand (right) to make a high-ish save. Said blocker hand made the save, but not with the front, rectangular part, but with the leather glove which the blocker is attached too. Even this would have been ok if I hadn't hit the puck on the first knuckle of the pinkie. Further up the finger, there is additional protection, but why would I take advantage of that? Poppycock! Oh well, I can only assume the gods intended for my finger to turn into a sausage. And so it was written and so it shall be.

Now rinky is 40% purple and I have changed his name to Grimace. Fries for everyone.

Open Memo Department

To: Shock Doctor
From: me
RE: exploding pants

Dear Shock Doctor,

I recently purchased a pair of your compression pants sized XL (if you know what I mean) with built-in cup holder.

Initially, I found the product to be more comfortable than other similar products and seemingly better constructed. I opted not to use the cup holder pouch as it was too small to comfortably hold the accompanying cup. I was also curious as to why the cup pouch was placed on the inside of the pant. Since the pouch is too small, it's difficult to fasten the entire strip of velcro. When it's not fastened completely, the exposed velcro is quite irritating on the skin. Consequently, I was forced to wear a regular cup over the pants. As to the cup itself, I was perplexed that it was constructed using metal rivets. While it might provide a stronger constitution, the rivets rusted almost immediately.

All was well for the first half-dozen times I wore the pants. But upon a subsequent use, I looked down and to witness the scene I've attached for your viewing. Imagine my shock (ZING!). I had only owned your pants for a matter of weeks and already there was a significant tear in them. Now I admit the ladies probably appreciate the fact that I'd fallen victim to your questionable workmanship, but I was not pleased. My dollars per # of uses ratio was WAY too high. And unfortunately I will be unable to purchase any more of your products.

Sincerely,
Roger

attached:

SAVE! (sometimes)

My buddy Brian took some glamour/action shots of me playing during a roller hockey scrimmage last week. Then he photoshopped it into the sweet-ass montage you see below. The shots definitely make me look much better than I actually am, as Brian graciously omitted any shots of me fishing the ball from the back of the net. (I attributed all fishing to rusty roller hockey skills. Though I've been playing ice, the skills for the two surfaces are maddeningly incompatible).

Big ups to Brian for making me look like a superstar. Don't try to steal this or I will sue you dizzy. All rights reserved and whatnot. (And yes, I know I need to work on my stick discipline.)

i can tell by the look on your face that you've got ringworm

Anyway, there's all this new "research" saying that diet pop basically jacks up your metablolism. You see, while it has not any calories it is sweet and the body, being sophisticated (yet completely STUPID) expects that when it takes in something sweet, that a bunch of calories should follow. So it releases insulin or whatever it is that my body does when I'm shoving Skor bars down my gullet.

Anecdotally, when I switched from drinking way-too-much Dr. Pepper/Thunder to drinking way-too-much Diet Dr. Pepper, I didn't notice any change in my weight/anything else (other than a decrease in overall deliciousness intake). Presumably I was taking in far fewer calories, right? At any rate, I knew it was too good to be true and now I'm trying to quit. So far - FAIL. Oh well. Where are my Skor bars?

We lost our hockey game last night. Sure you didn't ask, but just fyi, in case a loved one wants to know or some such. It was 5-1. Although, we held them scoreless in the 3rd period. Skor wait - NoScore. You know what I mean. So that was a moral victory there. A moral victory wrapped inside a larger, huge embarrassing failure . . . and then deep-fried. But we're not done yet. Anyway, that's how I prefer my moral victories - in a crispy shell.

there's no crying in hockey!

So, my team, of which I'm the goalie, lost our game tonight 17-1. That is NOT a typo folks. That is the honest-to-goodness truth. And while hockey is a team sport and we theoretically share in the loss equally, everyone knows this is not true. For I am the goalie and despite what might be happening (or not happening) in front of me, I am the last line of defense. I'm the one ultimately in charge of keeping the puck out of the net. And tonight, despite my best efforts, I failed miserably.

Knowing I feel this way, you can appreciate how embarrassing it was. It was like getting dumped in front of friends and family - maybe stood-up at the altar. And then, wait, there she is. But she only showed to punch you in the face. PUH-POW! And she's back out the door. For the ladies, it was like walking around with toilet paper on your shoe all day. Wait - worse than that - like walking around with a toilet on your shoe all day. Convenient, yet cumbersome.

With all the scoring comes frustration. The frustration coupled with the fatigue associated with attempting to prevent so many goals, leads to flailing. Flailing away at the puck, trying to anticipate passes, losing form, getting sloppy. This fundamentally unsound play can only lead to more goals and Roger weeping bitterly in the back of the net. Ok, I didn't do that, but it probably would have been more effective.

The frustration and flailing kind of reminds me of RS4. She was always ultra-crazy/aggressive. But I had longer arms. Despite all her swinging, kicking, scratching, she couldn't really get me. And that only pissed her off more. But, still, even as pissed as she could get, she couldn't really hurt me (unless she tomahawked me in the head with a golf club - that smarts). Tonight, I was RS4. No matter how hard I tried or how much I flailed, it didn't really matter.

The worst part of the whole thing though is post-game when everyone tells you "good game." Not the hand-shaking, "good game," but the extra, later on "good game." Listen. 17 goals allowed is not a good game by any stretch of any LSD-enhanced imagination. Even if all the goals were "not my fault," it doesn't matter. 17 goals is not a good game. Hell, 10 goals is not a good game. Even, if you thought it was a good game, don't run the risk of making me feel even worse for sucking. It's like saying, "Nice legs, Heather Mills." Maybe it's true, but she'd probably take it the wrong way.