Anyone up for a Face Wash?

Those of you who have been sheltered from the evolution of the elementary school playground since having moved on from those days of your youth, might be surprised to hear that snow ball throwing is no longer allowed. Or at least it is rarely allowed anymore.

One recent local experiment allowed snow ball throwing, but only in one direction. Let me make this clear. Everyone had to stand at one end of an area and throw snowballs in a direction where nobody else was standing. I think there may have been a fence you could hit.

If those rules had been in place back in my day then I would have been robbed of one of my favourite anecdotes. Long time readers of this blog will remember that I have an anecdote regarding NHL player Greg Adams who I once struck out in a game of slo-pitch. You can read about that here if you missed it: The striking out of Greg Adams. However, that is not my only story involving a confrontation with an NHL player.

Back in elementary school on a snowy day the staff let us go out to engage in 1970's style playground fun. That's right, we pelted each other with snow balls and face washed each other with no mercy. I beaned soon to be NHLer Russ Courtnall (okay, so it was ten years later that he was in the NHL) in the face with a snow ball (okay, so I kind of packed it down a little too much, but that's what we did in the 70's) and he went down writhing in pain. I realized I had done wrong and went over to the circle of his friends that were gathered around him. As I tried to apologize his friends starting warning me that, "You better get out of here." I felt bad so I stayed.

Russ, no doubt because he had to live up to the expectations of his friends, got up and punched me square in the chin. It stunned me a little, but I didn't go down (I guess that's why Russ went on to be skill player in the NHL and not a goon. But I kid Russ, it did hurt but I was two years older than him at the time). I figured I had it coming so I just said nothing and walked away. That was problem-solving in the 70's.

Little Jackie Favre??

Every time an older athlete mulls over the decision to retire there is a large segment of the public and the sports media that urge the player to quit while they are still at or near the top of their game. People wonder why the Roger Clemens, Brett Favres, and others keep changing their mind and unretiring.

Personally I don't buy into the idea that a player should retire to maintain their image. If they can still contribute to a team then all the more power to them. Why should they give it up if they still want to play and are good enough, even if they aren't as good as they once were. As for unretiring, I completely understand that and I think all those who make fun of those that unretire have never been in those players shoes. Little Jackie Showers has. I may have to pay for my shoes and be in no danger of getting paid to play, but I understand where their hearts are. After all it is the heart and not the mind that brings you back to play again.

I have always loved to play sports and as I age it gets harder to participate. Injuries and aches take some of the fun out of playing, but the longing to play is still there. The boy inside the man doesn't always grow up. If old guys love to play then why should they give it up? Just so other old guys can remember them as they were in their prime? I say not! I've already unretired from slo-pitch once and thanks to a funny thing that happened today, I may unretire from another sport as well.

This morning while out on a walk with the Missus we passed some guys playing a game of pick-up football. My friends and I played Saturday morning pick-up football for over twenty years before finally giving it up. As I watched them playing I said to the Missus that I really, really missed playing. Just a passing thought at the time, with no plan to address it. After that things got freakishly coincidental.

One hour later I drive my son to his high school musical rehearsal (good tickets still available at press time) and as we pull into the parking lot I see some more guys playing football on that field too. And these are old guys! I park the car and realize I even know one of the old guys. I get out and walk over to the fence to check things out and maybe find out if this is a regular game. The first guy who sees me, someone I don't even know, asks if I want to play. Just like that. He lends me his extra cleats and before I can let reason get in the way I'm lacing them up and I'm in the game.

These old guys were anywhere from late 30's to 60 and it turns out they've been playing this Sunday morning game for over twenty years (much like my defunct group). This week for the first time they were playing at my son's school. How's that for a fluke. The day that I'm pining for football, a group that's old enough for me and wants players, falls into my lap. I think I'll be back next week and I don't care what the sportswriters say.

Just Say No to the Breakfast Buffet

A development on the hotel front in recent years has me wondering what we've got ourselves into. Hotels chains are almost all offering a "free" breakfast when you stay with them. At first this seems like a great idea, but I'm not sure. It can work out okay, but it can be annoyingly disappointing too. I just can't help but think that hotels feel the pressure to offer this, but I'd happily get three bucks off my bill and go without.

These breakfast buffets generally involve rather pedestrian options, often with shortages of what you'd like most, as well as line-ups for use of the popular appliances such as the toaster. The level of elbowing is somewhere between what you see in an NHL game and what I remember of Eaton's bargain basement. Seating is at a premium. If you don't mind eating a waffle standing up without syrup because they've run out and using a spoon to eat it since they've run out of forks then you probably won't mind the hotel breakfast buffet. Me, I think I'd rather find a coffee shop or restaurant nearby and have the hotel stick to the business of beds and leave the breakfasts to somebody else.

The problem is that it seems like you've already paid for the hotel breakfast, so going somewhere else seems wasteful. Nevertheless, I think that's going to be my game plan from now on, unless my hotel is in the middle of nowhere with no other dining options nearby. Either that or if I'm in the mood for a so-so cup of coffee and a very plain bagel in an unappealing setting while competing for the toaster with someone who must be related to Gordie Howe.

17 Minutes at the Mercy of Cineplex

I went to the movies the other night. I don't get to do that often and the places I have been going to haven't been part of the big Cineplex chain. It seems things have changed a little at Cineplex since I last remember going. And I'm not talking about the popcorn.

I arrived just five minutes before the advertised show time and the line up for popcorn was quite long. Knowing there'd be previews, I decided to chance being late and get some popcorn. After all who can resist... Sorry, now I am talking about popcorn when I'd said I wasn't. Let's move on. I got to my seat a few minutes later than the aforementioned show time just when things were getting started (the screen was blank for a while when I first got there). The pre-show festivities consisted of a few previews and get this, eight advertisements. I'm not exaggerating, I counted them just so I could complain to you in an accurate fashion. Doesn't eight seem a little excessive? I remember when there was one ad and people booed. Now eight is acceptable? Sheesh.

I'm not against advertising in any philosophical or dogmatic sense, but I think if you're going to hold back the show for (and this is not an exaggeration either as I checked the time) 17 minutes after the much publicized start time to pitch stuff, then you're taking advantage of us. And I'm not talking about the popcorn, which if I wanted to I could. Since we're talking about getting taken advantage of. But I will hold back.

See you at the commercials!

Consider the Pansy

Why is the pansy the flower that is singled out as the metaphor for wimpiness? As in, "Don't be such a pansy and get out there and deal with that unruly mob." Lacking any awareness of the flower world I really couldn't have told you what flower is a pansy until a couple of years ago. When I learned what a pansy is, I was shocked.

The pansy you see is an ornamental flower that is often used by people and our local governments in the winter. Outdoors!! The pansy is a tough little son of a bitch. It's the Clint Eastwood of flowers. So you see, the pansy is no Pansy!

Skiing - You're Never too Old to Start!

Hey folks, welcome to the New Year and new possibilities. On the blogging front I will make no predictions nor set any public goals. I just hope that I can reduce the speed of the downhill trend from 52 entries in 2009 to 44 in 2010. Continuing that descent would lead to 36 in 2011. That would be three a month. Seems doable. Not that I'm promising or setting goals or any such thing. On with the blog...

I was skiing just before the highly anticipated New Year's Eve and got to thinking about the first time I ever skied. I was 12 or 13 and I went with my aunt, uncle, mother, brother and grandmother. Not the grandmother who has banging pots in the previous entry, but my other grandmother. Although I'm pretty sure Granny, as we called her, was a mean pot banger in her own right, she had never skied before the day we all went up to "Forbidden Plateau". Her first day of skiing was at the age of 59. She strapped on the boards with the rest of us beginners and spent a day on the bunny hill. That was here first and only day of skiing and it was, as far as I know, injury free. She crossed it off her list and moved on.

So this means that for most of my readers who haven't tried skiing yet, that it's not too late to start. Even for you, Dan. I think.

New Year's - Overrated?

We're coming up to New Year's Eve and I must admit it is not one of my favourite holidays. Don't get me wrong, I'm okay with it, but I have never gotten too excited about the countdown and the hype surrounding the beginning of a new year. In part, as I've blogged before, because it doesn't really seem January is the beginning of anything. It's more like the dog days of winter.

My fondest New Year's memories are probably from when I was a small child and never stayed up past about 9 pm, but on New Year's Eve at Grandma and Grandad's house my little brother and I stayed up till midnight (either that or we went to bed and then were woken up for the big countdown). When the clock struck 12, Grandma would step out on the porch and bang on a kitchen pot like there was no tomorrow. We would join in with the festive noisemakers she had provided. It was quite a striking event as it was quite out of character for Grandma to do anything flashy or attention getting. Unless you count hammering on a piece of beef liver to tenderize it for the cat.

As a younger teenager I first learned the true meaning of the New Year's event when I accompanied an aunt and uncle to a party on the Mt. Washington ski hill. This is where I learned that New Year's is a time when everyone drinks enough so that they can be uninhibited when it comes time to do the New Year's kiss.