Basement Olympics

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Hockey on ice is for suckers. Hockey in the basement is for idiots……especially if you are the goalie, playing against your older brothers and their older friends.

The Winter Olympics are upon us and it brings back some nostalgia. Of course the 1980 USA Men’s hockey team “Miracle on Ice” will forever be embedded in our minds. Our “idiots on ceramic tile” will only be embedded in the blood stained grout of our basement floor.

We needed equipment. Since ice is usually required for ICE hockey, we didn’t have any so skates weren’t an issue. Needing a puck, we didn’t have one of those either. Sticks? Pfff, we are not from the Midwest. Masks? Bravery and stupidity had to replace those. Therefore, we improvised.

My old man had a few golf clubs which were hand me downs from the doctors he worked with in Spokane, Washington. Those became our hockey sticks. The golf balls within his bag became the pucks. Baseball gloves were a primitive form of goalie defense.

We already had a goal. That was the four by eight closet on the south side of the basement. This goal required a goalie. Who was man enough, or dumb, enough to handle this position? The answer to this question is simple. Me. When I entered the goalie area with a baseball chest protector and one of my brother’s groin cups, I felt properly protected. However, I wrapped the cup around my face and a brother informed me where it actually belongs and where it should remain. I was now fair game for the brothers and friends. My baseball glove became my only means of protection.

We had fun. The price I paid was worth it. The miracle of our “idiots on ceramic tile” basement olympics was that no one lost any teeth, and only a few windows were broken. Let the olympic spirit live.

That’s a Good Question

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When you ask someone a question and they respond with ” That’s a good question”. It means, I don’t know. I respond by saying, I don’t have the faintest idea, or I don’t have a clue. It’s just that easy.

I asked someone how many little people could fit in a stretch limousine. They responded with, “That’s a good question.” First of all, it’s not a good question. Don’t respond at all.

Jiffy Lube

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Just like Jiffy Lube, critics can blow it up their mufflers.

The other day, I was criticized regarding my writing. Honestly, it hurt. I am not afraid to admit I am sensitive. It goes with the territory just like sharks are in the ocean.

How do I deal with it? Prayer.

Understanding

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Trying to understand the horrors lingering in the once peaceful city of Wenatchee, Washington, I first acknowledge the three angels the earth left behind. Then, I want to understand why someone would deliver their sentence. The truth is, I don’t know. I don’t even understand myself, let alone others.

Prayers

Rain

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It’s raining in Seattle and no one knows how to drive. When it snows in Seattle, no one goes to work. When it is dry and sunny, everyone wishes to drive recklessly endangering those who drive the speed limit. I feel like I’m writing a letter to the local news from a bored house wife.

I need some new material. Maybe I’ll call one of my sisters

Conclave

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It is the academy awards for Catholics today. Who will be the next Pope and will he have the proper Id to travel? What will they wear. Who wore it best?

I would love our current President to be declined to go to Canada because his ID wasn’t real.

Repent, you non advised sinners.

Black Berries

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The blackberries taste like blackberries. For the second time in my life, I was caught stealing. The first time, my dad busted me for concealing an armed Milky Way in my pocket. That was age 5. I payed for it in the chicken coop where ample wood was available for a proper whacking.

Now, I’m guilty of committing another crime at age 50. I stole two black berries at the local market in Milan, Italy. Thinking they were samples, I ate one and tossed another to my wife, which makes her an accomplice. Sirens went blazing and I threw my hands in the air after the man, ten yards away, was accusing me of theft. Avoiding Italian incarceration, I apologized and payed 3 bucks for the case of berries.

Razor Sharp

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I have the most boring bucket list known to man or woman kind. One of which is being clean shaven in London with a razor which may or may not provide hepatitis. You leave a tip if they give you hepatitis.

The Five Minute Blizzard

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Drama is the weather. Seattle effectively shutdown last week over a half inch of snow, and what amounted to be a five minute “blizzard”. It led me to both roll my eyes, and reflect on the less terrifying memories of my snowy childhood.

I grew up in a city called Spokane. We would regularly get two to three feet of snow in the summer. That does’t count the plows pushing an additional six feet of snow in our drive way. Pounding our way through Eastern Europe, we said, “Screw this noise, Let’s build a snow castle!” Done. I was the brain. My brothers were the engineers. It was magnificent.