Plinko or Ice Hockey?

Hockey again...

So I'm watching the Wild game tonight, and Calgary gets a goal by intentionally re-directing the puck into the net with a skate, while voluntarily in the goal crease before the puck.

I'm not too much of a purist, but this is a bad combination. I suppose the rules that allow it stem from the infamous Brett Hull goal that won a Stanley Cup, plus the NHL trying to get more scoring to help with fan interest.

I don't intend on making this a long "what the NHL needs to do" post. I just want to point out that it does not need to allow ridiculous goals just to increase scoring. They won't gain any fans with this, and they'll lose paying fans like myself.

I'm in favor of scaling back the goaltending equipment size, or even enlargening the nets by three inches in height and width. (Yes, I have my reasons for such blasphemy.)

But encouraging silly goals like the one I saw tonight? No way.

St. Paul Hockey Article Triggers Memories of Heartbreak

There was an article in Friday's St. Paul Pioneer Press Dispatch, Fairgrounds Coliseum a host of many hockey memories, that was a nice read on the history of ice hockey at the State Fair Coliseum. It brought back many fond memories just thinking of the building, and one painful one.

In the article, author Brian Murphy names the top 5 high school games ever played in the building. I know nothing of Mr. Murphy, but I would guess from his list, he went to high school in the late 1980s. That three of his picks were from 1989 is my first clue. My second is that none are from before 1989, despite the building being used for hockey since 1976. (To be fair, picking only five games from over 30 years is necessarily problematic.)

In my biased opinion, grossly omitted from the list was a section semi-final in 1981 between Alexander Ramsey (my alma mater) and Irondale. Sadly, few except us heartbroken Ramsey alumni (we're talking heartbreak of the Drew Pearson shove-in-the-back level), and the fortunate Irondale faithful, seem to remember that classic. Even though you will run across a story now and again about that Irondale team of '81 and their impressive run, you virtually never hear about the game that springboarded them into State.

The details come exclusively from memory (in a future post, I will go to the county library's microfiche file and record how accurate my memory is). Ramsey led 4-2 late in the game, with something like less than four minutes to go. It could have been 5-2, but a second breakaway goal opportunity was missed, despite the same move made on the goaltender. The puck was lifted over the sprawled goaltender, but also over the net. I also recall one of Ramsey's top defenseman slipping and falling near the blue line, allowing an Irondale player to make a rush and score. (Admittedly, this could have been a memory from a different game. Microfiche might clear that one up.)

An Irondale goal made it 4-3, but then a player (Bayer...first name escapes me) from Irondale was being taunted by Ramsey's "Bleacher Bums" for taking a late penalty. With four seconds left in regulation, and Irondale's goalie pulled, a seemingly harmless shot from the point got past the goaltender (yes, I remember his name, but don't have it in my heart to publish it), tying the score. A few years later, a friend of mine claimed she saw the goaltender look up at the scoreboard just moments before the shot.

Irondale went on to win in overtime, 5-4.

Games like this are often used by some as evidence of "destiny." I'm quite the opposite. Win or lose, I find games like this to be evidence of the randomness of sports, and how one lucky bounce, or one blown call or play (or successful play), can make the difference, rightly or wrongly, in how history is written.

Irondale fans will remember this as one fantastic game. Perhaps it did propel the team into being one of destiny, but the game itself, from this then-Ramsey sophomore's perspective, was one that never should have gotten away.

Despite the revisited scars, I thank Mr. Murphy for the article.

Time Passage

I have a strange fascination with how quickly time passes. Maybe it's no different from every other adult, for I believe virtually every adult has observed how quickly time flies, and how it never ceases to amaze us how it does.

But I think I take my observation a step or too further in that my thoughts are often consumed with the concept (at least once per day). I make it much more complicated than simply noticing that time flies.

Like when I realized I was at my company for my second stint longer than I had been away after my first stint, a total of seven years. The second seven went by much more quickly. (I'm about four years into another seven.)

Or just in noticing, like I'm sure many do, how much more quickly the next high school class reunion seems to come up.

Or this: My 14-year-old son has taken a strong liking to '80s rock bands, some of whom I have seen live. We were talking about possibly going to see either AC/DC, whom I saw in 1983, or Motley Crue, whom I saw in 1984. (Neither were ever my favorites; I mainly wanted the concert t-shirts to impress girls. No, it didn't work one bit.)

So my son wants to see bands I saw 25 years ago. Aside from thinking how cool that is, and how it doesn't seem like 25 years, I couldn't get over how interesting it was (to me), that my first concert was Elvis Presley. Interesting not because it's a pretty cool story to tell (that my first concert ever was the King), but that I saw him in 1973, a mere 18 years after he broke through in American culture.

He was the king, he seemed so ancient, he was the guy my really old parents listened to in the olden days. And yet those olden days were no more than 18 years prior. Now my son wants to see a band I saw over 25 years ago. And that I first listened to even longer ago. And yet he wants to see these old farts not because they are legends, but because their music is still as good and fresh to him now as any other contemporary bands.

No, this is much more than noticing that time flies; this is dwelling on all of the weird nuances of time passing, and making strange comparisons of time passing in different time periods and blah blah blah.

I guess my son's love of '80s rock makes sense when I think about how, when other kids were listening to AC/DC when I was in high school in the '80s, I was into the Beatles, whom my folks never got into. The apple hasn't fallen to far here.

Anyway, I doubt this phenomenon is unique to many others. But I would guess I'm in small company among those who can spend an hour or two just thinking about it, usually while I'm driving or watching a ball game.

One good thing about being my age is that I think that maybe, just maybe, the increase in speed at which time seems to pass is stalling. That is, the last, say, four years, didn't seem to go much faster than the previous four. I'll let you know what I think in my blog entry on this day in 2012.

If I only had a Six-Pack to show off...

I did a very "guy" thing over the weekend. I washed a wool sweater and put it in the dryer. Accidentally, of course, as I honestly do know better.

It is a size L. The tag still says so, but the tag is now incorrect. My wife recommended we throw it in the wash again, and then stretch it out to flat dry it.

She was quite pleasant about my gaffe, considering she bought the sweater for me, and I've only worn it twice. Just for fun, I'll try wearing it before stretching it.

(Reading that last sentence to myself almost sounded redundant.)

Passing up a Dream...For Now

There are three golf courses I have vowed to play before I die, unless I die young: Pebble Beach, The Old Course at St. Andrews, and the TPC at Sawgrass.

When my wife informed me of the possibility of playing one of them, the one (Pebble Beach), I was naturally excited.

Here's how it happened: She called me up at work asking me what I would do if I found myself with an unexpected couple grand (yes, dollars). Because she knows one of my lifetime dreams is to play Pebble Beach, she thought I would answer with a round at Pebble Beach.

I didn't really come up with anything clever. Had I been completely honest, I would have said I'd put it to the mortgage.

I would soon learn it wasn't just a hypothetical question. She had learned that her former job, at the company where we met and at which I still work, she was going to get back pay for overtime hours worked on her job that was designated a salaried position, but should have been hourly.

So we talked, and I did some research, and we decided to take that trip to Pebble Beach. We have since changed our minds, or at least put it on hold, but not because of the cost. Our best bet cost-wise is to go this winter. But because the average high in Pebble Beach is 59 this time of year, and my wife is a fair weather golfer, we are shooting for May.

To reserve a tee time at Pebble more than 24 hours in advance, you have to stay at least two nights at one of the Pebble Beach resort lodges. The cheapest one this time of year would be $325/night, thanks to a winter promotion. That would bring the round of golf to $1640 for the two of us. If we wait until, say, May, it will be over $2000, because of higher in-season resort rates. Airfare of course would be extra, and people who know insist a caddie is a must for the complete Pebble experience, at $75/bag plus tip.

Another alternative, which I wanted to do, is to take our chances and get a timeshare in the area by trading a week we have at Lake Carlos Villas through RCI. I have read that, because of the economy, not all tee times are being booked at Pebble, and thus a non-resort guest has a good chance of picking up a tee time within 24-hours of intended play. To fly out and take that chance is a gamble, but right now seems to be a good one, because of the non-prime season and economy. In May, it may not be so easy.

Harvey Mackay once wrote that a dream is a bargain at any price. I tend to agree, if you can afford that price. But I can see my wife's point of view. Even though I don't mind playing golf in the fifties, if you're going to dish out that kind of dough for a once-in-a-lifetime round of golf, you may as well pay a little extra and fully enjoy it.

Here's hoping for economic recovery, but slowly enough so that I can take my chances and get a last-minute tee time at Pebble Beach in May.

A Russian Twist to my Workouts

My wife and I went shopping on Black Friday, and then again on Cyber Monday. We didn't go crazy, and it was all under our budget. But we did buy for ourselves as well as others. We sacrificed the real killer deals in order to avoid the early morning Friday madness.

One of the things I did not get a deal on was a kettlebell. You can Google it, but if you don't know what a kettlebell is, imagine a round purse filled with lead. In my case, 45 pounds of lead.

It's a "Russian Secret" piece of exercise equipment I've been reading about from Pavel Tsatsosomethingorother for quite a few years now. It's becoming more mainstream, but the problem Saturday was that where I found them on sale, Sports Authority, the heaviest weight in stock was 30 pounds. So I paid full price at the Bloomington Dick's Sporting Goods to get a 45-pounder at full price, which was still less than anyplace online.

Why 45 pounds? Ego, of course. In a recent fitness magazine, there were recommended weights for a person's first kettlebell. "Average man" was recommended to get a 35-pounder, "strong man" was 44 pounds, and "strength athlete" was 53 pounds. (I'm not sure why the strange gaps in weights...probably because many companies make these lead purses in metric weights, or something like that.)

I at least showed a little humility in not getting the 53-pounder.

Anyway, I'm still feeling the effects of my first kettlebell workout two nights ago. Four supersets of 10 Sumo lifts and 10 "swings," as recommended for a person's first kettlebell workout in the same magazine. It was aerobic as much as it was anaerobic. I used a few muscles in ways I haven't in quite a while.

Supposedly, when I get "hooked" on kettlebell workouts, I will want to upgrade by adding a 53-pounder to the mix, even reaching 70 pounds some day.

We'll see how it goes. I may opt for a Joey Tribbiani-type man purse instead.