I'm stalling doing my workout today (squats, lunges, abs, oh my!) and poking around at the Wild Road Tour offerings.
Here's the blog for Cal's leg of the tour, mostly by my hero Kevin Falness but Cal writes about one of the days. The story of trying to turn on the shower is pretty good (and yes, Cal, pictures would have been most welcome, at least by a certain contingent).
And here are some photos from Day 1 and Day 2 of their leg of the tour.
And for consistency's sake, here's the leg Hards and Shep were on, though neither player blogged about it, which is weak sauce. At least give the old cougar some pics of Shep to look at.
Hmph. Leg 3 FAIL. (Would a Viagra joke here be too much?)
So, I knew when I was getting out of my car and my teammate, who was also getting out of his car, asked me how I was doing and I heard myself say, "GREAT!" and mean it... that I was gonna play like shit.
It wasn't an entirely conscious realization, but I look back and know that somewhere in my mind, that thought fluttered through: You're SO in the wrong frame of mind.
On the spectrum of moods or states of mind, which runs pretty wide for me, the band in which I play goal best is VERY narrow. It's intense and calm and angry, which is kind of a tough place to get to... or to even WANT to be for a laid back gal like me. It's definitely not the great mood, head in the clouds state of mind that I was in tonight.
But the great mood soured rapidly as I let in a shit ton of soft goals in the first period. But the distracted mind, as much as I talked to myself and tried to drag myself into the game, wouldn't shake off. I just couldn't get there. I look back and feel like I sleep-walked through the whole game. Like, did that even just happen? Sadly, yes.
All told, I let in 9, but that was only with a really great second period. I'm not even going to bother going over the goals. I honestly can't say I even stopped as many as I let in. Now that's brutal. All of them were just fucking stupid goals, and that's with the other team's best player, who must have gotten 5 breakaways, putting pity shots on me. Even one of those got through. Fuck.
And of course Scott TFCG was in goal at the other end playing like... a real goalie. I'm playing like someone they strapped the pads on at the last minute and said, "Eh, it's not that hard. Go get 'em, kiddo!"
Since I got to the rink way early, I stopped and bought a 12 pack of Dos Equis. Little did I know when I did that that it would be Apology Beer, but it sure was. And for the first time, I was so pissed about a game, I was just like, "Fuck it" and drank until everything was so funny, my knees buckled when I laughed.
Lemme just say: God Bless Beer League. I dunno how these little kids go through years of hockey without the sweet nectar of brew waiting for them at the end. The joys of being an adult.
Anyway, 4 beers in, I was drunk. Too drunk to drive anyway, so I went to the bar to sober up (seriously, just had a nibble of food and water). And demanded to hear dick jokes, because... well... dick jokes are funny. So, thanks to Amanda, Dave, and Mitch for making me forget the steaming pile of shit I left in my net tonight, at least for a little while. God Bless Beer League.
Didn't roll into the house until 3 a.m. Tried to go to bed, but knew I had to vent here a bit before the brain was going to comply with my orders to shut the fuck up and sleep. 4 a.m. now. Tomorrow is gonna suuuuck.
The 4:45 a.m. stick and puck was lightly attended this morning. Scott TFCG's crew slept in, so it was just me, my 7-year-old nemesis, her little sister, their dad, and some other little kid who must be on that team of little kids.
My knee still feels like it's got a screwdriver jammed under the kneecap when I get up off the ice, so I only spent about half my time working with that crew (and took it pretty easy with them) and spent a good bit of time on my own at the other end working on moving the puck.
I must be missing something with this because I just can't seem to find a hand/glove position that gives me decent leverage. But this is also something that I almost never get to work on because someone's always wanting to shoot pucks at me, which I like, so I'd usually rather do that, too. But it's a skill that gets ignored, so I'm glad I took some time out with it, even though I don't know that I accomplished much.
Oh, but you know what feels awesome? Taking the mask off for a 15-20 minutes and the sweatband gets really cold... Ohhh, man that felt so good to put back on.
Nemesis hurt her foot or something and left the ice crying at the end. I think it was really because I started shutting her down in the end. :) At least I didn't call her any bad names this time.
Can you believe I've been doing this for 6 months and today is the first time I took a hard shot off the shoulder? That SOB hurt. Not as bad as shots to my upper arms, but it hit my shoulder and then tagged my head, too. Bitch. Don't do that. But I stopped it. :)
That shot was from the coach/dad. I dunno what it is. I can stop him but these little kids... I think because they're down more at puck level, they see the holes better and they move slower so I kinda get bored waiting on them and also don't really take them as seriously, so boom. Goals galore.
Anyway, everybody gets to eat because everybody scored, so I've done my weekly duty to encourage and feed Houston's hockey youth. I should get a key to the city or something, eh?
Tomorrow night at novice league, it's coach vs. coachee again as Scotty comes out to backstop the red team. I'll be jacked about that, no doubt, though right now, the thought of getting up for it is making me want a nap. Perhaps because I just need a nap.
Didn't get but 3 or so hours of sleep, and that was on the couch since poor Mr. C has the flu and I didn't want to bother him this morning with my alarm going off. And I had to use my cell phone alarm, and I don't really trust my cell to do anything right, much less wake me up, so I kept waking up to check the time. It's fun being neurotic. Really.
Okay, 2 hours to the resumption of the draft. Get me a goalie, Fletch. I'm so nervous about the goaltending depth for the Wild. We're a broken foot and a groin strain from having to put ME in... and I get beat by 7-year-olds.
So, we won. Poor Bang got the shit kicked out of him in the first two periods and I think the score was something like 5-0 in the first, 8-2 in the second, and then in the third, my defense let up out of pity and the floodgates opened on me and I let in 5. Ugh.
But I played well and made some darn good saves, even when things got hairy. I felt good and focused the whole game, except for a few missteps.
My first stop was actually one that Bad Heather wouldn't have gotten in the past, but I was screened by my own guy and I saw Jessica had the puck (yeah, Jessica's back... more on that in a bit) so I dropped. It took a bit for the shot come to me, but if I hadn't gone down, it would have been a goal. As it was, it bounced off my toe, hit the post and then went to the corner. Phew!
But I made up for it with two stupid goals in the second. First, I dropped but my stick was off the ice and the puck went 5-hole on me. Soft as a basket of kittens.
The second, Mikey parked his ass at the top of my crease and that pissed me RIGHT off. And I'm thinking, "I can't nut him." So I start shoving him. And I was watching the puck, but I guess I did get a tad overzealous in my mission to make it as uncomfortable as possible to screen me, and my stick was off the ice when Jessica released her shot.
I was PISSED. I mean... woo! CRAZY BITCH PISSED. But I learned my lesson. Stick with nutting. It's more efficient.
Okay, kidding. But Mikey got on me. "It's okay for someone to screen you if they're outside the paint." Well, yeah, you're ALLOWED to do it, but if I can make you not want to be there, by fuck, I'm gonna try! But I won't do it at the cost of a goal again. Gotta find a balance. I don't care what these guys say, I'm not gonna let them just stand there. If you don't like a blocker in the back, you can fucking well get the fuck out of my way.
Plus, for where she was (mid-high slot), *I* needed to be at the top of my crease and I couldn't be there because he'd grown roots in the ice or something. I couldn't budge him.
Anyway, I was straight up homicidal for a bit after that, and it's good that Mikey got the hell away from me, but I shook it off and it was okay.
But then the third... My defense backed off because the score was so unbalanced, and the red team definitely took advantage and put a lot of pucks on the net.
I'm trying hard to even remember them all. I know a couple of the later ones, I was getting a bit mental and playing too deep. Tethered to the crossbar again as a result of getting shelled.
One of them was a nasty tip-in by my own defenseman. I was down for the original shot, which was clearly going wide, but it hit the tip of Tom's stick and deflected right in the empty net. Ugh. But it happens.
Another, I got my blocker side leg pad on it and it took a funny bounce and went right over the pad. I really don't even know what I could have done better on that.
So that and Tom's tip-in, I'm not upset about. A couple, I was just too deep and not cutting off the angle properly and they hit the post and went in. Those, I'm irritated about. And the first two I'm irritated about big time. There's one that I can't seem to account for (they weren't actively keeping score and then at the end they put it at 10-10, but that definitely wasn't the right score for my team, so I'm kinda guessing anyway).
Whatever.
Afterward, I was getting pretty good props from the boys for some strong saves and a good game, so that was nice, but it was still too many goals. So somehow I'm really happy with my game but also ... I guess we'll call it, "seeing clear room for improvement."
I was lamenting the score and telling them that I have to recount each one for Scott and they were like, "Meh, screw it, you played well." Well, yeah, but I should have stopped 4 of those if I'd been on the ball. So, I don't really know how to feel about this one.
I do know it was a fuckload of fun though. I love playing goal.
So, like I mentioned, Jessica is back (and the score showed it). I know she got two of the goals. One of those too-deep ones and then the Mikey-screen.
But I love having her back. She's determined and more unpredictable than many of the red team, so I enjoy the challenge. And it's often a breakaway with her, which I really enjoy in sort of mano-a-mano, who's gonna flinch first, way.
Speaking of flinching, Jesus H. Christ, another of her shots hit me in the bicep (but bounced down to me to freeze it). I swear to God, I'm gonna get swim floaties to wear under my chest protector to protect my biceps. I might as well have nothing on my arms at all for how bad that hurts. It's big time OW! But, of course, totally worth it if I make the save.
Anyway, loads of fun. And now the sleepies are setting in. I don't think anything will haunt me too bad tonight when I close my eyes. I made a few dumb mistakes but nothing I can't fix. It's the stuff I don't know how to fix that keeps me up at night.
Got this article from Google Alerts today on what Clutterbutter's been up to in Welland. The line that made me laugh was, "And according to the NHL, Clutterbuck led the league in hits, too."
Like that information would ever be according to anybody else. Or like it's an opinion or something. I dunno. That kinda made me chuckle. But maybe I'm just in a mood to pick on someone after getting my ass kicked by a 7-year-old girl this morning.
Went to a 4:45 a.m. stick and puck with Scott TFCG and a couple of his kids. The kids' coach and his daughter were there, too. Well, the daughter, Ava, is a freaking mercenary. She's a damn good little skater and would run circles around a bunch of people in novice league. Very agile. Also a quick shot, and she can put it pretty much anywhere.
What I'm saying, of course, is that the little [darling] lit me up and lit me up GOOD this morning. Of course, I was taking it easy and really trying to avoid going down too much to try and not anger my knee too badly. Just wanted to get on the ice, get a sweat up, test the knee out a bit, so it's alright. I wasn't going full bore and didn't want to. But she still woulda lit me up. No doubt about it.
Just doing my part to boost the confidence of Houston's hockey youth. And BTW, it's no secret that kids aren't really my bag, but I love Scotty's kids. They're cool. And they whine at him just like I do. Now I see how he puts up with me. I feel like I have siblings now. Maybe you can get a tax deduction for me, too, Scooter!
Owen thanked me for letting him score, so his dad will let him eat. LOL Awesome. I love it.
Anyway, in spite of the humbling, and the aching knee, and the ungodly hour, I had fun. And I figured out what's tweaking the shit out of my knee. It's when I get up, obviously I'm putting most of my weight on the vertical leg, but leveraging the "down" leg a bit to push up. And that's straining the medial ligaments in my knee.
So, it's good that I've figured out what's causing the problem. Part of the solution is to work on getting up with my non-dominant leg more often, so the effort is spread across both legs. And obviously get lighter and stronger. *sigh* What a process. Couldn't I have had a dream of being... I dunno, something lazier? But noooooo, gotta be a goalie. Pfft. Sorry, knees.
Got some yard-type crap to do this morning and then taking it easy the rest of the day. There will be a nap. Then taking Coach Stalin to her C league game tonight. Will be fun to just relax and watch some hockey. I don't get to do that too often anymore.
Well, Luongo has those long legs, which is hot, but then he's got the mullet, which almost negates the legs.
Who's the Euro kid? Cute, but not hot.
Flower... I love him. LOVE HIM but he's not hot. Not even in his gear, which is where most goalies on the bubble can manage to fall over to the "hot" side.
Hiller? Duck. Next?
Cloutier, I kinda see it but I think we can do a LOT better.
So, I'm gonna give you my 5, in no particular order, because I'm a lover, not a fighter. I'm not about to make a video though, so I'll just give you a song to play and some pictures and you can pretend.
Marty Turco
"Hey baby" photo ripped from the Dallas Morning News
I definitely have a "type" when it comes to goalies. The more they take risks, play the puck, shove guys around, etc. the more I like them. Marty's at the head of the class as far as puck-moving goalies in my book. After the way he hosed several of my fantasy teams last season, I won't be putting him on my teams this fall, but he'll always be on another type of fantasy team.
Marty Brodeur
Photo ripped from National Post
Oh mama. Just one of the greatest goalies in the history of the sport, so proficient at moving the puck they had to put some extra lines on the ice to slow him down, looks great in red, and by all accounts one of the nicest dudes to play the position. Plus, the whole cheating on his wife with his sister-in-law thing... oh, that's naughty. Bad Marty. Bad.
My pal over at Getting Pucks Deep has me in a total froth about this hottie. In fact, she's got so many hot pictures of him, she sent me two and I couldn't choose. Here's the other (click to make big... and if you like that, check this out and guess which photo made me shout "OH MY GOD!"):
Photo by Getting Pucks Deep
Not only is he just straight up soap-opera-star handsome, his nickname is Moose, which is just fuckin' adorable. I wasn't sure how he played and to avoid a total collapse into puckbunnydom, I figured I'd better do some research. Well, this is all I needed to see. Look at him attacking the puck... now that's hot. Typical Wild though, eh? Ugh.
Henrik Lundqvist
Actually, his style of play doesn't thrill me all that much. But dayum. He's blistering hot. Commence collapse into puckbunnydom.
So, I debated this one because I'm trying to tone down the lusty adoration of guys I actually have to cover with some semblance of journalistic integrity. But what the hell... it's still summer and it would be completely disingenuous to leave him off; he's numero uno in my book and everybody knows it.
Brusty's big and foxy, he's got an unorthodox style and swagger and a temper, and when he's hot and healthy, I guarantee a sweaty-palmed, edge-of-your-seat good time watching him play.
Okay, that's my 5. There are some honorable mentions, like Ricky DiPietro, who is gorgeous but fragile as a little baby and a little too "frat boy" for my taste. Scott Clemmensen and Steve Valiquette are also lookers. And Marty Biron's got those eyes and adorable accent. And of course Rejean Beauchemin, who spent a couple of games in Houston and is a stone cold fox (look him up... you won't be disappointed). Rawr. But I had to pick 5.
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