The guys I play hockey with, when pressed to describe me, usually come up with the word “fearless”, which I suspect is just a nicer way of saying “stupid.” I myself will confess that I seem to have Little Dog Syndrome, where the tiny puppy takes on the 200-lb. mastiff. And I know this’ll come as a shock to those of you who know me, but…….I do have a wee bit of a temper.
So we have a game Saturday night, where unbeknownst to me I’ve somehow been designated as tonight’s tackling dummy by our opponents. In particular by the biggest guy (aka “BigGuy”) on their team who looks like he did time in San Quentin. When he grins menacingly at me over a faceoff, I could swear I see a glint of silver. He starts by trying to wrap his stick around my ankles in order to trip me up, but I elude that one and tell him “don’t even try that crap on me, bub.” Foolishly ignoring my warning, he later crosschecks me across the back and sends me sprawling onto the ice. And gives me a sarcastic "Oops." This is where the temper thing kicks in, when I get up and do the same to him. Adding a couple of whacks in the shin for good measure. And skate off. Oops yourself, pal.
Even later, I get run down and do one of those cartwheel things in the air, and of course land smack dab on my bad elbow. Now I’m pissed.
So when there are 5 minutes left in the game and I’m run down along the boards by BigGuy who then lands on top of me for good measure, I’m pissed off AND a little exasperated. So of course I bounce up (sturdy peasant stock and all), and as I yell at him – “WHAT do you think you’re doing? Give it up already!” – I punctuate my point with, yes, a punch to the shoulder. And then another one.
Now, given that this particular guy is a giant who’s built like a brick s&*thouse, he’s now been stunned into silence, his mouth agape. I jab at him again. “What’s the deal, huh?” Time stands still at the rink as everyone waits to see if I’m going to get my ass handed to me. And is that a tic in his eye? I suspect the guys see me flounce into the rink looking like a girlie-girl and think I’m a pushover, as opposed to a little she-devil on skates. With that *slight* temper I mentioned earlier.
Finally, like a bear roused from deep hibernation, BigGuy roars out that “if I had run into you at full speed, I would have killed you!” He’s looking a tiny bit irate at this point, to say the least, so I decide I’ve made my point and just give him a “hmph” and skate off, tossing him the most menacing look these big brown eyes can pull off. I suspect the effect is much like Bambi, if Bambi were wearing a hockey helmet. Oh well. The collective sigh of relief in the rink is palpable. After the game and after we’ve lined up and shaken hands with the other team, I skate over to BigGuy to magnanimously offer an apology and to tell him that I was kind of joking around. He was ready to offer up apologies too, and as I’m skating off to the locker room, he adds “oh, by the way, nice crosscheck in front of the net!”, and I think to myself ah, another guy who’s fallen under my spell after I’ve tangled with him on the ice. It’s a gift, I tell you, a gift.
Unfortunately, I think my elbow is broken. Ouch. Will have to cut back on the chest press reps I’ve been doing with the Thighmaster. Maybe dial it down to 6, from an overly ambitious 8?
On another note, Kevin was kind enough to drop off my mega-supply of Girl Scout cookies over the weekend. So, who’s up for a box or 6? Anyone? Bueller? I’m trying to avoid piling on any more zaftig….