The Game

Dear Reader,

I am not an enthusiastic sports fan, I would rather attend a game than watch it on TV, and I would rather watch a game with friends, than watch alone.  I have not, for many years watched a regular season game, be it baseball, or hockey, but I have and will watch the final game of the Stanley Cup playoffs, especially if I can convince a friend to join me.

I have attended hockey, baseball, basketball (once), and auto racing events.  I enjoy the feel of the crowd, the exhilaration of everyone getting caught up in the game. Oh ya, I almost forgot, I attended a midget wrestling once, no, don’t ask me why, it was not my idea.

Golf is ok, but boring as hell to watch on TV, soccer, lacrosse, cricket, lawn bowling, hold no fascination for me, I have other things I would rather do than watch.  When I was younger I would watch the Olympics with my sisters and my mom, lots of figure skating, and down hill skiing, we only had one TV, it was 3 against 1. I did not often get my choice up on the black and white screen (Yes I know who Victor Newman is).

Ken Dryden, was a student first and a goalie second, he played from 1971 to 1979 for the Canadians, he took 1973 off to attend University in Toronto, his home town, then went back to Montreal to play for the Canadians.  He retired when he was 31, and owing to the fact that he studied law between games and during the off season, he was in a good position to begin his second career.  The Canadians off season was never as long as the other teams during Dryden’s time with them, because they would continually with the Stanley cup, 6 in total.

The Game was another birthday gift, a paper copy from “the in-laws”.  While in the news everyone was busy debating what/who should win the 2012 Canada reads contest, I was hoping that it would be The Game, only because I have always liked Ken Dryden, and every time I would hear his name I would be taken back to my youth, and with a smile on my face, I would remember the game.

Dryden is probably referring to many “games” in this book, there is the game that you and I know, and that is the game of playing hockey, there is also the game of being a hockey player, and the game the players play in the dressing room before the game, the banter between players, the building up of big egos, getting bigger and ready to face the opposition, the game of practical jokes in the dressing room, Dryden tell a story of how before many games, he would pull out his skates from under his section of bench in the dressing room, and the laces would be cut off and left hanging, its helps to cut the tension, and relax the team. As Dryden brings the game to life, in his book, he talks about how the game has been improved along its long journey, he referrers to the many hockey “greats” that where around during original 4, then 6 and how the league has expanded to now having 30 teams.  The original 6 teams are fondly remembered as the “original six” because this was a period after the1930’s when the league settled down and began to look like the real thing. 

Over the years rules have changed, added and removed, lines were added to provide first the blue lines, then the red line, to speed up the game, to allow the players more flexibility, with the addition of the lines came new rules again.  Most of the rules were created to make the game faster, more exciting.  We have moved from a backward passing game to a forward passing game, more speed, bigger players, and harder hits.  It might be time to start only passing backward again, slow it down and save a few brains from concussion.

A flurry of memories arrived on my doorstep while reading this book, As I read the names of the players I remember from my youth, Maurice Richard, Bobby Orr, Bobby Hull, Jacques Plante, Phil Esposito, Bobby Clarke,  Frank Mahovlich(the big M), Henri Richard, Brad Park, Tony Esposito, Yvan Cournoyer, and of course  Ken Dryden.  There are too many to name, did you get goosbumps reading the names, I do, goosbumps and waves of youthful memories, go ahead and click on a name. 

I remember back when I was 7 or 8 years old, I was not allowed to stay up late to watch Hockey Night In Canada, it was on much too late, “aww, but mom it’still light out, no fair, it’s the playoffs”, well anyway too young to stay up, but I did have a transistor radio, whats that, what is a “trasnistor radio”, well all you children of digital audio players click here.  So I’m scooted off to bed no TV it’s late, but I have my radio, once I was snuggled into bed,  I would tune in to CBC and listen in.

Street hockey was also a favorite past time on my block, we had kids from blocks over come by to play on our street, because we were good, real good, we actually had 2 nets, this was important.  Most of the players would have plastic blades on our stick, when our wooden stick broke, a trip to Canadian Tire, a bit of allowance money, and presto you can screwnail a new blade onto that shaft, don’t forget to slowley heat it up over the stove ellement to give it some curve.  “What, you mean an 11 year olds can’t use the stove top, oh, sorry about that, but I was careful, ya ok, I won’t do it again”.  A tennis ball, a bunch of kids in running shoes, well ya can’t run in boots, yelling screaming, laughing, scoring, I hated having to chase the ball when “the most powerful slapshot in the world” went wide of the net, you shot it you chased it.

I, on occasion would don the golie pads, borrowed from someone’s big brother and play net, sometimes we would even have a golie stick, but they were expensive, so a regular stick would do, except if you held it over the stove too long and had too much of a curve on it, now it starts to work against you, how do I know, well I could almost pick up a tennis ball with the curve on my stick it was crazey huge, golies hated my wrist shot because it usually went high, and that is where the golie’s face is, so they would kinda move aside, I would shoot, and I would have to go get it, because it went over the net.  Hey the curve was great for shooting the ball over everyones heads at the net, great way to move it forward, afterall Hockey was not a forward passing game.

There is one thing that I want to mention, something that I feel has been lost in the game of street hockey.  I am not exactly sure of why it has been lost, but over time some things tend to evolve, some for the better, and some for the worse, there are some things though that I feel should not have evolved at all, there are some things associated with street hockey that should allways stay the same as they were when our grandparents were young, have you figured it out yet? That’s right, it’s the net, remember how when you would see a car coming down the road, everyone would yell “CAR” and then both nets would be dragged or sometimes carried it if was a new net, to the side of the road, all the players would get off the road, leaving the road for the car.

Wow what an interesting thought, move the net, get off the road, wave to the driver, stay safe, play safe.  How ‘bout we see if we can resurrect this time honored tradition, teach you’re kids, grandkids, neibours kids, to move the damm net and get off the road.

The Game was a wonderful journey through the evolution of hockey, I had never thought about the life of a player off the ice, had no idea of the evolution of the game as it moved from pond hockey to indoor areanas, from a backward passing game to forward passing, rules, lines, paychecks, contracts, from a sport to a business. Here are two passages form The Game, I think you will agree with them, I know I do;

 “I know that in any way an athlete can be measured, in strength, in speed, in height or distance jumped, he is immensely superior to one who performed twenty years ago. But measured against a memory, he has no chance”.

“The “golden age of sports”, the “golden age” of anything is the age of everyone’s childhood”.

Thanks for the book Joan, it will be one I keep and treasure and perhaps re-read one day.

Game On.

bfn Brian

Fruiting Bodies, and other Fungi

Dear Reader,

Honest, Dear Reader, this is the title of my latest book.  Taken from my not so slowly dwindling supply in my bag -O- books, one that I was not sure about, was not certain that I would even be able to read.  I am one of “us” whom, at times, will actually judge a book by its cover, (or its name).  I have looked at this book several times, flipped it around in my hand, checking out the back cover and finding myself not believing the raving reviews that I see printer there. I mean, really, would anyone print a bad review on the back of their book?

So after reading several other books from MI, (the bag-O-books previous owner), including the Psychomech series by Brian Lumley, I decided to throw caution to the cover, and read it, after all with a name like Brian, how bad could it be?

This book is a collection of Lumley’s short stories, science fanticy/horror the first one is the reason for the name of the book, it is Fruiting Bodies, but what the *%@$ is a Fruiting Body, well it’s time to learn.

• Fruiting body (bacteria), the aggregation of myxobacterial cells when nutrients are scarce.

There, that pretty much sums it up then.

OR:

• Fruiting body (slime mold), the sorophore and sorus of a slime mould.

‘nuff Said. Lets move on shall we.

I don’t often read short stories, I find that there is not enough time for the writer to build the plot and the characters to a point where the reader can become one with the story.  I like to become “invested” in the book. True often times short stories are the beginnings of a larger work, using the short story to “test the field”, to see if the story might gather a following, and then actually be worthy of becoming folded up into a full length novel, most times, I think the  short story stays just that, short, and the few pages used to hold such a work of fiction are left to gather dust, left to rot in a corner of the garage, in the damp, and the dark, to mold, thus providing nutrients for bacterium….. until such time as the nutrients become scarce, then other things begin.

I found two stories in this book of fifteen, to my liking. 

The first is called “The Man Who Felt Pain”  Imagine in the future, being an astronaut, in a deep space training program, youthful and eager to know everything there is to know about the “real” outer space, the outer space beyond our galaxy, sounds pretty cool. Until you begin to feel the pain of others, the actual physical pain from a paper cut, or a broken leg.  Imagine walking along the sidewalk, and BAM, you are on the ground writhing in pain, not able to move, you have no physical injury, but you feel the pain of someone else, someone who just broke their leg, they must be close for you to feel the pain.

How would you control this new sensation, these sensations, for the ‘attacks” are growing more frequent, you begin to feel the pain of people further away, headaches, heart attacks, burning lungs from smoke inhalation, somewhere someone is trapped in a burning building, oh my god they are burning, burning, the pain, ooohh, “help me, it is too much, I’m dying, help, help.” But then it is gone, you are exhausted, you rest, then it begins again, someone else, more people, more pain, over and over. Never any mark left from the agony.

How would you deal with something like that, feeling the pain, with no where to run, it builds until you feel the pain of the city, it must have limits, dammit, “I must find somewhere far away, away from people, animals,” yes, even the pain of birds flying into statues, windows, the squirrels, oh my even the ants, “:stop, everyone stop stepping on the ants, ppplease, help me, get me away, far awwaaayyyyyy.”

The answer is there, staring you in the face, if only you survive long enough to get there. Unless of course, that is what caused it in the first place.

The other story is called “The Thin People”.

Human arrogance would let us believe that we are the only creatures with any form of higher intelligence, living on this third planet from the sun, or with an understanding of “being”.  However, just look at Harry Potter, an entire race of magical people living amongst us, and we don’t even know, we never see them, or remember seeing them.  We do understand that there are other beings in the universe, far, far away from our little rock, but what about right here, in you’re neighborhood.

We have seen these strange creatures, as they show up in the many shows that we watch on television, all the episodes of Star Trek, Star Wars, Alf, Buck Rogers, and we cannot forget Dr. Who, (who?).  These shows did not just materialize out of thin air, the creators had direction, oh sure they will tell you that it was all them, but in the end we will see that their creativity was nudged, and massaged, we will understand that we were led into a long and slow acceptance of what we at some point will finally learn, that we are not alone.

Remember men in black (MIB), another preparatory moment for us humans.  But back to the “Thin People”, it is not difficult to believe that we are living amongst other sentient beings, it is possible that these “people” are so thin that we might not be able to see them clearly, especially if they are as tall as a lamp post, as wide as a lamp post.  If these people only venture out of their homes (thin homes), only at night, and when they come within eye sight of humans, they pretend to be lamp posts or hydro poles, we humans would not see them, after all we are all caught up in own lives, we tend to miss big things, like new paint on a wall, or a different picture on the newly painted wall, we miss noticing that new hair do, “I’m sorry I did not notice you changed your hair, wow, I like the light blue”, sometimes we are so caught up in life we miss dinner.  It is reasonable that we would miss seeing the Thin People.

Remember the next time you look out the front window onto the street, check to see if that lamp post is still there, or if it has moved. The thin people are not fond of automobiles, or loud noises, they will actually destroy you’re car if it is loud, so fix that muffler, turn down that radio.  If you find yourself in a neighbourhood that is quiet, and automobile free, count the number of lamp poles, then check back again in a few days.

bfn Brian

ps; I'll have the stuffed mushrooms.