Good as Gold 

Crosby celebrates his breakaway goal that put Canada up 2-0 over Sweden. Image via Globe and Mail

Sometimes actual gold is much better than "good as gold". I laughed, I cried, I celebrated with a breakfast even Ron Swanson would love – two pieces of fried chicken on a pancake, topped with bacon and poached eggs. Canada winning Men's hockey gold was a good way to start the day, then having brunch with Mark and Mary made it better. I finished off my sauntering Sunday at the Art Gallery of Ontario to see the Guggenheim show which featured some wonderfully famous works particularly by Russian exiles such as Kandinsky and Chagall.

Ironically, the Sochi closing ceremonies featured set pieces showcasing Chagall. He died in France you know, because he was a libertine artist - oh and Jewish. He never returned to Russia though he pined deeply for it. Despite works by Nabokov and Chekov, it seems contemporary Russians are blind to irony. The opening ceremonies in Sochi featured music by Tchaikovsky, who many scholars believe was gay, though Russians prefer to think of him as just a cool lifelong affirmed bachelor. Ahem. Snow goggles aren't the only rose-coloured glasses Russians wear. Still, all in all, a good show by Russia, including seeing a Pussy Riot beat by a Cossack with a whip (how many times do you get to say that?) and a backdrop that allowed Canadians to shine ever so brightly. Here's to winners, the fourth-placers and the upside downers. Beardmode engaged.

Hashtag: PriceisRight 

Jamie Benn tips a pass into history - GIF via Deadspin

Canada hasn't necessarily been a scoring juggernaut during these games, having scored only 3 against Norway, 2 against Finland, and most frighteningly, only 2 against Latvia. Compared to the fast flowing and scoring Yanks, our guys appeared a little constipated in the goal-flow column of the scoresheet. But they've been stingy too and they outplayed the Americans for most of the game and kept them at the doorstep. A few of us in this office gathered in the conference room (with our laptops just in case some work was required) and tensely enjoyed the game to the bitter end, knowing one shot could sink us or lift us. Thus it was, that one goal was enough to reach our one goal – the gold medal game. That's been the big difference in this Team Canada from other Olympics squads. In the past we've had teams that have struggled to score and lost by trying and pushing too hard to get to the other team's net rather than minding our own.

What was dread is now hope and the Swedes look beatable instead of formidable. It should be another high paced, action-packed game on Sunday. I thought about titling this post, "Benn there, done that." but it sounded like a horrible Ron MacLean-esque pun so I went with more a comment on what a stalwart Carey Price has been and that the hashtag “Priceisright” was trending on Twitter (along with ”BEEROCLOCK”) after the game. Maybe we do put too much emphasis on hockey at the Olympics and maybe the Dutch put too much emphasis on speed skating and the Norwegians put too much emphasis on cross-country skiing but that's what we love about the Winter Games. Suddenly us smaller countries are on equal footing with countries like US, Russia, Germany or China. Sometimes, we get the better of them too.

I was going to put “Comeback Kid” as the track here, but what were they coming back from? Bitter Rivals makes more sense:

Like the Legend of the Phoenix 

National GIF of the Day via Deadspin

What's that expression? Sometimes you have to be lucky to be good and sometimes you have to be good to be lucky.

The Canadian women's hockey team was clutch, and not the kind of clutch you take to the opera, ladies. So here's to you Marie-Philip Poulin and probably one of the greatest comebacks in Canadian hockey history. Hopefully we can finally put to bed that grainy footage of Paul Henderson jamming the puck over Tretiak.

Unexpected, But Not Unimaginable 

Phil Kessel sweeps in a soft backhand to put the Leafs up 2-0 in the 3rd.

I think I had forgotten my desire for the Leafs to beat the Bruins tonight or repressed it so deeply that when Phil Kessel made it 2-0 in the third, I surprised myself with my own expletive-filled expression of joy. Yes. Go Leafs, go… et cetera, et cetera. A game seven win might be too much orgasmic energy to be contained. It would be beyond expectations, of course, but not beyond imagination, and that's saying something.

Oh and by the way, Happy Mothers Day, Mrs. Reimer.

Pre-game Calm

Hiroshi Sugimoto - November 6, 2008 - February 14, 2009 - Gagosian Gallery

My stomach was all butterflies earlier today. Now I'm at peace with the day. Call it the calm before the storm when the Canadian teens who carry all my hopes and dreams go up against some Russian teens to determine world hockey dominance. I really shouldn't give so much responsibility to a bunch of kids. I should know better.

Maybe, I should have made a bet with Mitchel on the score. I lost last time. In the words of President George W. Bush, "Fool me once shame on me, fool me twice... won't git fooled again."

UPDATE: I shoulda know'd better. That gut punch of a loss is haunting me. I vow to avoid Canadian media for the next 48 hours, assuming that's how long it will take to fall out of the news cycle.

I Don't Buy Green Bananas 

17 Apr 1970, New York, New York, USA — Boston's heroes, Bobby Orr (l), Derek Sanderson and Wayne Cashman (r) relax in dressing room at Madison Square Garden — Image by © Bettmann/CORBIS

I play hockey most Monday nights. One night, I had to rent a car to get there so I thought I'd better have a good game. I did. Actually scored a goal (Peter Forsberg-esque walking out from behind the net) and set up a couple of nice ones. For some reason I was into it more. My eyes were open and I was skating well.

Afterward, I looked around the dressing room at the mixed bunch. Some were young and fit but most were aging, and struggling over their paunch to untie their skates. It really makes you think. Mostly I wonder, "Do I look like that?" I also wonder how long I'm willing to go on with this. I need new skates, but is it worth it? How many more games do I have left in me? I'm starting to wondering if it's even worth getting my skates sharpened. I'm like the old lady who, upon hearing a policy will take ten years to take effect, tells a political candidate, "Sonny, I don't buy green bananas."

Last year I had to miss a few games, but in the meantime I swam, biked, and ran. I felt great. I went back to hockey and immediately felt like crap. Lately, I've got over that "hangover" feeling, but I'm not sure if it's because I'm in better shape or I just play slower. I suspect the latter. Oddly, with biking I've found it demands some abdominal and leg strength that it actually doesn't build. In fact, it's recommended you do supplemental exercise to help your biking, things like sit-ups or, hold on to your hat, skating. I started biking to help my skating, now I'm skating to help my biking? It's this sort of exercise loop that will, sometime in the future, kill Chris Chelios (I can see the future headline: Former Hockey Pro Died Like He Played, Exerting Himself).

Am I exercising to stave off the demons of aging or am I only making the matter worse? It's hard to say, but I know when I'm going over 50 KM/hr on my bike, I feel fantastic, or after a 5 KM run I feel like I sweated out every poison or after a 1000 m swim I feel I could finally sleep soundly. It may sound like a bumper sticker, but exercise is my Ritalin. Everyone needs an outlet. I don't know if I knew that 20 years ago, but I know it now and I hope I can keep it up for another 20.

Update:
I guess I'm not the only 40-something trying to cling to youth through exercise.

A particularly funny thing from this article is the British term for this type of weekend warrior; MAMIL – Middle Aged Men In Lycra.

Best. Birthday Present. Ever

image via The New York Times

No words required.

Slump Ends, Mediocre Life Continues

Be it noted that on Monday, January 5, 2010, an unbelievably and embarrassingly long scoring slump ended when your modest author netted three goals; one from a fortuitous rebound, another from a fortunate deflection off of a defender's skate and lastly from a lovely pass and redirection.

We now return you to regular programming.

The Tedium is the Message

I realize I use this blog as a sort of calendar blotter. I mark things I've done in this space then I return to it to see what I was doing. The only trouble is I've replaced it with the sort of micro-notes that have become de rigueur of Web 2.0 (or if not rigorous then at least ubiquitous). I post 140 character arguments and posits on Twitter or briefer still, single digit entries at daytum.com. I'm sure it's all done now. The tedium of the medium is the message.

Now I've even resorted to punnery. So it is that my entries have been infrequent and limited and not so thoughtful. Perhaps it is a bad time to write. I'm just back from hockey, my hands still stink of my gloves, and I've just pounded back a beer to help me sleep and two Advil to help me get up (if that makes sense). All together, it has been a topsy-turvy day. For some reason I was fighting afternoon drowsiness really badly today. Two coffees, a candy bar and cold water splashed on my face achieved nothing. When I did head home, I rode my bike like an old drunk. I almost toppled off at least twice and then one of my pedals came off. I put the old pedal in my pocket like an amputated limb and tried riding without it. That didn't work. Eventually I stopped and jammed the thing back on. I rode home as if in a dream with the cold tearing up my eyes and burning my ears. When I finally did get home, I immediately collapsed on the couch. A nap to offset the sleep deficit. It would seem I'm chronically in debt to my dreams.

Good-bye Snoozy Tuesday 

Here's my Monday night routine aprés hockey. I get home, hang my equipment to dry, get a tall cool glass of something (sometimes with alcohol), run the hottest possible shower and wash away the stink, the sweat and the aches. By the time I roll into bed it's usually after 1:30 or later. By the time I flicker off to sleep it may be closer to 2 AM.

Waking is not easy. The rest of the day is horrible. Usually I spend Tuesdays hauling myself around like a re-animated corpse. Last week, after nodding and wrenching my head violently awake, I was so desperate to spur some kind of attentiveness that I shot-gunned an energy drink and gorged on a large format chocolate bar (proceeded by several large cups of coffee). The only effect was an irregular heartbeat and an upset stomach.

Today was different. I was just too busy to be tired. Sorry, that's sort of the punch line. I'm too tired right now to even know what I'm writing.

The-Day-After-Monday Report 

Another hockey night marred by rain, then snow, then rain again. That's something like 6 weeks in a row when it's rained on a Monday night. Luckily, the only thing dampened was the asphalt not the spirit. My ribs continue to feel better so I was hopeful I'd play a little better. Unfortunately, we only had one goalie so we had to use the plywood stand-in at one end. Never mind, I seem to have this goalie's number. In an old fashioned plywood vs plywood show down I filled that net with a bucket load of pucks. Playing against the wooden simulacrum has significantly raised my stats. Not without some loss though. My favorite stick was lost in the battle. That's only the second time I've broken a stick in a game in nearly 8 years. I guess my soft shot is easy on the lumber.

It's raining. It must be Monday. 

After three weeks trying to rest my ribs, I went back to playing hockey tonight. I felt like Howie Morenz — not the Howie Morenz in his prime but the one six feet underground. Dead. I may have mistimed my comeback. Also, let the record show that it has rained every Monday since I started.

On the way home I heard a news item about scientists trying to map the genome of a wooly mammoth from hair samples over 60,000 years old. I felt a little like those scientists tonight as I ventured out on an ice sheet desparately trying to ressurect a creature from the dead.

(no) Hockey Town

Skipped out on hockey this week just like last week. I figure I had sprained the muscles around the ribs and that clicking sensation was the contracted muscle in tension. Or something like that.

I'm determined to get back on the ice this Monday... as long as I don't sprain something watching the Grey Cup on Sunday.

Hockey Diaries: Part 3

Another rainy Monday though it didn't actually rain on the drive to the rink. Third time out with freshly sharpened blades and I hurt myself. Just me. There wasn't even anyone near me. I was skating one direction, the pass was behind me and as I twisted and reached back I could feel my ribs buckle into my abdomen. I knew what had happened right away. It's the third time I've done it and the second time I've done it to my right side.

What's happened is the cartlidge has torn from the rib on the last "floating rib" I guess, tearing or straining the ligaments and neighbouring muscles around the bone. I told you I've done this before. Now all I have to do is wait 2 or 3 weeks.

The funny thing is a rib injury always reminds me of is Little House on the Prairie - Pa was always busting up his ribs and getting wrapped up. Then he'd ride back into town or git up on the barn roof or whatever. All I know is when you crack a rib you're more concerned about breathing than "getting back on the saddle". Then again I'm not prairie folk - I'm just a guy who twisted hisself up sumthin' bad, Ma... now let me lie still and apply the heating pad.

Hockey Diaries: Part 2

Another hockey game - another rainy Monday night. Uncanny. Or maybe not. Maybe it's just this time of year. Hockey runs from October to
December and then from January to April so perhaps the chance of rain once a week is pretty high. Who knows but If the trend continues I may start forming theories.

On the upside, my play improved from last week. For some strange
reason I have an unusually reliable backhand. I'm sure it fools most goalies because a) many goaltenders admit it's harder to see a backhand leave the stick; b) a back hand is usually an odd tumbling puck with a sort of change up pace.

The two I got through tonight were both top corner, soft off-pace shots. Even when my passes went awry, as they often do, or my wrist shots flutter uselessly wide of the net, I can still count on a backhand causing trouble for someone. Sometimes I feel like that shot is so accurate and soft I could flip a puck into a teacup and not make a splash. Maybe that's why it fools a goalie - they just aren't expecting tea service during a game of shinny.

Set out the good china - I've got a shot to practice.

Hockey Diaries: pt.1

First night of the season, and I played terrible. Of course it could've been the last night and I still could've played terrible. Yet the bones ache and the muscles (muscles? Really?) cramp and creak. And my feet? It felt like I was running around on wooden blocks not sliding on sharpened steel. I can only hope I get my head back in the game because it might be a long time before my body joins in. Though the thing is I'm not out of shape, I'm just not in game shape. Meaning I've forgotten how to pace myself on a shift, and how to pace my shifts through the game. As the season goes on, you don't get in any better shape - you just remember when you should bother.

What's the deal with rain on Monday nights? I can't believe how often it is pissing rain when I drive to hockey. I'm going to keep a weather diary just so I can track this anomaly.

Truth From the Red Line

Truth From the Red Line

After over 30 years of playing hockey, the game's truisms are finally taking philosophical root in my mind. "Keep your stick on the ice" is really a missive to stay tuned to the world around you and to remain prepared. "Make yourself available, skate to the openings" may be sound offensive advice but it is truer still in life where the only way to take advantage of opportunities is to be opportunistic (is that Kafka, or Warren Buffet?) Likewise, on defense, look for where no one else is – where coverage is weak, that's where you could get caught. This too could be derived straight from Warren Buffet's motto, "When others are timid, be brave, when others are bold, be cautious." Back on the ice, you'd say, if your teammate has the puck carrier pinned, overload the position, double the puck carrier to force the turn-over. Defense partners should call to each other as to who should cover the shooter or the pass – not too different from the common corporate mantra, "communication is key." "When racing an opponent to the puck, don't be the first one there, rather, be the first to gain position." Again, it reads like a business tip (as in "being first is more important than being good.") "When retrieving the puck, take a shoulder check before you reach it. See where everyone is. Know your options first." That one doesn't even sound like a hockey tip as much as a real estate training guide. "On a break, be decisive, make your deke before you're in the defender's range. If he takes the bait, you're gone before he can make a correction." Be decisive, make your move early, make others over-commit? That could be from Sun Tzu's The Art of War. Of course, my favourite would be, "keep moving your feet" (harder than it sounds) which could be an Oprah slogan for never giving up on your dreams.

Lenny Dykstra, the former Mets and Phillies star who wants to parlay his business acumen into a magazine that advises athletes how to invest – where was Lenny when Mike Tyson needed him?

If you doubt me, read Nails Never Fails, and see how every business situation seems to have a baseball counterpart. Baseball may have catchier expressions such as calling a turning point a "one-and-one count" (which may beat "overloading the zone") but hockey is not without it's Canadian character. Could there be anything more Canadian than, "dump and chase" (sounds like a strategy for shorting a stock) or "working the cycle"? Maybe the Red Wings should give business seminars.

Update November 24, 2010: Lenny "Nails" Dykstra isn't quite the investor he claimed. This from MercuryNews.com, "Dykstra filed for bankruptcy protection in July [2010], saying he owed more than $31 million and had about $50,000 in assets."