|I Feel Good! Or, He Shoots! He ... Well, He Shoots
||[Oct. 7th, 2003|07:38 am]
(If I sound bitchy at any point, it's because I had this entry half-written and then, in a moment of distraction for which I have no excuse whatsoever, I closed the window in which I was typing it up. Lord have mercy.)|
I missed my Monday morning shinney game last week; the week before, my left skate-blade broke in two, as I discovered in the dressing-room following the game. I was not alone in wondering when it had happened and how long I'd been playing on it.
Turns out the Hockey Store didn't have the proper blade in stock and had to order it. It wasn't ready until this past Thursday and I picked up the skate on Saturday.
So. Yesterday ...
No late calls came to disturb my plans.
At 0801 hours, Young Geoffrey gathered up his bags - two knapsacks and a shoulder bag - and his stick and staggered to the elevator. Outside, he made his way around the building to his bicycle, locked across the street from 52 Division. Within 5 minutes, he was cycling up St-George avenue, so determined to reach his destination he barely glanced at the few pretty co-eds braving the elements at that decidedly un-student-like hour.
First at the rink, he settled in to equip himself. Naturally, the skates were fully-laced before he realized he'd forgotten his jock.
Off came the skates, down came the pants, on was strapped the "protective cup". Other players soon wandered in and Young Geoffrey found himself the second player on the ice, rather than the first.
* * *
It was a good game, probably the best we've had this young season. Fast-paced and as hard-fought as this gaggle of near-middle-aged men (so far, no women have showed up this year) ever fight.
It was also my best game, I am happy to report. I was pretty strong defensively (though I did make one blind pass right up the middle - and heard about it more than once in the dressing room after the game) and even led a couple of rushes. Twice, I had shots at the net! By jiminy! I just may score a goal this year.
Anyway, I won't bore you with a blow by blow account of the game. It is just shinney, after all.
After, most of us retired to a nearby diner for some breakfast, kibbitzing and coffee. I surprised all by not ordering a beer come 1100 hours. (Interesting sidenote about these men: when I did so two weeks ago, through the jokes at my expense, a couple of them - neither of whom I know outside of the weekly game - made a point of telling a couple of people they knew and who happened to be on the patio with us that I work nights and that my ordering a beer at 11 in the morning was not unreasonable. Nice guys. But I digress.)
As we broke up, and the boys hopped on their bicycles (I can't wait for a snowy Monday! I am - by god! - going to get some good pictures this year), I headed south, fully intending to head home.
But Rhino's Bar and Grill called out to me as I approached it and I soon found myself venturing into that fine establishment for "a" beer.
Which turned into 5 beers and a chance to go through the newspapers that I had been carting around, as well as a couple of magazines.
It was nearly 1600 hours when I finally got in. And 2230 when I awoke.
Isn't that always the way. I have the next three days off and I am now on a schedule that will easily see me sleeping through the evenings, instead of going out and - a la some of the advise I have recently been given - introducing myself to members of the opposite sex.
Which me luck in getting to sleep before noon today, folks!