By Nick
We got our first win of the season tonight, and I was in goal, to boot.
Both teams only had nine skaters, and it was a close game, obviously.
I made 33 saves (Patrick Roy), and it was a solid team effort.
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
Saturday, September 22, 2012
Team info
by Nick
I play on Team Merkley (eponymously named after our captain).
We play at the Thomas Creek Ice Arena in Fairport, NY on Monday nights.
To keep track of our results, go here.
I play on Team Merkley (eponymously named after our captain).
We play at the Thomas Creek Ice Arena in Fairport, NY on Monday nights.
To keep track of our results, go here.
The Set Up
by Nick
Hi, I'm Nick.
I'm Bill's son.
Bill (dad) has cancer. It sucks.
It started out as pancreatic cancer (PC). On the bright side, dad's initial diagnosis was over three years ago. For those of you who know about PC, you know that three-plus years is a fairly long time. On the less-bright side, the cancer has done what cancer tends to do: it has spread and stalled, spread and stalled, spread some more. I mean, it's cancer...
But cancer is hardly what defines my dad. In fact, it's very little about what he lets define him.
Bill is an epicurean enthusiast. He has a great sense of humor. And is possessed of the communication skills to articulate it to full effect. He is loyal and selfless to his friends. He is a masterful teller of stories. He's an academic. He's a liberal. Having lived in the Twin Cities his entire life, he is infamous for his ability to be called upon for directions from a misplaced motorist anywhere in the cities, receive only a precious few pieces of locational data from them and get them back on the path of directional righteousness.
I like to think that dad and I share many qualities. In the first place, that's what happens between fathers and sons.
In the second place, what else would you expect from a relationship wherein the first joke I remember him sharing with me went something like this: It's the early 80s. I'm probably 8ish. We're driving down Davern St near the JCC in St. Paul. We're listening to All Things Considered. The story was something about the price of molasses and how it had risen doubtless due to some esoteric economic phenomenon that would appeal to and inspire NPR to do a story about it. I'm sitting in the backseat honestly not really paying attention (I mean, I'm 8...it was NPR...) although I must have been listening enough to know what they were talking about because, when he looked in the rearview mirror and said "the moles are very concerned about this" I got it, and laughed.
Another thing that has defined my relationship with, and perception of, my dad is hockey. Like I said, I grew up in Minnesota. Canadians don't call us Canada South because we like flannel shirts. We had North Stars season tickets growing up. And we got Minnesota high school hockey tournament tickets for many years as well. Like basically every kid in Minnesota, I played youth hockey. Like most kids in Minnesota my ability to play the game quickly fell behind my ability to appreciate it. But we went to a lot of games, dad and I.
North Stars games - I remember the Arby's coupon on the back of the parking stub. The cigarette smoke in the Blue Line club during intermission. The multi-colored seats. The time Bobby Smith got in a fight right off a faceoff and my dad said "Boy he must have really been pissed to fight like that.
Gophers games - I remember the obstructed view seats and Goldy's dinosaur toy.
High school games - I remember the tournament game when the one team dumped it in and then went off on a change and the other team's goalie made to catch the dump in and then set it up for his retreating defensemen, only the puck clanged off the crossbar and fell (harmlessly) into the crease next to the goalie, and dad saying (loud enough for several rows around us to hear, but good naturedly) "Can we get some toilet paper for the goalie, please?!"
Playing at the parks in the winter. Going to Strauss Skates for new gear. Him tying my skates in the lobby of the Highland rink before practice. Him telling me before my first organized game that the first time I got in a fight would be the last day I played hockey. Hockey, hockey hockey.
When the Wild started up, I flew back from Denver where I was living at the time and he and I went down to the new Xcel Energy Center to try to get tickets - to the game that was sold out in like seven minutes or whatever it was. We ended up scoring handicap-accessible tickets that were unsold, and released by the team before the game - so face value, put that in your pipe and smoke it! - and were in our seats when Bettman and Coleman and Naegele came out before the game, and the crowd started up the "Secord sucks" chant...and the pure catharsis out of the shame of losing the North Stars that was complete when Darby scored that first goal.
As I said, I'm not very good at hockey. But I love playing it. I'm on a beer league team made up of just a great group of guys. The team has been around for a while, and only last season did we have our first real success - a promotion to the upper division of the lowest level league, a division championship that left the team veterans in a state of bewildered amusement. Great guys, fun Monday nights late at the rink drinking Miller Lite, win or lose. Good game or bad.
So here's how I'm connecting the dots.
I'm going to raise money to support pancreatic cancer research through my love of hockey.
I pledge to donate $25 for every win. We play a 30-game season, we're two games into this year's season. We're 0-2 so far. I figure we'll likely win around 15 games. To supplement this, I'm going to also pledge to donate $100 for every goal I score. I'm not much of a scorer. I get put on the "checking" line when we have a full bench. I'm not much of a checker, either. To supplement THAT, I'm going to pledge to donate $200 for every shutout I record. I play goalie as well as skating out. I'm the backup. That mean's I'm not that good in goal either, frankly. Maybe we'll continue to not win this season and get relegated to the lower division again. That would give me better odds of recording the odd shutty or goal.
I'm going to ask my teammates, family, friends and colleagues to consider donations of their own, using the same breakdown that I'm using, or a different one if they please.
It's not that I think we're going to donate the silver bullet dollar that leads to the cure. But, what else can you do? Just sit by idly while this fucking disease erodes my dad's ability to embody all those wonderful qualities that I talked about before, promoting the one thing that he has worked so bravely to keep in the background and NOT define him? No. Fuck that.
So, I guess that's the set up for this blog.
I'd like to use the blog to promote awareness of the cause, keep track of pledges, keep track of how the team is doing - and what that means for accumulated donations. And anything else I can think of that seems pertinent, or that I just want to get off my chest.
I thank you in advance for coming along for the journey.
Hi, I'm Nick.
I'm Bill's son.
Bill (dad) has cancer. It sucks.
It started out as pancreatic cancer (PC). On the bright side, dad's initial diagnosis was over three years ago. For those of you who know about PC, you know that three-plus years is a fairly long time. On the less-bright side, the cancer has done what cancer tends to do: it has spread and stalled, spread and stalled, spread some more. I mean, it's cancer...
But cancer is hardly what defines my dad. In fact, it's very little about what he lets define him.
Bill is an epicurean enthusiast. He has a great sense of humor. And is possessed of the communication skills to articulate it to full effect. He is loyal and selfless to his friends. He is a masterful teller of stories. He's an academic. He's a liberal. Having lived in the Twin Cities his entire life, he is infamous for his ability to be called upon for directions from a misplaced motorist anywhere in the cities, receive only a precious few pieces of locational data from them and get them back on the path of directional righteousness.
I like to think that dad and I share many qualities. In the first place, that's what happens between fathers and sons.
In the second place, what else would you expect from a relationship wherein the first joke I remember him sharing with me went something like this: It's the early 80s. I'm probably 8ish. We're driving down Davern St near the JCC in St. Paul. We're listening to All Things Considered. The story was something about the price of molasses and how it had risen doubtless due to some esoteric economic phenomenon that would appeal to and inspire NPR to do a story about it. I'm sitting in the backseat honestly not really paying attention (I mean, I'm 8...it was NPR...) although I must have been listening enough to know what they were talking about because, when he looked in the rearview mirror and said "the moles are very concerned about this" I got it, and laughed.
Another thing that has defined my relationship with, and perception of, my dad is hockey. Like I said, I grew up in Minnesota. Canadians don't call us Canada South because we like flannel shirts. We had North Stars season tickets growing up. And we got Minnesota high school hockey tournament tickets for many years as well. Like basically every kid in Minnesota, I played youth hockey. Like most kids in Minnesota my ability to play the game quickly fell behind my ability to appreciate it. But we went to a lot of games, dad and I.
North Stars games - I remember the Arby's coupon on the back of the parking stub. The cigarette smoke in the Blue Line club during intermission. The multi-colored seats. The time Bobby Smith got in a fight right off a faceoff and my dad said "Boy he must have really been pissed to fight like that.
Gophers games - I remember the obstructed view seats and Goldy's dinosaur toy.
High school games - I remember the tournament game when the one team dumped it in and then went off on a change and the other team's goalie made to catch the dump in and then set it up for his retreating defensemen, only the puck clanged off the crossbar and fell (harmlessly) into the crease next to the goalie, and dad saying (loud enough for several rows around us to hear, but good naturedly) "Can we get some toilet paper for the goalie, please?!"
Playing at the parks in the winter. Going to Strauss Skates for new gear. Him tying my skates in the lobby of the Highland rink before practice. Him telling me before my first organized game that the first time I got in a fight would be the last day I played hockey. Hockey, hockey hockey.
When the Wild started up, I flew back from Denver where I was living at the time and he and I went down to the new Xcel Energy Center to try to get tickets - to the game that was sold out in like seven minutes or whatever it was. We ended up scoring handicap-accessible tickets that were unsold, and released by the team before the game - so face value, put that in your pipe and smoke it! - and were in our seats when Bettman and Coleman and Naegele came out before the game, and the crowd started up the "Secord sucks" chant...and the pure catharsis out of the shame of losing the North Stars that was complete when Darby scored that first goal.
As I said, I'm not very good at hockey. But I love playing it. I'm on a beer league team made up of just a great group of guys. The team has been around for a while, and only last season did we have our first real success - a promotion to the upper division of the lowest level league, a division championship that left the team veterans in a state of bewildered amusement. Great guys, fun Monday nights late at the rink drinking Miller Lite, win or lose. Good game or bad.
So here's how I'm connecting the dots.
I'm going to raise money to support pancreatic cancer research through my love of hockey.
I pledge to donate $25 for every win. We play a 30-game season, we're two games into this year's season. We're 0-2 so far. I figure we'll likely win around 15 games. To supplement this, I'm going to also pledge to donate $100 for every goal I score. I'm not much of a scorer. I get put on the "checking" line when we have a full bench. I'm not much of a checker, either. To supplement THAT, I'm going to pledge to donate $200 for every shutout I record. I play goalie as well as skating out. I'm the backup. That mean's I'm not that good in goal either, frankly. Maybe we'll continue to not win this season and get relegated to the lower division again. That would give me better odds of recording the odd shutty or goal.
I'm going to ask my teammates, family, friends and colleagues to consider donations of their own, using the same breakdown that I'm using, or a different one if they please.
It's not that I think we're going to donate the silver bullet dollar that leads to the cure. But, what else can you do? Just sit by idly while this fucking disease erodes my dad's ability to embody all those wonderful qualities that I talked about before, promoting the one thing that he has worked so bravely to keep in the background and NOT define him? No. Fuck that.
So, I guess that's the set up for this blog.
I'd like to use the blog to promote awareness of the cause, keep track of pledges, keep track of how the team is doing - and what that means for accumulated donations. And anything else I can think of that seems pertinent, or that I just want to get off my chest.
I thank you in advance for coming along for the journey.
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