My hockey career has spanned much of the last three decades. The pavement of local parking lots and tennis courts is where i achieved much of my glory. Were not talking that wimpy inline stuff, were talking straight-up ghetto style street hockey. What is ghetto-style you might ask. How about using old couch cushions tied on with shoe laces as goalie pads. I was widely regarded in my younger years as a sniper with a good hard shot. I had size as well though, sort of a Lemieuxesque type of player. Oddly enough I have continued to follow in Super Mario's footsteps as my screenname here should indicate. As Chris Rock would say Krispy Kreme doughnuts are like crack cocaine.
In my younger years, I would spend many a night in the parking lot behind my parents house, practicing well into the night. In fact one of my career highlights comes to mind. I was out practicing and noticed a car with its lights still on. Being the good guy that I am, I decided to go and turn them off so as the unfortunate person would not drain their battery all night. I peered down close to the window to see if the latch was up so I could open the door. As my eyes adjusted to the dark interior of the car, what i saw next will haunt me for the rest of my days. A giant bare white ass with two legs coming out from under it. Apparently the parking lot was not just my personal hockey arena but used for other activities as well.
As i got older and into the twilight of my career, i was relegated to simply shooting pucks around my driveway. Ive tried to pass on my wealth of hockey knowledge to my young daughter, all the while keeping my skills just sharp enough for that one last shot at glory. Then one day it happened. It was the day after game 3 of the stanley cup finals in 2009. Our beloved Red Wings had just lost a close game to the Pens. My normal morning commute consisted of a 45 minute drive flipping between WRIF and 97.1. This day would be different and change my life forever. As most of you can understand, after a bitter Red Wing defeat I go into a post game shell trying to shield myself from hearing the carnage played back again on highlights. This is what changed my normal routine that morning and had me listening to 96.3 WDVD, as what self respecting man could ever listen to such a candy ass station without some very good reason. As I started listening I caught the tail end of hearing someone qualifying to win tickets to the next finals game the next day in Pittsburgh. They then explained how they would qualify a few more people for their chance to win tickets by shooting pucks at Puck The Penguin, a station intern dressed in a Penguin Suit ( Im pretty sure he was a retired NHL goalie, maybe like Tim Cheveldae or something). Well, as you might expect from me telling the story , I did qualify shortly thereafter. As I drove to the Fisher building in downtown Detroit the realization hit me, this would be my personal Stanley Cup Final.
Upon arriving I quickly sized up my competition which consisted of three other people. First an older gentleman, wearing plenty of Red Wing gear no less, I could tell he was a wily old vet and could be a force to reckoned with. Second, a 40 something woman (that would be my guess anyway) with red hair and we all know about redheads and what they're capable of. Lastly, another woman, this one African-American and also middle aged i would guess , reminded me of a slightly smaller version of George Laraque. The competition that ensued could be described as nothing short of epic. It was really alot like a war of attrition. We all battled back and forth and at one point the African American woman had the winning shot on her stick, but I would not be denied this day. Sudden death overtime saw my laser-like wrist shot find its way into the back of the net low to the stick side. I could amost hear Mickey saying Bingo Bango right at that moment. The rest as you might imagine is history.
The resulting road trip with my best friend since kindergarten will go down as one of my crowning achievements. It is a sorted tale that took us deep behind enemy lines into the bowels of the steel city. I even came to this very forum seeking counsel on wether to go wearing Wing gear or otherwise. So following your wisdom I donned my Martin Lapointe jersey and endured the mostly good natured insults (one Penguin fan even asked if Lapointe was still alive, to which I had no answer). The trip included many highlights like meeting a midget and large transvestite along the way at an Ohio Mc'donalds (they were actually wing fans as well from another radio contest--see the second link below). We managed to escape the dump of an arena in Pittsburgh by safely jocking our Wing jerseys and putting on the "white out" T-shirts they had given away at the game. It was an act im not proud of but given the amount of drunks we saw in the Parking Lot before the game I credit this decision as one that allows me to sit and write this for you today.
http://www.963wdvd.com/Article.asp?id=1357333
http://mojo.channel955.com/pages/photos.html?feed=185661&article=5544588
