It Has to be True, Cause if it Wasn't No One Would Believe It...

The Hockey Dressing Room is a sanctuary. Like Superman's Fortress of Solitude the Dressing Room provides a team with protection from foes, the tranquility needed to recover from battle, and the support and guidance of family. For the Man-of-Steel it was Jor-El, his Kryptonia Father, who he confided in, for the Warrior-of-the-Ice (the hockey player), it is his teammate brethren who he strategizes with. And it's not simply an X's and O's To-Do List of tactics for the next period that gets bounced off the four walls of a Dressing Room, it's life that is discussed; it's tears and laughter, happy families and failed marriages, Glory Stories from the Night Before and last weeks episode of Entourage. The Hockey Dressing Room is the ultimate Tree-House where secrets are exchanged with total confidence as everyone who enters the hide-out lives by the same code: Jersey Colours Run Deep.



It's right up there with 'Bros before Hoes' and 'Blood is thicker than Water'. It's just an unspoken certainty; teammates, love them or wanna kill them with your skate-blade and harvest their organs for black-market sales using your back-up stick, when it comes down to it you'll battle in the trenches with them and give them a shoulder to cry on (that's right, even the Manly-Men Jocktastic Ice-Solider needs to let it all out sometimes - we're an emotional species)...

But that's not where I'm headed with this little write up. The Bond of the Hockey Player is a tale for another day. Today my chit-chat begins with Googly-Eyes, our back-up puck-stopper.

I have a great concern that I am slowly becoming desensitized to comedy. Most days the average joke will barely earn more than a light chuckle from me, and the idea of pouring-tears, soar-abs, and frantic gasping for air between uncontrolable cackles seems to be more vague with each moderately funny sit-com episode. One-liners and Slap-Stick just don't cut it anymore. (None of this requires any significant amount of concern though, I saw "I Love You, Man" this weekend and I'm still bursting into laugh attacks over it). But the other day, in the gentlemen's club that is the Hockey Dressing Room, I heard a story that's hilarity took me by such surprise that I feel it's my obligation to share it with my devoted Reader (the Following may be up to 2 or 3 by now... very Flights of the Conchords).

It started with Googly-Eyes, a goaltender whose right-eye has been known to check-out from time to time. The fact that I don't know Googly-Eyes real name has nothing to do with his goaltending skills (which are quite remarkable considering the googly nature of his eyes) or his googly eyes themselves, the truth is he's only subbed as a goalie for our team twice, and I am awful with names (real names, I'm great with remembering made up, ridiculous, mildly-offensive names). When it comes down to it, it's just impressive that someone would willingly stand in front of hard, rubber projectiles while working with a 'special' vision situation. This was the topic of conversation that lead to my funny yarn; "The Dude only has one Eye".

I wasn't there, and neither was Googly-Eyes, but that doesn't make it any less of a typical Hockey Dressing Room:

"... yeah, Googly-Eyes, the Goalie with the Goof-ball Eye situation. He's got this lazy eye, so basically he's playing with only one eye." It was an explination that was generating some light guffawing by the crew as they got ready for the game. Guffawing by all, except for a big fella from P.E.-Nova-Bruns-Foundland-and-Labrador.

"Nuttin' wrong with one eiye!" He wasn't impressed. Turns out he only had one eye. From there the questions started up: "How long have you had one eye?", "Do you ever have trouble on the ice?", "If I siddled up on your right side and slap you in the face or pee on your shoe, would you have any idea it was me?" The usual...

Queue the story of how the big Maritimer discovered that he was 'special' (read with Big Maritimer accent):

"I was born this way, I've never known anything different. The eye looks and moves like a normal eye, but it's a dud. I can't see anything with it. Since I spent my whole life like this it really doesn't effect me on the ice or anywhere else, it's what I'm used to. When I was younger I didn't even know that there was anything wrong. One Halloween I wanted to go out as a Pirate, so my Mom fixed me up this costume. She was putting together the final touches and when she popped the eye patch on I could see a damn thing. Totally blind. I was in grade 2."

WHAT?!?! It took you seven years of life to figure out that only one of your eyes worked?!?! You had to dress up like a pirate and don a freakin Patch to discover your unique ability to only see out of one eye?! Bahahaha I love it. Googly-Eyes you have met your match.

I can just imagine how it all went down:

"Here ya go hun, this will seal the deal..."

"What's that Ma?"

"It's an Eye Patch, all the Pirates are wearing them..."

"Okay..."

Patch goes on, lights go out.

"Ahhhh!! Ma, where do you go?! What's happening, I can't see?!?!"

"What are you going on about dear?"

"Get it off! Get it off! I hate the Eye Patch! The Eye Patch is evil! It doesn't 'seal the deal', it makes the world disappear!"

Or something to that effect. Priceless.

Everyone had a good laugh, including the One-Eyed Maritimer. It was a classic Dressing Room moment of comradery that was so fantastically outstanding that it rises above the confinds of the room to obey a higher code of conduct (shockingly a code even more powerful than 'Bros before Hoes'): Life is too Short. This is code that comes into effect when an experience arises that is so extraordinary that it's mear existance alters the state of the universe. The code states that the experience must be shared with the world. Experiences like the Kennedy Assassination, Man Landing on the Moon, the creation of the internet, getting a hole-in-one, talking your way out of a speeding ticket (hooking up with the cop that you talked your way out of a speeding ticket with), winning the Boston Marathon, Michael Phelps' record number of Olympic Golds, the election of Barak Obama, the events of 9/11, the end of the Cold War, the What's Up Superbowl commercial, being involved in a three-some (with 2 girls and a guy, no need to share if there are two or more dudes involved), a cure for cancer, a cure for male-pattern-baldness, Viagra (braveau science), the ability to simultaneously rub your stomach and tap your head (if you're not trying it right now it's because you know you can't do it), the ability to harness energy from nuclear fission, the realization of flying cars, the realization of Back-to-the-Future style hoverboads, the inventing of Oreo Cookies, Sudoku, Fire (a la Tom Hanks in Castaway or Quest for Fire), being able to ride a unicycle, the movie 'Donnie Darko' or 'Boondock Saints', Cell Phones with useless 'apps' that play viral videos, methods for increasing the efficiency of solar energy conversion, wrickle-free pants... these events are more important than pride and individual success, more significant than family and friends, more powerful told than untold, they are vital to the advancement of the planet. They alter the state of the universe. They are stories that live on, they are the foundation of lessons-learned, they are what Legend is made of.

So now, today, I share with you the Story of the One-Eyed Maritimer, not because it is the funniest thing ever (which it is), but because the world needs to know that it is possible for someone to live for 7 years without knowing that only one of their eyes works. This isn't why Eye Patches were invented, but it's why they should have been invented. Have you ever worn an Eye Patch, you might have a dud eye too...

St. Pad

The emotional clash between the 'All-Singing, All-Dancing, one-day Shamrocks' and the 'Fun is Bad, Assassins of Holiday Spirit' is epic. Does anyone else take joy in observing this awkward fallout on March 17th? My routine is Switzerland. I sport a mild amount of green and then facilitate confrontation. Do I feel bad about this? Nooooo. The people who pinch, the Pinchers, they have their McGreen-Radar sensitivity level through the roof and their 'Do something about it' obligation set to 'Annoy'. With or without my suggestive commentary they would eventually find the Normies and would begin their attack. My job is simply to fast-track the process and ensure that I'm around to encourage the chaos. Of course it's not as easy as that. A simple pinch may only conjure an uncomfortable forced smile and fake laugh, my Switzerland must stoke the fire within the Poopers-of-the-Parties and emphasize the ridiculousness of the No-Green punishment that is headed their way. Teeth grinding, fists clenching; these characters have subconsciously gone Sans-Vert with the hope, the want, the need to explode in an embarrassing tirade of Holiday-Hatred. It's amazing how little involvement is required to create disaster.

I play an important role in all this. Too often the public gets all caught up in the celebration of Saint Patrick and his title role as the Christian Missionary who spread the word of God across the rolling hills of Ireland. People forget the Hallmark significance of the PotOGold-DancingLeprechaun-CloverHoarding-BarBrawling-BeerGuzzling tradition of this Calendar Marker. It's hard enough to ensure the proper mass consumption of Green Alcoholic BEvERages during a weekday March 17th, without having to worry about the need to encourage Tomfoolery and Shenanigans. I am doing my part to make this day True. This Holiday requires committment. Committment from the Haters, the Fakers, and the warped Switzerlands.

She can wear whatever she wants... or nothing at all...

The Fun doesn't stop with the Green Costumes. How about Bad Irish accents? I can't get enough of them. It's one thing to roll with the 'Everybody's Irish on St Patrick's Day' idea, but if you know you're a big old fony, why would you go through the struggle of trying to pass off an Australian-German hybrid as Celtic tongue. For some reason these are the same people that get louder and further from Irish the more their audience laughs (...at them, they never pick up on that, we are laughing At them).

It's not unusual for the Bad Irish accent crowd to also suddenly turn into St. Patrick wiz-kidz. It doesn't get much better than watching a couple of Lucky-Charms try to one-up one another with the same stail Wikipedia Quotes from the page that's posted on the office kitchen wall. You are not clever, your knowledge doesn't impress us, you are annoying and I want to throw a rabid-Leprechaun at you.

How about the brain behind the St. Patrick's day cookie scam. This guy is Einstein smart. Of course people need clover-shaped cookies on the 17th, they need them like the Irish need an excuse to drink (as an Irishman myself I feel that comment is just edgy enough).

The bottom line is that all this is Ridiculous, and that's why I love it. Everyone needs to relax and not try so hard. You don't celebrate the nation of Ireland by pinning up a bunch a green streamers and wearing a four-leaf colver pin, you are embarassing yourself, and the Irish probably want to fight you. Just drink a Beer, watch Boondock Saint, and everything will fall into place, including that Bad accent.

Come on Fellas, tone'r down a little (refer to above picture to remove image of two large men from your mind...)