Hey gang,It's been a while since I've posted, thanks to hip surgery and a ton of deadlines (and too much time spent shoveling, and playing around on Facebook). However, I encouraged my good buddy Ken Tarr to write up a quick report about a very cool outdoor hockey tournament (real hockey, not pond hockey) that he recently participated in up in Quebec through Stinky Socks Hockey.
Fortunately for Ken, he has a day job (as some sort of corporate spy for a giant computer company, which I'm not allowed to mention by name), and doesn't have to rely on his writing skills to make a living. The accompanying photo shows Ken "in action" at the tournament, which, seeing his team won, probably is pretty indicative of how busy he was the entire time. Suffice to say, the owners of the cars behind him probably didn't have to worry about any pucks breaking any windshields. But that's just my assumption. Here, in Ken's own words (with just a few editorial notes for clarification, in RED), is the tale of his adventure to the Old Country ... I'm grateful for the contribution!
Old-time Hockey in the Old Country
by Ken "Tail Light" Tarr
The trip started off fantastic, with my meeting the team on the bus at at TSR Hockey in Salem, NH. The guys were great, and I quickly realized we were going to have a great time on this trip, and maybe even play some hockey too. Most of the guys were in their early to mid-20s, but there were a few "closer" to me at 28 and 29 ... one guy was even married, too (though Ken reportedly did not admit that the married guy was, in fact, HIM)!
Crossing the border into Canada proved as easy as always (it's when you try to come back that they screw with you!), and we arrived at Mont Tremblanc on schedule at 5 pm. After a ridiculously quick check-in to the 5-bedroom condo assigned to our team, we were off to the village for some pre-tournament festivities.
Found a great pub which brewed its own beer and I quickly felt at home (confirming the rampant rumors that Ken does, in fact, live in a bar). After many refreshments at our next stop, le Petit Caribou, where I observed a mural on the ceiling of my favorite Nova Scotia brew "Alexander Keith's India Pale Ale," I wasn't quite sure I'd be able to play in the morning.
Fortunately for me, the guys -- the Lucky Dawgs -- proved to be the best I've ever had the privilege to play with (we're presuming Ken is still talking about hockey here) and we dominated our Saturday opponents 6-2 and 8-2 respectively, where I saw a combined 15-20 shots over both games (despite repeated attempts, I have not been able to get any confirmation that Ken saw any shots at all in these two games, except the four that got by him!). With the championship game coming Sunday, I decided to forgo the "refreshments" and held myself to a mere three beers for the day.
Just because I was holding back on the refreshments did not mean I was about to spend the night in bed. I did not come to Quebec to sit on the couch and nod off watching football. A few of the guys and I went out to a local bar which sported an authentic native Tee-Pee in the back yard. I must say, sitting around the camp-fire in the freezing cold nursing a beer was pretty damned cool (I believe Ken is confusing "cool" with "cold," but we need to cut him some slack, since English is his second language!).
Waking up at 6 a.m. to the sound of someone shoveling the night's snow off the condo stairs, I took my thyroid pill (Grave's disease - another story) and went back to sleep. Hearing the alarm at 8 a.m., I quickly sat up and called my daughter at home to wish her a happy 5th birthday. That sweet little girl answered the phone "Hello Daddy. Are you calling to wish me a happy birthday?" Of which I replied "Yes, sweetie!" Then she asked me to win the trophy for her - how could I disappoint that little angel? (Ken then reminded his daughter that she was late for her shift behind the bar, and to get to work!)
Going easy on the refreshments the night before proved to be a wise decision as the local Canadian team was a much tougher challenge than our first two opponents (which means they showed up). With the rink being outdoors, and the game being played at 10 a.m., the sun looked like it might provide a distinct advantage to us in periods 1 and 3 as I guessed the goalie wouldn't be able to see much due to the glare. Being the competitor (and engineering geek) I am, I quickly pointed this out to my teammates (who ignored him). I told them to shoot from everywhere and get a quick lead as the goalie will be blinded, and also to not blame me for any "weak" 2nd period goals.
After one, although our boys outplayed the Canucks, we were all tied at 0-0 (confirming, one, that his team wasn't listening to him, and two, that the other goalie didn't get the memo about the sun being some weak-ass excuse!). Early in the second, we caught a break on a power play when a routine slap shot was deflected by a Canadian defenseman's chest into the net (we have confirmed through a reliable source that Ken offered to massage the wounded defensman's injury, but was rebuffed). One thing was clear, their goalie spoke fluent English, as I could hear him screaming at his D-man to get the "F" out of his crease from my end of the ice (clearly, Ken's ears were the only part of his body to get any kind of a workout!).
We scored again a few minutes later and it appeared all was well in hand. A loose puck in front of our end somehow slipped past me as I tried to tie it up (after the guys rudely woke Ken up from his mid-game nap) and our lead was cut to 2-1.
The third started off with us up 4-1 and talking about what we were all going to do after the game, when the voice of reason -- this time not my own (now there's a news flash) -- told us to take care of the last 20 minutes first. The Canadians were not going down without a fight (unlike their French ancestors) and poured on the offense during the final stanza (despite the sun being in their eyes). A break coming in on my right side resulted in a slapshot that I deflected to the corner with the edge of my blocker (when you see three shots a game, it's easy to remember each one in this kind of detail). A minute later, a similar play resulted in them trying the other side, but my glove was also up to the test - game still 4-1 for the Lucky Dawgs.
With less than 1 minute remaining, a 2-on-0 break left us up 4-2 (by this I'm pretty sure that it was Ken's own two defensemen, who were passing the puck between them when it bounced behind a startled and half-asleep Tarr), which is how the Championship would end. A team photo and also one with us and the Canadian team would be all that was remaining of the tournament.
With the official games over, me and the boys were far from finished. We stayed on the ice for at least another hour having a shoot-out tournament where the loser had to buy a round later that evening. This "old man" was more than up to that challenge (since he didn't see any shots during the championship game), holding the kids to zero goals on their first 10 attempts.
Then however, fatigue set in (after Ken worked up his first sweat of the weekend) and the goals started coming. Once the shoot-out was finished, we played 4-on-4, then 3-on-3, etc. as the guys started to peel off one by one.
Not wanting this to end, I was begging anyone with a stick to join us for some more fun (What?!). We had one of the Canadian players and the ref join us for a little while, but eventually all good things must end.
Turns out that most bars are not open on Sundays (again, we have not been able to verify this rumor!), but with the influx of New Englanders wanting a nice place to watch the big game, a local bar opened just for us! (Translation? They broke in) Although the outcome was not exactly as we had all planned (Jets 28, Patriots 24), we all had a great time and were looking forward to heading home the next day.
Monday a.m. came all too quickly for us, but again this Canadian was not quite ready to call the trip over (since he's a Socialist, Ken believes everyone should only work 100 days a year, max). After quickly packing my bags, and draining the fridge of the remaining two bottles of refreshment (I suspect Ken has some kind of Tourette's Syndrome, where he keeps replacing the word "beer" with "refreshment") - to the "amazement/confusion" of my younger hungover teammates, I took orders for the "convenience" store. This store was anything but convenient. At approximately two miles down the steep mountain hill, in freezing temperatures, I felt the need for more refreshments outweighed the daunting stroll.
As I departed the condo, all I said to my semi-conscious teammates was "What, haven't you ever partied with a Canadian before?" (Of course, Ken conveniently neglected to mention that the condo was locked when he returned! He is still hoping to get home one of these days, and keeps asking me to take up a collection for his bus fare back to the States. And I keep telling him I'm working on it!) ...
