Blackhumouristpress's Blog

January 16, 2012

A Letter From My Son’s Hockey Coach or Darwin Was Right

Filed under: humor,Short Story,Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 7:42 am
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Parents, Please be advised starting with our next game (Jan. 21st) I will go back to having 5 defence and 9 forwards. This will address any issues we have had with trying to keep ice time balanced during a game. In the event we are short players for a game I will do the best I can as a volunteer coach to try and keep it as fair as possible to all our players. This means I will roll the lines to get as even as possible skating time for each child, regardless of how other teams “match” our lines . TRANSLATION- YOU SIGNED UP FOR PARK DISTRICT ICE HOCKEY.  THIS IS NOT AAA OR AA AND SO THE PARK DISTRICT HAS PUT A GUN TO MY HEAD BECAUSE OF YOUR COMPLAINTS AND SO I HAVE AGREED TO PLAY EVER KID AS EQUITABLY AS POSSIBLE.  IF ANY OF YOUR KIDS EVER MAKE A AAA OR AA LEVEL, YOU WILL SEE WHAT INEQUITABLE IS ALL ABOUT DESPITE THE FACT THAT THE COST FOR YOUR CHILD TO PLAY BETWEEN SEPTEMBER AND APRIL IS EQUIVALENT TO BUYING A USED AUTOMOBILE EACH YEAR OR TAKING A HAWAIIAN VACATION FOR A MONTH.  KEEP THAT IN MIND WHEN YOU ARE CRYING.

 It has always been my intent to try and keep everyone’s ice time as close as possible while trying to keep competitive with other teams. It is not an easy task to try and get the kids off the ice for a shift change while play is going on. I am always open to suggestions that any one might have , about ANYTHING . If there are any parents that would like to assist in working the bench during a game I would be more than happy to oblige.  TRANSLATION- I WILL GIVE YOUR FAT ASS A STOP WATCH AND TELL YOU THAT YOU NEED TO GIVE EACH PLAYER ON THE TEAM EXACTLY 15 MINUTES OF PLAYING TIME AND YOU CANNOT CHEAT AND GIVE YOUR BORED, UNINSPIRED, SPOILED, TALENTLESS LITTLE BRAT, ONE SECOND MORE OF PLAYING TIME THAN ANY OTHERS.  WHEN YOU THROW YOUR HANDS UP AND TELL ME IT IS IMPOSSIBLE, I WILL PAT YOU ON THE BACK, GIVE YOU A HAPPY MEAL AND RECOMMEND THAT YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP FOR THE DURATION OF THE SEASON.

 Please contact me with any concerns you may have regardless of what they might be . Don’t forget that we follow the 24 hour rule for any complaints to any of the coaches. The intent of that rule is to prevent any “heated” discussions that may cause hard feelings , not to give you time to forget the problem . Level heads solve more problems than hot ones ! Hockey is a journey , not a destination- TRANSLATION- I HAVE A MILLION OTHER THINGS GOING ON IN MY LIFE OTHER THAN COACHING THIS TEAM FOR NO MONEY.  I DECIDED TO COACH THIS TEAM BECAUSE MY NIECE IS THE ONLY GIRL PLAYING ON AN ALL BOY SQUAD AND WANTED TO ENSURE THAT HER EXPERIENCE WAS AS POSITIVE AS POSSIBLE GIVEN THAT YOUR HORMONE DRIVEN LITTLE FUCKS ARE THINKING ABOUT LINING HER UP A WHOLE HELL OF A LOT MORE THAN PUTTING A HIT ON AN OPPOSING PLAYER DURING A GAME.  WITH THAT IN MIND, WE CAN DISCUSS YOUR CONCERNS AFTER 24 HOURS SO THAT I AM NOT TEMPTED TO ASK YOU TO STEP OUT TO THE PARKING LOT AFTER THE NEXT PRACTICE.  I’D ALSO LIKE TO RECOMMEND THAT YOUR SON TAKE UP GOLF BECAUSE THERE IS A LOT LESS PASSING IN GOLF AND HE WON’T HAVE TO FEAR BEING HIT UNLESS HIS ASS IS STANDING ON THE FAIRWAY.  I AM FULLY AWARE THAT YOU FEEL YOU COULD COACH THE TEAM A WHOLE LOT BETTER THAN ME.  BASED ON THE PARENT/PLAYER GAME THAT WE HAD BEFORE CHRISTMAS, I WOULD HAVE TO CONCLUDE THAT YOU NEVER PLAYED AND ALTHOUGH YOU HAVE SEASON TICKETS TO SEE AN NHL TEAM, I SUSPECT YOU ARE WATCHING THE BEER VENDOR MORE THAN STUDYING THE GAME ENOUGH TO VOICE AN OPINION WORTH CONSIDERING.  REMEMBER WHAT DEAN WORMER ONCE SAID IN THE MOVIE ANIMAL HOUSE?  “Fat, drunk and stupid is no way to go through life, son” - DON’T BE THAT PERSON.

 I hope it will become a life long love your child can someday share with their own kids . There are many skills he will learn along the way . Some children pick up the game easier than others, that doesn’t mean they can’t all have the same amount of fun. See you at the rink- Coach Bob-TRANSLATION- YOUR KID WILL HAVE KIDS ONE DAY PROVIDED THERE ISN’T OCEAN FRONT PROPERTY IN KANSAS WITHIN THE NEXT TWENTY YEARS AND WE GO OUT LIKE THE DINOSAURS.  I HOPE YOUR CHILD REMEMBERS YOUR SCREAMING AND BERATING YOU GAVE HIM FROM THE STANDS AND SHUTS HIS FUCKING MOUTH AND JUST SITS AND WATCHES THE GAME.  YOUR SON WILL NOT BE IN THE NHL UNLESS HE CHOOSES TO WORK AS AN USHER AND SIT PEOPLE AT AN ARENA.  THAT IS AS CLOSE AS HE WILL GET TO WORKING AT AN NHL ARENA.  I WOULD SUGGEST YOU ALL READ UP ON DARWIN.  YOU MAY GET BORED AND SINCE YOU REALLY DON’T READ MUCH OR UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU ARE READING, PLEASE READ RE-READ.  I WOULD STICK TO THE INHERITENCE OF ACQUIRED CHARACTERISTICS.  THIS WILL EXPLAIN A LOT TO YOU ABOUT NATURAL SELECTION, SURVIVAL OF THE FITEST AND THAT PHYSIOLOGICAL CHANGES ACQUIRED OVER THE LIFE OF AN ORGANISM MAY BE TRANSMITTED TO OFFSPRING- FURTHER TRANSLATION- WE CANNOT PICK OUR PARENTS.  IF YOU ARE UNATHLETIC AND SLOW, DON’T EXPECT TOO MUCH FROM YOUR SON…  WHATEVER…  I’LL SEE YOU AT THE RINK- COACH BOB

 

June 14, 2011

Going to see The-rapist or X-Box Will Kill Your Marriage

Filed under: humor — blackhumouristpress @ 4:17 pm
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Lacey came out of her condominium with her toddler daughter in tow when she noticed her common law husband was asleep on the hood of her car.  Lacey swung the Hefty bag full of shit diapers from their daughter’s special poop container that they received at a baby shower which Lacey loved so that the dirty diapers would not stink up the kitchen garbage.  Instead it stunk up the child’s bedroom.  Lacey swung the garbage bag like a battle axe upon Jeff’s relaxed abdomen.  Jeff immediately sat up and looked bleary eyed at Lacey who looked pretty and smelled even better albeit furious.

            “You and I are going to go to a marriage counselor or you can get your things and move out.  It’s become hockey every night and drinking until dawn while I’m a single mother…  This is fricking poppycock, Jeff.”

            Jeff went into the apartment and slept for an hour before getting on with his day.  By noon time, Jeff had sent a simple text to Lacey.  He had decided to send the white flag up the flag poll.

            ALTHOUGH I DO NOT BELIEVE WE NEED TO SEE A THERAPIST, I WILL GO IF YOU WANT ME TO.

            Ten seconds later, Jeff received an angry text from Lacey.

            YOU WILL GO IF I WANT YOU TO!!!  YOU’RE DOING ME A FUCKING FAVOR?

            Ten seconds later, Jeff sent another text.

            I BELIEVE THAT THERE IS SOME MERIT IN HAVING AMODERATOR, THIRD PERSON, DETATCHED, GUN FOR HIRE TO LOOK AT OUR RELATIONSHIP FROM THE STANDS AND TELL US WHAT WE MIGHT BE DOING WRONG.  IN OTHERWORDS, I WILL GO.

 

            Jeff and Lacey showed up at the office of a thin woman named Marcy who had two cats that walked around the cushions of the couch and rubbed up against Jeff and Lacey.  Jeff hated cats and was suspicious of any man who would choose a cat over a dog.  Jeff looked around the room that had copies of French Impressionist paintings and some Asian art next to a smiling Buddha with a Bonsai plant and a tiny waterfall.  Marcy had pictures of her bald husband with a beard and moustache that was chubby and shorter than her with their two fat children that had their father’s toothy smile and mother’s close set eyes.  The space between Marcy’s eyes were so close, it actually looked like she was cross eyed sort of like Shaquille O’Neal.  Jeff thought the whole idea of therapy was a scam but did not want to fight Lacey who had been coached by her friends and Dr. Laura Berman that drawing out hidden, latent, simmering resentment, was the only hope to keep from an eventual break up.

            “Jeff, I think what I am hearing from Lacey is that you have trouble connecting and are caught up with things that do not include your fiancé.  Playing ice hockey, playing X-Box, playing softball, playing golf, putting together model airplanes in the basement are all things that are fine as an individual but what can you do as a couple that can help you connect?  What things do you think that you and Lacey can do together that would help you to be a strong couple again?”

            Jeff took a sabbatical from his hobbies and took up Salsa dancing, wine tasting, a pottery class and started seeing plays once a month.  On weekends, they would watch a movie together and bang around tennis balls.  They went for walks with the dogs and their daughter went to zoos and museums.  Jeff was father and partner of the year.  He was a role model of compliancy.  Lacey’s female friends thought that Jeff had become a renaissance man.  Their husbands thought he had been an emasculated wimp who let his testicles dangle from Lacey’s ears like chandelier earrings.

            Jeff got the call one evening that his old hockey team needed him to come out and fill in for their new goalie who had taken over for Jeff while he went through his reformation.  Jeff asked Lacey if it would be permissible to play a men’s league hockey game at 10:30pm on a Tuesday night.  Lacey was looking through an Ikea catalog and watching two gay Australian men on Oprah’s OWN network, redecorate a house in South Carolina.  Lacey had her back against the headboard and was nearly ready for bed.  Jeff had hoped Lacey would have just gone to sleep so that he could just sneak out, but Lacey had stayed up later than usual.  Jeff felt like a little boy again.  It felt as though he was asking his mother if he could spend the night at a friend’s house.  Jeff hoped to hell that Lacey would not oppose the idea since he had committed to playing the game in advance.

            “Jeffery, I am not against you playing ice hockey.  I think you need an outlet.  I just worry where I fit in when you’re playing five nights a week and then you are shot the next day and need to come home from work and sleep because you have another late night game the next night.  I need you and so does your daughter…  That’s all I’m saying, baby.  You need to keep balance.  Go ahead.  Have a good time.  If you win or lose, remember that goalies don’t win or lose games for a team.  They just try to help their teams.”

            Jeff kissed his wife carefully who had just slathered vitamin E all over her face and had her hair up in a scarf.  Jeff gathered up his gear and headed to the rink.  Jeff had a rough first period.  He allowed in the first three of four shots and then he became impossible to get past.  The team won and decided to go for the proverbial one drink.  Jeff had four.  Jeff had four drinks and fish tacos with sour cream.  At about two in the morning, Jeff took off for home.  Jeff began to sweat and it felt as though gerbils were running through his intestines.  It became urgent that Jeff find a bathroom before it became impossible to hold it in the diarrhea that was trying to get out the way the French once stormed the Bastille; with vigor and anger.

            Jeff got the key to the gas station bathroom that stunk of urine.  Jeff hovered slightly above the seat so as to not allow any strange microbes from entering through his asshole.  The angle at which he hovered allowed for projectile shit to hit the handle and wall behind him instead of the water below him.  Worried that Lacey was in bed, sleeplessly waiting for him, Jeff decided to text Lacey on the status of the situation.

            I’M AT A GAS STATION BATHROOM SHITTING MY BRAINS OUT.  THE SOUR CREAM MUST HAVE BEEN BAD.  I DIDN’T WANT YOU TO WORRY.  JUST A TOUCH OF FOOD POISONING, WILL BE HOME SOON.

            Before Jeff could hit the send button, the phone slipped out of his hands and into the abyss of brown water in the commode below him.  Jeff had to fish through his own excrement to retrieve his phone.  It was Jeff’s hope that the water did not reach the inner components.  The phone died a tragic death. Jeff swore and was tempted to throw the phone at the wall.  Instead he wiped it down and washed his own shit off of his hands before he headed out to his car.  Before getting to the car, the sinking feeling came over Jeff that he may have left the keys in the ignition and then locked the door.  Jeff could see the keys dangling from the ignition and the doors were locked tight.  The night became early morning and the light of day did not make things any easier.  Jeff came to on the hood of Lacey’s car.  Lacey did not have any dirty diapers to hit him with.  Instead Jeff got a face full of organic whole milk from the sippy cup belonging to his daughter.  Jeff was startled awake.  He leaned on his elbows on the hood of the car and whipped the milk from his eyes.  Jeff tried to plead his case but Lacey wasn’t interested in hearing what he had to say.  Jeff became angry after everything he had been through and began to yell at Lacey.

            “You know what?  I played hockey and then had a few drinks and while I was on my way home, I was abducted by tall beautiful red haired aliens who love to play X-Box, give oral sex and play fantasy sports.  They took turns on me and then dumped me on the hood of your car.  I don’t have a good explanation for why my cell phone smells like shit and that I have crap under my fingernails…  So if you want to tell Marcy that I have fallen off the wagon, so fucking be it.  I don’t give a shit right now.”

            Jeff received no text messages during the day and after work, he was a bit apprehensive to come home.  Upon coming home, Jeff was greeted with a beer and a deep dish pizza.  The baby was put to bed early and Lacey stayed up watching the Detroit Red Wings play the San Jose Sharks.  Jeff thought that he was being lured into something by Lacey the way male preying mantises lose their heads.  Jeff finally asked Lacey why everything seemed upside down.  Lacey kissed Jeff’s neck and looked into his eyes while twisting his hair around her index finger.

            “I was so turned on by the way you spoke to me this morning. It was so forceful and full of emotion.  All I could think about was getting you home tonight…  Finish your pizza.  Momma’s got some dessert for you.  In the other room.”

            And they lived happily ever after…  The end.

December 21, 2010

Merry Christmas, Detroit or Take the Homeless Skating

Filed under: Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 5:35 am
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Tim could hardly be called tiny but the name sort of stuck with Tim since he didn’t hit puberty until late in high school.  As the saying goes, Tiny’s nut did not drop until late in adolescence.  Tiny or Tim as his mother called him, was short and had a high pitched voice until senior year of high school.  It was at that time that Tiny joined the ranks of all the other boys who were becoming men.

            Tiny grew up in suburban Detroit and played ice hockey from kindergarten through juniors when he finally came to grips with the fact that he was good and not great and that professional hockey was not going to be his vocation.  Tiny went to the University of Michigan, became an accountant, found a job and started a family in Los Angeles before being moved back by his company to suburban Detroit.

            Saying that he was born and raised in Detroit was not a source of pride to Tiny.  He felt as though he had not really gone very far in life by returning to a town that seemed to have crumbled, decayed and stagnated through the years.  Returning to Detroit seemed to be a punishment to Tiny who was squeezed out in the running to climb a rung up the ladder of his company’s firm.  Instead his boss gave him a ho-hum review and gave him the choice of losing his job or move to Detroit.  Tiny opted to keep his job and move to Detroit.

            For anyone that ever had to move from Los Angeles to Detroit and really spent some time in inner city Detroit where neighborhoods gave way to prairie and trees grew through the roofs of abandon homes that were not burned down or decayed to pieces, Detroit could be quite surreal.  Tiny was determined to put in his time for his company that was housed in the General Motors Renaissance Center along the banks of the Detroit River in the heart of downtown Detroit.  Tiny bought a condominium on Lafayette which was walking distance from the Renaissance Center.  He didn’t want his family to get the feeling of permanence.  Condominiums seem more transient than single family homes at least Tiny felt this was the case. 

            Tiny’s wife was sort of indifferent to Detroit being a native Angelino who thought places like Michigan was somewhere on the east coast.  It had to be since it was in the Eastern Time zone, right?  Susan exercised profusely and shuttled their sons to hockey practice up in Troy, some fifteen miles north of the city to play for Little Caesar’s.  Tiny, when he wasn’t working, spent a great deal of his own free time late at night playing men’s league hockey or rat hockey in well to-do towns north and west of Detroit.  When Tiny told fellow hockey mates that he lived in 313, most were quite stunned.

            It was the night before Christmas Eve that Tiny went with some of his buddies that were Detroit Firemen to play in a fund raising tournament in Windsor, Ontario.  Tiny sent his wife Susan alone with their two boys to a holiday tournament outside of Toronto and opted to play hockey himself. 

            The tournament was uneventful for Tiny.  He played defense and had a few assists and allowed a few bad goals to happen by not tying up his man.  He had a few push matches in front of his goalie, had a good sweat and then returned with the team to downtown Detroit to finish a night of male bonding; play hockey, drink, watch hockey, drink, gamble and drink some more and then possibly hit a strip club, pass out, return home hung over and be low keyed and a family man on Christmas Eve.

            Tiny stood out in front of a downtown watering hole called the Old Shillelagh after watching the Detroit Red Wings play at Joe Louis Arena.  A digital display could be seen from the street letting everyone know that only eight two days were left until St. Patrick’s Day or possibly one hundred days left of potential winter weather before the Tigers would return to Comerica Park as a sure sign of summer.

            Tiny smoked a large cigar that dangled out of the corner of his mouth like a large phallic symbol.  Smoking indoors was only allowed in casinos and so the men stood on Monroe Street smoking, laughing and talking.  A disheveled looking black man with rags hanging off of him and leathery exposed hands asked the smoking men if they had any change to spare.  The man wouldn’t take no for an answer.

            “Its Christmas y’all…  Y’ain’t got some spare change so I kin buy me a hamburger and a little water?  Come ahn y’all…  Find it in y’heart t’help a man who ain’t gotta dime.”

            Tiny listened to the man and he thought about how he felt trapped in a Detroit that was so different than the city his father had worked as an assembly line worker for General Motors from the end of World War II until 1984.  Tiny’s father retired before he was let go.  He outlasted the change that was coming.  Tiny’s rant was angry, racist and drunk.  Even his fellow hockey mates were surprised by his words even though they may not have disagreed with him.

            “This is your fucking Detroit…  Since the riots and Coleman Young, you people have done nothing but run this city into the fucking shitter and you hold your hand out and ask people like us to give you more.  Well you got the whole fucking city to yourselves.  Go ask one of your own to give you some fucking change…  I could use a change.  Change this town back to a place where people might want to live.”

            The man looked at Tiny with a blank stare and then shuffled off into the night.  Tiny went back in and had a few more pints of Guinness before deciding to go to his parent’s home rather than go on to play poker at the Greektown Casino and crash at the Greektown Hotel with his teammates.  Tiny would have stayed but he needed to let his parent’s dog out at his boyhood home in Warren since his parents were visiting Tiny’s brother and his family in Akron, Ohio.

            Tiny blared Van Halen on his fabulous sound system in his Range Rover as he sped north on interstate 75.  The thought came to Tiny to piss on the abandon Fisher Body 21 that once made Cadillac limousines. It was symbolic.  Tiny needed to piss but he was going to piss on the symbol of what Detroit had become and was mired in. The building stood abandoned with all the windows smashed out of it, covered in graffiti and home to drug addicts and homeless. It was Detroit’s Chernobyl. Snow had begun to gently fall as Tiny took the interstate 94 ramp from interstate 75.  Tiny was singing, Hot for Teachers as he took the curve too fast.  Tiny couldn’t control the SUV.  It hit the guard rail and went right through it.  The large vehicle felt weightless as it plummeted over twenty feet and landed nose first on the ground.  The car didn’t roll or tip, it stood vertically on end.  The airbag deployed and hit Tiny with such force that it broke his nose and cheek bones.  Tiny smashed his sternum on the steering wheel and fell in and out of consciousness.  Tiny had a dream that he was walking on a sunny day through a field of knee high grass towards the Fisher Body 21 building.  It was the 1950’s and the building was strong looking, vibrant and intact.  Tiny walked up to the security guard at the entrance who saw him bleeding.  The security guard posed a question.

            “Say Mack…  What in the world happened to you?”

            The security guard asked over and over until the voice changed along with the words and the accent.  The day was no longer sunny; it was cold, dark and snowy.  He could hear a voice posing the same question over and over again.

            “Say man… What happened to you?  You okay, man?  I know you breathin.  Kin you hear me?”

            Two old homeless black men raced from the fire they had built within the Fisher Body 21 building to see what had happened to the driver of the car that had sailed over the side of the freeway.  Tiny gave a faint response.  One of the homeless men took off on foot to possibly find a cop or someone with a cell phone that could call for an ambulance.  The other homeless man ran back to the building and grabbed a ratty old comforter that he dug out of the garbage.  It smelled horrible but it was warm and Tiny began to go into shock.  Tiny was aware of the fact that he was seriously hurt and the idea of dying that night was entirely possible.  Tiny was scared and began to say out loud that he wanted to live.  He had a wife and kids and he hadn’t yet done all the things he set out to do in life.  Tiny suddenly regretted that he didn’t spend more time with his wife and kids.  He regretted racing through life, doing two things at a time at all times.  He regretted being so angry and dissatisfied with life.  Tiny sniffled as he listened to a homeless black man that he couldn’t see.  All he could feel was a random stranger holding his hand.  If he were to die, someone living would witness it.  The homeless stranger was no stranger to the loss of life.  Jonas had lived through Vietnam and at least a decade on the streets.  Jonas quietly tried to reassure Tiny to fight.

            “Listen boy…  You keep yo eyes open an tell y’self you gone live.  You got a wife an kids…  That reason nuff to live foh.  Yo wife an kids don’t want to be putting yo ass in the goddamn ground on Christmas…  Hell naw.  She want you to give her some present and y’kids want the same.  They want to sit round and eat and talk like people do on dem holidays…  Just like Jimmy Stewart,” said Jonas.

            Jonas rubbed the top of Tiny’s left hand.  Jonas was cold but acclimated to being cold since he lived in the cold.  Tiny trembled almost uncontrollably as his teeth chattered.

            “You cold, I knows it…  Picture walking through a jungle where it so dang hot you kin barely breathe.  You got mosquitoes biting on you and you sweat so much at all times.  I lived through that in Vietnam foh two years, boy.  I sat in the jungle with a young good ole boy from Georgia who hated me foh the color my skin an when the time come an he was tremblin from shock ah been shot, he held mah hand an thanked me foh being wid him… He died an I felt bad.  I felt real bad cause I nevah toll him to fight.  I jus listen to him an he needed t’hear me tell em to fight foh his life…  I’m telling you, boy.  Fight foh yo life.  Fight foh yo family…  You don’t give up, boy.  You keep treading water cause the lifeguard coming.”

            Tiny fought hard to stay awake.  He thought about all the things he wanted to do and say to people that meant so much to him.  After a while he could hear sirens getting closer and closer.  The voice ceased speaking to him and his left hand grew cold.  Tiny passed out and came to in the hospital surrounded by his entire family and a television news crew.

            Every year since the accident on the day before Christmas Eve, Tiny and his hockey teammates rent out the Old Shillelagh and Campus Martius ice rink.  Homeless people from all over Detroit come to get a free meal of corned beef and cabbage and then ice skate for free at Campus Martius, which has an outdoor rink.  Homeless men and women put aside their woes and demons for a few hours as they shuffled across the ice to the sounds of Bing Crosby’s White Christmas.  It may seem like a bizarre thing to take the homeless ice skating but none of them minded.  In fact every year the homeless look forward to a day of dignity.  Tiny served food at the restaurant and tied skates at the ice rink.  He no longer raced around in traffic and cut people off.  He did not let insignificant things ruin his days either.  Tiny spent time with his family and took time to appreciate and grasp that every moment of life was life itself.  Tiny took the time to take life in instead of letting it race past him.  Almost dying will put life in true perspective.

            Tiny was offered a lateral move with his company back to Los Angeles and he declined.  When asked why, he answered; I am Detroit, Detroit is me.

December 5, 2010

I Love You, Dude or The Hockey Marriage

Filed under: Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 8:23 am
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The Ronnies are what Ron Taylor and Ron Fitzgibbons were called by everyone from grade school on who knew the two best friends.  The Ronnies spent nights at each other’s house as little boys and played on the same hockey teams all the way through high school.  They were voted the most likely to go Columbine on their own high school by their classmates.

            Ron T. never finished college.  He was a freshman for four years at a junior college and was fortunate to pass the drug test that UPS gave him before he got a job loading panel trucks in the middle of the night.  Ron T. sort of liked his job.  It was mindless and secure.

            Ron F. sold beer in the summers at Wrigley Field which was sort of funny since he hated the Cubs and thought baseball in general was sort of an out dated sport.  Most of the year he worked for a Korean man who owned an independent video store.  In the store on the shelves were the entire first rate Hollywood blockbusters like Iron Man 9, Spiderman 7, and The Flintstones meet Yogi Bear at the Phantom Ranch with The Globetrotters and Scooby Doo and so on.  Behind a wall of the store was the world of debauchery that 90% of the customers came in for but even those customers were getting most of their stuff off the internet.  Ron F. was able to talk his boss into buying the Center Ice package so that he could watch all the NHL games from work during the baseball off season.  And so between selling and renting DVDs to lonely men, Ron T. would sit behind the counter, glued to any number of NHL games. 

            Ron T. and Ron F. would play ice hockey every morning somewhere around the city of Chicago.  Sometimes it was at Johnny’s Ice House on Madison Avenue, some times Mc Fetridge on the north side of the city, sometimes Franklin Park by O’Hare and so on.  Usually the boys played everyday except Saturdays.  Saturday nights were reserved for going out to clubs to try and find love for the night with any women that would have them.

            Both Ronnies played juniors for a few years after high school and then hung it up when they realized that being third liners on a junior B team in the middle of nowhere, was a sign that they were not going to be scouted by the NHL.  They both came back to Chicago and became men’s league all-stars.  Any night of the week, they could both find a late night game with a team that needed a player and usually they did that in addition to playing pick up hockey each morning.  Days went as follows: Ron F. picks up Ron T. after he takes a quick nap after work.  They hit the 7-11 to get a Monster energy drink and donuts though most recently; Ron T. began to grow up a bit at 28 years age and began to drink coffee.  The clerk whom they called Habib yelled at the Ronnies almost daily for making a mess. They would then show up at a rink early and watch whatever was on television which was usually The View.  They would criticize the women and guests without listening to anything they were talking about while putting tape on their sticks and checking the blades of their skates for nicks.

            “Dude…  That one dude from Cheers was fucking Whoopie Goldberg until he found out she was a fucking bull dyke and was fucking around with Ellen degenerate…” said Ron F. in his pseudo surfer boy/burnout voice that he still maintained from high school.

            “That’s fucking bullshit, dude.  They just fucking broke up.  She’s as ugly as your asshole but she ain’t a dyke.  She’s fucking old and knows that she’s not fuckable anymore.  Most white dudes wanna fuck a black chick like Beyonce.  When they can’t, they go home and beat a woman that looks like Whoopie.” Said Ron T. while taping his $200.00 Easton one piece stick with 5.5 lie and a slight heel curve. 

            “Fuck it, dude.  I hope we get two goalies.  I don’t care if it’s a fucking St. Bernard or your fucking mother just as long as we have something to shoot at,” said Ron F.

            In the pick up games, the Ronnies always wore the same color.  It was a gray which was not white and not dark.  On the front was the name of one of their men’s league teams that they had pledge alliance to called The Pigs.  Their jerseys said in big letters, “The Pigs” and underneath that was a pig with a flat top hair cut holding a hockey stick in one hand and his penis in the other.  At the age of twenty eight, the Ronnies thought that was still hilarious.

            Ron T. was the passer and Ron F. was the scorer.  Ron T. was geared towards being defensive and Ron F. was most concerned with scoring and so they worked well together.  One day Ron T. took a slap shot from the blue line. It rode up the blade of someone’s stick and took out six of Ron F.’s front teeth.  The teeth exploded and left shards of porcelain throughout Ron F.’s mouth.  The Ronnies were sent to Cook County Hospital where they sat for close to six hours because Ron F. did not have health insurance and after six hours the duo grew tired of waiting for the free health care and went home. The bleeding had stopped but Ron Fitzgibbon’s mouth was a mess as was his swollen face.

            The cost to replace the three upper and three lower teeth for Ron F. was going to be over $10,000.00.  There was no way either of the boys had that sort of money.  Luckily for the boys, there was a way and a loop hole.  Since civil marriages between men and men and women and women were going to be legal in Illinois, Ron F. popped the question to Ron T.

            “Look man, you hit me in the fucking mouth.  I can’t talk or even smile cause I look like a fucking golf ball went through my fucking teeth.  We get this thing done and I get my fucking teeth fixed after you can claim me on your insurance and then we get a divorce or annulment or whatever it is you need so that you can still get married in a Catholic Church when you find the right person,” said Ron F.

            “Are you fucking cracked?!  You want me to marry you so you can get insurance?!  I’m not fucking doing it, dude.  I’ll find a way to get the $10,000.00,” said Ron T.

            “What the fuck do you care?  Being a fag is in style now, dude.  Nobody is going to say shit.  They’ll say those two dudes got married.  Who the fuck cares anymore?  Fucking Magic Johnson got AIDS, got rid of it and got fat and nobody cares that he’s probably fucking dudes.  We don’t gotta have a party and invite friends.  We just do this and I get my shit fixed and then we get this shit undone.  I think you owe me this much, fucker…” said Ron F.

            Ron T. thought about the idea and decided it was the fairest thing he could do considering he was the reason his friend was missing a mouthful of teeth.  Both Ronnies were too manly to wear a cage or a visor on their helmets.  They grew up idolizing Chris Chelios and Tony Amonte from the Chicago Blackhawks and decided after high school that they would never use facial protection again.  Both received a few stitches here and there as well as a black eye now and then but never a need for a dental overhaul. 

            Ron F. did all the leg work.  He got the marriage license and filed all the paper work so that on the first day of legal same sex unions, he could get legally married to Ron T. so that he could then add him to his insurance and get Ron F.’s teeth fixed. 

            The spring day happened and both men dressed in dark suits nervously sat waiting for their chance to approach the judge as they looked at honest to goodness same sex couples that were ecstatic that their day had finally arrived.  An older white man with a close kept gray beard and a young black man, young enough to be his son, held hands, giggled and snuck kisses as they sat next to the Ronnies who looked more like they were going to jail than to be united in matrimonial bliss.  The flamboyant young black man asked the Ronnies if they had plans to go on a honeymoon to celebrate.  Ron F. was disgusted and gave the most deranged answer he could muster.

            “I got a can of fucking Crisco, a gerbil and some PVC in the trunk of the car.  My fiance lost a bet we had on who would win Dancing with the Stars and so he will be the happy recipient of the rodent at the closest fuck palace we can find near this place.  We don’t have the time for Cancun…” said Ron F.

            The two Ronnies looked somber and embarrassed as they said their vows in front of the judge.  When the ceremony concluded, they hugged each other like two Soviet era diplomats and then walked out without any further contact.  They emerged from the court house with cameras and microphones in their face.  Ron T. was ready to just run on foot but Ron F. punched a camera man in the face who put the camera too close to him.  For that he landed in jail and in the paper and it soon became known to all who ever knew the two Ronnies that they were joined together in matrimony.  Some were genuinely surprised but most who remembered the inseparable pair said that they knew it all along. 

            If you go to open hockey some morning somewhere in Chicago, you may run into the Ronnies. Don’t mention the marriage if you can help it.  It makes them both angry. They most likely will be wearing Pig jerseys.  And full metal cages.

March 3, 2010

The Gold Medal for Dad or Oh Canada!

Filed under: Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 9:42 pm
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Horace Stewart turned fifty years old on February 28, 2010.  To look at Horace, you’d never know that he was half a century old.  Horace spent his free time biking, running, swimming and playing ice hockey.  Horace played ice hockey four days a week.  He played on a forty and over men’s team in Brampton and then with the Toronto area Royal Canadian Mounted Police’s second team of men over the age of thirty five.  Then there was the Sunday night shinny hockey or open hockey, as it is widely known as in the United States.

            Horace woke up that Sunday morning and went to the local Catholic Church.  Horace was raised Anglican as he was of British descent but after his wife left him nearly ten years earlier, Horace began to go to the Catholic church to meet other single or divorced people.  Horace had been seeing a few women but they all seemed to come apart after the age of forty five.  It was as if a bomb went off inside each and every one of the women he met.  Horace was never sure what the cause of the interior combustion was but he suspected it was menopause compounded by the realization that life was changing in tangible ways like falling summer leaves in a cold stark autumn.  There were always the rink rat women who hung around the lounge above the hockey arenas who watched the games and then chatted with the players after.  Some found their way into the homes and beds of the various adult male hockey players and occasionally Horace was driven by loneliness to take on one of the rink matrons for the night.  Mostly though, Horace was alone.

            Horace’s job kept him busy and he had moved all over Canada working for the RCMP.  He helped bust drug rings in aboriginal areas and murder cases in Saskatchewan and Nova Scotia.  Horace put in for a permanent post in Ontario when his wife left him after twenty years of marriage.  His wife Madeline had met a real estate investor from the United States and was living in San Diego, California.  Horace never spoke to Madeline but could not refrain from asking his son and daughter how there mother was.  Bill was on the cusp of thirty years of age and Alison was twenty six years old.  Neither of Horace’s offspring was married but each had jobs and busy lives.  They usually checked in with their dad by leaving him messages on his antiquated answering machine at home that had the same recording on it since they were children.

            “Hello…  You’ve reached the Stewart Family… We’re not in but if you’d kindly leave a message, we will be sure to return your call… BEEP.”

            Horace returned home from church the Sunday of his birthday and saw the digital display showing that he had three messages, one from Bill, one from Alison and one from a woman he had met at a bar the week before.  The woman lived near Vaughan and she bred some kind of little dogs that looked like their faces were smashed at birth with a frying pan.  Horace had finished playing his league game and engaged the woman in a conversation on which nation was going to win the gold, silver and bronze in the winter Olympics in Vancouver.  The woman believed that it would be the Russians, Swedes and Czechs.  Horace didn’t agree.

            “The Russians have no work ethic anymore.  Ever since the Soviet Union collapsed, they don’t have anyone there to put a bayonet in their spines and tell them that they will excel or go to the gulag…  Swedes?  Maybe bronze.  Most of them are playing for Detroit and Detroit is suffering this year.  Czechs…  Maybe silver.  Gold is going to Canada.  This is our sport and it is being played in this country in front of thousands of cheering fans.  It will be Canada eh?” said Horace passionately.

            “Well Mr. Mountie… Care to see my pugs?”

            Horace woke up with his arm underneath a woman with more lumps than half day old oatmeal, varicose veins, sags, cellulite and a hairy bush.  Horace was afraid to wake the pug farmer.  Somehow he was able to slip his arm free, dress and escape before breakfast was forced upon him.  The woman had his number but little else.

            “Hey baby…  I had a great time the other night.  Why don’t you give me a call so we can figure out where we’re going for Italian in Toronto …  Gimme a call, babe.  Okay, hope to hear from you soon… BEEP.”

            Next message.

            “Eh Dad…  Was hoping to tell you happy birthday live… Well um…  Hope you’re doing something special today…  Talk to you later,” said his son Bill.

            Next message.

            “Hi daddy…  Happy birthday…  You might be a year older but you’ll always be like Peter Pan.  If you get a chance, call me back… Okay daddy, be good and no fighting,” said Alison.

            Be good and no fighting was what Horace had always said to his children all while they were growing up.  It was his way of saying, I have to leave now and I love you.  Horace was an involved father who saw above average abilities in his two children in the sport of ice hockey.  Horace coached his children locally until they moved on to higher levels of play.  His children’s hockey was his love and hobby.  Bill quit around the age of eighteen even though he could have gone on to play juniors and then Alison went to the states to play division I college hockey for a year, quit and returned home to learn how to play an acoustic guitar and mentored poor students from India and Pakistan in after school programs in Toronto.  Both children quitting hockey crushed Horace.  The final blow was the letter from his wife Madeline when she had moved to the United States to be with her investor.

Dearest Horace,

                                        It is with a heavy heart that I write this letter to you.  There is nothing that you did in particular to warrant my departure.  You are at face value, a good and simple man and it might be the predictability and realization that I will not live forever and may never see, do and experience all the things in life that I had hope to experience when I met and married you as a young woman who was little more than a child.  You’ll have your hockey and other exercise to occupy your time.  Know that I love you even though I have out grown this relationship.  I wish you all the best.

Sincerely,

Madeline

            Horace repeated “all the best” to himself over and over again the night he found the letter and noticed that his wife’s wardrobe had vanished with nearly a hundred pairs of shoes.  Horace marveled at the fete of moving so many things during the course of eight hours.  It was a monumental task that had to have been orchestrated carefully and pulled off with blistering speed.  When Horace returned the house nearly echoed with emptiness.  It had been ten years and the emptiness, loneliness and regret over not being a more well rounded and interesting man, constantly haunted him.

            It was a few minutes past three in the afternoon when Horace returned home from the gym and had picked up a sandwich and soup at Tim Horton’s.  The gold medal match between the United States and Canada was about to begin.  Horace spread the sandwich out on the coffee table and dipped the sandwich into the soup in between swigs of his favorite beer called Rickard’s Red.  Horace was as charged up as he had been as a young boy listening to Hockey Night in Canada on his transistor radio in his bed as a boy when he was supposed to be sleeping.  Horace yelled and clapped and made comments that were inaudible to anyone but his Dalmatian that he named Stripes.

            It was during the beginning of the third period when Bill and Alison showed up together with a cake.  Both were aware that their father was going to be deeply engrossed in the most important hockey game for Canada in years.  Horace greeted his children the way children greet their parents while playing a video game; a head flip for a hello and a raise of the eyebrows.  Bill and Alison sat on the couch beside their father and watched as the seconds ticked away towards a Canadian victory.  With less than thirty seconds to go in the game, the United States pulled their goalie to gain another attacker or a 6 to 5 man advantage.

            “Holy cats!  All they had to do was get the blaming puck oat of the zone.  It’s a simple, basic thing you teach the youngsters at the age of five.  You put a little English on the puck so it dies just before the goal line so there’s no icing, for the love of god.  Now over time…  You know if the Americans win, nobody will give a damn the day after.  They probably got more people watching college basketball right now in the states than this game.  I heard they put all the hockey games on some kind of cable news program where hardly nobody could find it…  Send more men to the damn moon, will ya?  For Pete’s sake…  This will be the national disgrace if we lose this one.”

            Now Bill and Alison really wanted the Canadian national team to win.  Alison knew a few of the woman who had played on the women’s hockey team and was happy to see them win a few days earlier against the United States.  Bill still played occasionally but had become so burned out on the necessity to excel, that his love for the game was all but killed off.  They both saw their father as a one dimensional character as did their mom and had resented the fact that hockey and their ability to excel at the highest level, was what seemed to matter most to their father.  Alison was annoyed with the passion and let her father know indirectly.

            “I sure hope they win the gold for your sake, dad…  I don’t know if the world will still be spinning tomorrow if Team Canada loses.  People are dying in Haiti and Chile from natural disasters but I’m sure god has made Canadian Hockey a priority today,” said Alison sarcastically.

            Horace was taken back.  He never asked for either of his children to come visit him for his birthday and certainly would not have asked for them to come in the middle of the gold medal game.  Horace was on his fourth Rickard’s Red and could not prevent himself from speaking without great emotion instead of thoughtful consideration.

            “That’s the kind of stuff I’d have expected from your mum, eh?  Who asked either one of you to come here today, eh?  I did what I was supposed to as a father and I did what I thought was right.  You kids were never beat or starved or belittled by me or your mum.  My mistake was assuming that hockey meant as much to you as it did to me.  I love the sport for everything it isn’t.  It isn’t work and my whole life ever since I married has been work and the need to provide and hockey has and always been my escape.  I don’t know what your escape is but I hope whatever it is doesn’t kill you…  You two can take your cake and get the hell out of here.  You both felt some sort of guilt or obligation to come see me for my birthday, eh?  Well let me absolve you of any obligatory visits in the future.  I wasn’t and am not what you wanted or expected of me as a father?  Well I have a few dashed expectations when it comes to you two and your mum.  Take your cake and get the hell out of my life.  Let me watch the damn game in peace.”

            With that, Bill and Alison grabbed the cake and left without saying another word or making eye contact with their father.  Horace sat on the couch regretting all he had said to both of his children.  The game resumed in overtime and concluded with a give and go play between Jerome Iginla and Sydney Crosby.  Crosby scored the winning goal.  Horace cried as he sat on his couch.  The win was an empty win.  Horace had driven away two of the most important people in his life because he was hurt.  He wanted to say something else and it came out the wrong way.  It was during the national anthem that Horace got on his computer and sent an email to both his children in attempt to apologize.

Dear Bill and Alison,

                                   There are few days such as today that will live in the memories of Canadians everywhere and it is not one that I will ever forget.  What will stay with me more is how I sent my children out of my home on my fiftieth birthday.  Few days live in our minds and days get blurred and forgotten with the hectic pace of life.  The days that each of you entered this world are and will always be with me as the happiest days of my life.  There I was a brand new parent with Bill weighing almost nothing in my arms, so helpless and fragile and he grew to be a big strong man who is a good man.  Then a few years later came Alison and I held her wondering what I would ever have in common with such a beautiful little girl.  I shared with you the things in life that I loved most.  I’m sorry if you ever felt that your success in hockey determined your worth with me.  I have and do love you because you are a part of me and your mom and are evidence of a time that I loved your mom and she loved me.  I want you to know that I am sorry for what I said today.  If I don’t hear from you either of you for a while, I understand.  I’m not a perfect man and might never be.  I just want you to know that I tried the best I knew how to and I hope you can appreciate me for that.

Love Dad

            Horace shut down the computer and watched the post game interviews along with clips of a beaming prime minister and Wayne Gretsky until he dozed off on the couch.  When Horace woke, the sun had nearly set and trees outside the window stood out against a bluish black sky.  Horace tried to decide if he was going to go play shinny at nine in the evening with the group he had played with for over twenty years.  Horace was feeling a bit too despondent to want to play but far too lonely to just stay home.  In the locker room, men put on their hockey equipment and discussed various points of the game.  Horace just listened.  One of the men asked Horace why he was so quiet.  Horace attributed it to his birthday.  Everyone laughed.  The men warmed up and began to play.  Horace was at the far end of the ice when the door opened and two skaters skated across the ice to get on the bench.  Horace could tell by the way the two carried their bodies who they were immediately.  Tears welled up in Horace’s eyes and he just stood for a moment as his son and daughter waved to him.  The tears dried as Horace raced to the corner to beat the opponent to the puck.  Players began to change and Horace could hear his daughter bang her stick and call for the puck at the blue line.  More than the cake or the gold medal for the nation, playing pick up hockey on a Sunday night with his children was the greatest thing to Horace.  It was an event that will stay with him as a special moment for the rest of his life.

December 8, 2009

Like Bill and Tiger

Filed under: Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 7:29 am
Tags: , , , , ,

Monique de la Croix came from Haiti in 1986 with her son Elmer in tow. They braved the seas between Haiti and Florida and played a bizarre game on the shores of Miami where by if a refugee could touch dry land, they could stay. The coast guard would try to force the people from Haiti back to their make shift boats or put them on coast guard ships before they could touch dry land. Monique, with her son Elmer strapped to her back, ran as hard and as fast as she could through the crashing waves and fell face first onto dry land as she laughed and cried. It had been days since she ate or drank water and she had nothing but the clothes she was wearing and her two year old son with her.
Catholic charities placed Monique in Montreal since she spoke French and Creole exclusively. It was in Montreal that Monique met and married a white man who adopted Elmer and taught him to play the game of ice hockey.
Elmer grew to be a hair over six feet in height and a little over two hundred pounds. Elmer was lean, fast and quite capable as an ice hockey player. He went early in the NHL draft and wound up playing for Nashville. Nashville signed Elmer to a multiyear contract whereby he made millions at the age of 21. By age twenty two, Elmer had married Canadian figure skating Olympian Jeanette Devereux and lived comfortably in Nashville, Miami and Montreal. Everything was going great for Elmer until one crazy night.
Jeanette had been taking anti-depression drugs for a while and fluctuated between being unable to get out of bed and not being able to sleep for days. On manic days, Jeanette might stay out drinking all night with friends, have breakfast and come home to break things in the house and cry. One day Jeanette would send text messages that she wanted to die, other days she wanted Elmer to die quickly followed up with messages of I love you, when will you be home?
Being a black man in a white dominated sport and a superstar at that was a love hate sort of thing for the fans of Nashville. The good ole boys liked the speed and physical nature of the sport of ice hockey but had a difficult time at first with having their big star a black man with a strong French accent. They did like the finesse of Elmer and his willingness to fight when necessary.
After one particular home game around Thanksgiving in the states, Elmer had gone out with a few players to a steak house to eat. It was there that Elmer met Christy, a devil with face of an angel and a body of a goddess. Now Elmer had practiced really good self restraint throughout the duration of his marriage and opportunity for infidelity knocked almost nightly for Elmer. One particular Wednesday evening, Elmer became weak and succumbed to primal urges that could not easily be quelled. Often in these situations, the sports figure goes one way and the female goes the other and nothing is spoken of again until maybe the next time in town. Christy had fallen deeply and madly in love.
Christy grew up in rural Tennessee and left home at fourteen to find a job in Memphis. Christy lied about her age and was able to land a job as a waitress at a steak house in Memphis. At sixteen, Christy lived like a woman several years older than her and nobody knew or questioned the fact that Christy had not reached adulthood. Christy was built like a woman from head to toe. Christy had a certain Marilyn Monroe quality about her that irresistible to men. Christy had a thing for men who could speak French. Elmer was talking to Jeanette on the phone in French when Christy walked by.
« Jeanette! Ecoutez bien! Ce n’est pas possible maintenant. J’ai deux matches ce semaine. Nous jouons en Montreal en Janvier. J’ai trois jours apres Noel. Venez… Venez.. Tu est ma femme… Je t’aime, Jeanette… D’accord… Je vais telephoner demain apres le match… A bien tot. »
Christy stood and listened as Elmer spoke to his wife. After ending his call, Christy realized who Elmer was. Elmer’s value went up about 1000%.
“Bon jour miss-you… You’re that French hockey player that everyone is all crazy for right now, aren’t you?”
“Yes thaat ees me, madam… And who are you, if hi might axe?” Asked Elmer.
Christy finished work and the other players that Elmer was dining with, went home for the night. Elmer took Christy to a Jazz club where they had a few drinks and spoke to one another. Elmer learned that Christy was poor and her father died when she was eight and that her step father was a dirty pig who tried to sleep with her several times. Christy learned that Elmer was born in Haiti and had been a refugee and that he grew up in Canada, learned to play hockey well and became quite wealthy. Christ thought about how her whole life could easily change if she could just find a way to have Elmer fall head over heels for her. It wasn’t hard at all. Every time Elmer came back to town, he would pick up Christy and they would have wild passionate sex all night. Elmer liked her ivory colored skin and nearly platinum hair. He liked her extremely fit, young body and Christy was intrigued by being with a black man. Back in nowhere Tennessee, people all had strong negative opinions about black people that went back hundreds of years. Elmer was without much body fat and full of muscles. He had an interesting accent and smelled of cologne. His things were all neat and he drove a really nice car.
The Disneyland relationship between Elmer and Christy went on for quite some time and they were both content with the relationship. Christy kept the relationship quiet except for sharing with her own sister via the internet all that was transpiring between her and Elmer. Clara had no ill will towards her sister and trusted that her secret would remain such and it would have had she not forgotten to log off of the computer before leaving home one day. The girl’s mother read every sordid detail and got to thinking that she would contact Elmer about the affair. Every attempt at coming in contact with Elmer failed. Beulah, the mother of Christy and Clara, contacted a tabloid with the story with the promise of money. For a little more than $5,000.00, Beulah brought Elmer’s world crashing down.

NHL SUPERSTAR, DE LA CROIX HAVING AN AFFAIR WITH UNDERAGED GIRL IN MEMPHIS.

It was like spilling blood into the ocean around sharks. It was a feeding frenzy for the press. Before and after games, in front of Elmer’s home, at restaurants and at stores, there was always a camera man or more to snap photos and ask all sorts of questions. After weeks of hounding, Elmer decided to hold a press conference. All eyes and ears were on Elmer. It was carried live on ESPN and CBC English and French. Here is how it went;
“Okay… I’m ready for the cirque d’Amerique. I have a statement for all of you today” Declared Elmer, while leaning the palms of his hands on a podium in front of hundreds of cameras and microphones.
“Thees may or may not come as a surprise to all of you but I am going to let you know a leetle beet aboat me… I haav trouble being on time and keeping appointments. I lose things easily and forget things even more. I don’t like to clean my ouse and I don’t like to cook. Sometimes I forget to flush after going to the bathroom and I rarely wash my hands… I am a husband, father and a son and nobody could dispute that I haav not been first rate on all of those hats that I wear aside from a hockey helmet. I fell in love weeth a young lady whom I waas not aware of er age. I waas lead to believe that she waas twenty one years of age. I professed my love for thees person but haav been faced with the reality thaat I ham already married. My marriage ees not whaat eet should be and I ham not happy een my marriage for reasons thaat are nobody’s business. You ave been giving a relentless account of all the tings thaat could be dug up on me. You ave all you need to know. Now you should know thaat I ham not a monster or a bad man. I ham not sorry for whaat I ave done and it ees no reflection on my job anymore than whaat any of you do in your private lives. I can tell you een case eet comes up that I ham not a pedophile, a homosexual, one who wears female undergarments or one who sticks tings in his own asshole or the asshole of others. I ave never add a ménage a trois or any other sort of deviant sexual behavior. I would be interested to know among all of you what eet ees that you do when you are not working. I would like to write about eet and take pictures of you while you go home, go to work, go to eat. I would like to pose asinine questions while you are holding your child’s hand. I would like to make stupid jokes on late night television and discuss it with Larry King what eet ees thaat you all do… You can make the argument thaat I ham rich and famous… I say to all of you, so fucking what. Anyone who ees without sin cast the first stone… Anyone without blood on ees ands, raise your and for us all to see. Presidents, preachers and sports figures are all under the microscope een thees country. You ave whaat you’ve all been looking for… Now let me say thees clearly once and for all… Go fuck yourselves to the best of your ability and leave me the fuck alone. There ees no story ear that you aven’t already erred before… Merci beaucoups… Au revoir…”
Elmer was given a few days off by the team and Elmer took them. Elmer went to an undisclosed location in Maui for a few days. While there Elmer decided to play Golf to get his mind off of circus that constantly followed him. It was on the eighth hole that Elmer received a phone call. This is what the famous man said to Elmer;
“Hey man… That was beautiful what you did at the press conference. I would have never thought of doing such a thing. You’ve blazed a trail for the rest of us. Next time I’m anywhere near you, we need to meet… Sure, sure… My wife has a pretty important cabinet job right now, but I’ll tell you what… One of these days our paths will cross and we got to set down and talk… You’re my type of man… I’ll let you go now but I just wanted to thank you more than anything. You’re my hero… God bless.”

Like Bill and Tiger

Filed under: Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 6:38 am
Tags: , , , , ,

Monique de la Croix came from Haiti in 1986 with her son Elmer in tow. They braved the seas between Haiti and Florida and played a bizarre game on the shores of Miami where by if a refugee could touch dry land, they could stay. The coast guard would try to force the people from Haiti back to their make shift boats or put them on coast guard ships before they could touch dry land. Monique, with her son Elmer strapped to her back, ran as hard and as fast as she could through the crashing waves and fell face first onto dry land as she laughed and cried. It had been days since she ate or drank water and she had nothing but the clothes she was wearing and her two year old son with her.
Catholic charities placed Monique in Montreal since she spoke French and Creole exclusively. It was in Montreal that Monique met and married a white man who adopted Elmer and taught him to play the game of ice hockey.
Elmer grew to be a hair over six feet in height and a little over two hundred pounds. Elmer was lean, fast and quite capable as an ice hockey player. He went early in the NHL draft and wound up playing for Nashville. Nashville signed Elmer to a multiyear contract whereby he made millions at the age of 21. By age twenty two, Elmer had married Canadian figure skating Olympian Jeanette Devereux and lived comfortably in Nashville, Miami and Montreal. Everything was going great for Elmer until one crazy night.
Jeanette had been taking anti-depression drugs for a while and fluctuated between being unable to get out of bed and not being able to sleep for days. On manic days, Jeanette might stay out drinking all night with friends, have breakfast and come home to break things in the house and cry. One day Jeanette would send text messages that she wanted to die, other days she wanted Elmer to die quickly followed up with messages of I love you, when will you be home?
Being a black man in a white dominated sport and a superstar at that was a love hate sort of thing for the fans of Nashville. The good ole boys liked the speed and physical nature of the sport of ice hockey but had a difficult time at first with having their big star a black man with a strong French accent. They did like the finesse of Elmer and his willingness to fight when necessary.
After one particular home game around Thanksgiving in the states, Elmer had gone out with a few players to a steak house to eat. It was there that Elmer met Christy, a devil with face of an angel and a body of a goddess. Now Elmer had practiced really good self restraint throughout the duration of his marriage and opportunity for infidelity knocked almost nightly for Elmer. One particular Wednesday evening, Elmer became weak and succumbed to primal urges that could not easily be quelled. Often in these situations, the sports figure goes one way and the female goes the other and nothing is spoken of again until maybe the next time in town. Christy had fallen deeply and madly in love.
Christy grew up in rural Tennessee and left home at fourteen to find a job in Memphis. Christy lied about her age and was able to land a job as a waitress at a steak house in Memphis. At sixteen, Christy lived like a woman several years older than her and nobody knew or questioned the fact that Christy had not reached adulthood. Christy was built like a woman from head to toe. Christy had a certain Marilyn Monroe quality about her that irresistible to men. Christy had a thing for men who could speak French. Elmer was talking to Jeanette on the phone in French when Christy walked by.
« Jeanette! Ecoutez bien! Ce n’est pas possible maintenant. J’ai deux matches ce semaine. Nous jouons en Montreal en Janvier. J’ai trois jours apres Noel. Venez… Venez.. Tu est ma femme… Je t’aime, Jeanette… D’accord… Je vais telephoner demain apres le match… A bien tot. »
Christy stood and listened as Elmer spoke to his wife. After ending his call, Christy realized who Elmer was. Elmer’s value went up about 1000%.
“Bon jour miss-you… You’re that French hockey player that everyone is all crazy for right now, aren’t you?”
“Yes thaat ees me, madam… And who are you, if hi might axe?” Asked Elmer.
Christy finished work and the other players that Elmer was dining with, went home for the night. Elmer took Christy to a Jazz club where they had a few drinks and spoke to one another. Elmer learned that Christy was poor and her father died when she was eight and that her step father was a dirty pig who tried to sleep with her several times. Christy learned that Elmer was born in Haiti and had been a refugee and that he grew up in Canada, learned to play hockey well and became quite wealthy. Christ thought about how her whole life could easily change if she could just find a way to have Elmer fall head over heels for her. It wasn’t hard at all. Every time Elmer came back to town, he would pick up Christy and they would have wild passionate sex all night. Elmer liked her ivory colored skin and nearly platinum hair. He liked her extremely fit, young body and Christy was intrigued by being with a black man. Back in nowhere Tennessee, people all had strong negative opinions about black people that went back hundreds of years. Elmer was without much body fat and full of muscles. He had an interesting accent and smelled of cologne. His things were all neat and he drove a really nice car.
The Disneyland relationship between Elmer and Christy went on for quite some time and they were both content with the relationship. Christy kept the relationship quiet except for sharing with her own sister via the internet all that was transpiring between her and Elmer. Clara had no ill will towards her sister and trusted that her secret would remain such and it would have had she not forgotten to log off of the computer before leaving home one day. The girl’s mother read every sordid detail and got to thinking that she would contact Elmer about the affair. Every attempt at coming in contact with Elmer failed. Beulah, the mother of Christy and Clara, contacted a tabloid with the story with the promise of money. For a little more than $5,000.00, Beulah brought Elmer’s world crashing down.

NHL SUPERSTAR, DE LA CROIX HAVING AN AFFAIR WITH UNDERAGED GIRL IN MEMPHIS.

It was like spilling blood into the ocean around sharks. It was a feeding frenzy for the press. Before and after games, in front of Elmer’s home, at restaurants and at stores, there was always a camera man or more to snap photos and ask all sorts of questions. After weeks of hounding, Elmer decided to hold a press conference. All eyes and ears were on Elmer. It was carried live on ESPN and CBC English and French. Here is how it went;
“Okay… I’m ready for the cirque d’Amerique. I have a statement for all of you today” Declared Elmer, while leaning the palms of his hands on a podium in front of hundreds of cameras and microphones.
“Thees may or may not come as a surprise to all of you but I am going to let you know a leetle beet aboat me… I haav trouble being on time and keeping appointments. I lose things easily and forget things even more. I don’t like to clean my ouse and I don’t like to cook. Sometimes I forget to flush after going to the bathroom and I rarely wash my hands… I am a husband, father and a son and nobody could dispute that I haav not been first rate on all of those hats that I wear aside from a hockey helmet. I fell in love weeth a young lady whom I waas not aware of er age. I waas lead to believe that she waas twenty one years of age. I professed my love for thees person but haav been faced with the reality thaat I ham already married. My marriage ees not whaat eet should be and I ham not happy een my marriage for reasons thaat are nobody’s business. You ave been giving a relentless account of all the tings thaat could be dug up on me. You ave all you need to know. Now you should know thaat I ham not a monster or a bad man. I ham not sorry for whaat I ave done and it ees no reflection on my job anymore than whaat any of you do in your private lives. I can tell you een case eet comes up that I ham not a pedophile, a homosexual, one who wears female undergarments or one who sticks tings in his own asshole or the asshole of others. I ave never add a ménage a trois or any other sort of deviant sexual behavior. I would be interested to know among all of you what eet ees that you do when you are not working. I would like to write about eet and take pictures of you while you go home, go to work, go to eat. I would like to pose asinine questions while you are holding your child’s hand. I would like to make stupid jokes on late night television and discuss it with Larry King what eet ees thaat you all do… You can make the argument thaat I ham rich and famous… I say to all of you, so fucking what. Anyone who ees without sin cast the first stone… Anyone without blood on ees ands, raise your and for us all to see. Presidents, preachers and sports figures are all under the microscope een thees country. You ave whaat you’ve all been looking for… Now let me say thees clearly once and for all… Go fuck yourselves to the best of your ability and leave me the fuck alone. There ees no story ear that you aven’t already erred before… Merci beaucoups… Au revoir…”
Elmer was given a few days off by the team and Elmer took them. Elmer went to an undisclosed location in Maui for a few days. While there Elmer decided to play Golf to get his mind off of circus that constantly followed him. It was on the eighth hole that Elmer received a phone call. This is what the famous man said to Elmer;
“Hey man… That was beautiful what you did at the press conference. I would have never thought of doing such a thing. You’ve blazed a trail for the rest of us. Next time I’m anywhere near you, we need to meet… Sure, sure… My wife has a pretty important cabinet job right now, but I’ll tell you what… One of these days our paths will cross and we got to set down and talk… You’re my type of man… I’ll let you go now but I just wanted to thank you more than anything. You’re my hero… God bless.”

December 4, 2009

South of the Border

Filed under: Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 10:51 pm
Tags: , ,

South of the Border

I don’t want you to think I’m boy crazy because I’m not at all. I have played ice

hockey practically my whole life and now I’m on the cusp of seventeen. Every year in

Toronto they hold the prospects tournament for girls and boys that are scouted to

participate in scrimmage games for the benefit of being signed to division one schools. I

haven’t decided if I will sign with Cornell or Wisconsin. I totally ruled out Minnesota-

Duluth and North Dakota. I just know I’m going to wind up with some backwards

Evangelical Christian chick, strumming a guitar, trying to get me to come with her to

some youth festival where some dude who looks like David Koresh, gets you to join the

church as if he were selling time shares in Cancun.

I don’t want you to think I’m a total lush too because I’m not at all. I was upstairs

in the restaurant at the Beatrice Ice Rink next to York University. A bunch of the boys

just got finished and I was eating nachos with a girl named Judy from Kingston, Ontario

and Vishna from Barrie, Ontario. Vishna is Indian but was born in Nigeria. She lived in

London for a year and then her father found a job in Canada. She is a really pretty Indian

girl and the first one I ever met that did not smell of Curry when she sweats. In fact I

asked her flat out.

“So do you like Curry?”

“Um… Do you carry a shaleighly and look for your Lucky Charms?”

“Don’t get pissy… It’s a reasonable question, eh?”

“I also don’t have a dot on my forehead, work at Tim Horton’s or drive a fucking

cab.”

“Damn… What a temper! Do you have a one hump or two hump camel?”

Vishna looked at me as angry as could be. I busted out laughing and she laughed

too. This happened last year and we have kept in touch through email ever since. Barrie,

was the province champions last year and we played them in the quarter finals. Vishna is

really fast.

Judy is tall and has straight blond hair and is really pretty. She plays the tuba and

is the total honour student. She is really quiet but a great hockey player. I come from

Windsor which is just over the bridge from Detroit. The people there love the Red Wings

instead of the Maple Leafs. I followed the Windsor Spitfires of the Ontario Hockey

League. I think watching them and my brother was what got me into the sport.

So I was eating nachos with Vishna and Judy when these absolutely gorgeous

guys from Buffalo, New York came up to our table. Scott, who has blond hair and

dimples when he smiles, sat down and dipped his middle finger in the cheese and put it

into his mouth slowly.

“I just love cheese on the nacho…”

Vishna let into him right away.

“That was really gay…”

To say gay to a male hockey player under the age of eighteen is really an attack on

the essence of his maleness. It prevented him and the other two guys with him from

acting stupid. They suddenly became really cool.

“So like… What schools have talked to you?” Asked a boy named Bill with a

buzz cut and faint freckles.
Bill got signed to Guelph. Scott was going to Lake Forest College in Illinois to

play division three hockey. Colin had not been signed yet but was hoping to go to

Brantford in the Ontario Hockey League. For American guys, they weren’t so bad. They

thought they were all so funny saying “eh” after everything.

Vishna really had a thing for Scott. They talked to each other all throughout the

next day and went down to the Hall of Fame in downtown Toronto on the off day. Scott

invited all of us to a party in Buffalo.

I really don’t care much for the states. It’s dirty, crowded and really have an over

abundance of obese people. Vishna was crazy to go. Judy and I really didn’t want to

cross the border to go to a house party but we did. We got into Vishna’s father’s car and

drove over the border. The American border guard was a nice old man. He never asked

to see our passports. We found the house in a clean suburb. It was actually really low

keyed. There was only like twenty people there and it was nice. A good looking guy

with brown curly hair, came up to talk to me. His pants were sagging and he wore his

Yankees hat cocked to the right. He had all the hand gestures of a rapper including

fondling his penis with his right hand while gesturing with his left hand. Our

conversation was a trip. He kept trying to look down my cleavage when it was my turn to

speak. I don’t think he heard me much.

“Yeah so I play hockey…”

“Cool, cool… You all still wear them skirts and run around with candy canes?”

“Um… That’s field hockey. I play on the ice.”

“Oh hell naw! Girls playing like dudes? Shit… You all be giggling and

squealing and shit?”
That ended that conversation. I wished him well in his endeavours to become a

producer. Other than piss, shit and babies, I don’t know what he could produce.

Anyway, I also talked with a bunch of guys who also played hockey and a couple

of their girlfriends. I had a couple of Coronas and a shot of some licorice tasting stuff

that like burned me on the inside. I think Vishna was in one of the bedrooms with Scott.

I personally think it’s sort of gross since they just met but whatever. Judy and I didn’t ask

any questions and she didn’t tell. We could tell though that she was in a stupid way right

now. Her mind was locked and fixated on the blond kid with the dimples. He was totally

in love with his Indian version of Barbie. They kissed for like five minutes while we

waited in the car. We got to the border and the Canadian border official, who was a short

French guy asked us questions in French purposely.

“Citoyen?”

Vishna must have been riding high from finding love. She decided to give a smart

assed answer to entertain us. The short French guy was not amused.

“No, no it’s a Saturn…”

Of course we laughed. Short men always think women are making fun of them.

He stepped out of his little booth and ordered us to pull around to an area where they dig

through your trunk. Vishna tried to reason with him.

“I was only joking… Citoyen sounds like a car model.”

“Drinking and driving, eh?”

“Oh my god! We’re hockey players! We’re in the prospects tourney in York.”

“Okay. Well it’s one in the morning. I’m sure you’re not playing hockey now,

eh?”
Vishna backed the car up as if she going to go into the stall where they strip

search your car. Instead she wheeled around and raced back over the bridge, dodging cars

coming towards us. She broke the wooden gate at the toll booth on the American side

and raced down side streets in downtown Buffalo. She called Scott on her cell phone. I

resorted to rhetorical questions.

“Are you fucking crazy?! They’re going to put us in prison! Do you wanna be in

an American prison? No school in North America will take us now… Oh my god,

Vishna!”

“You don’t understand! My father will send me to live with family in India if he

finds out that I went over to America. I promised him I would be good and just stay in

the room.”

I had a horrible feeling that my scholarship chances would be gone as well as my

opportunity to try out for Team Canada. We drove aimlessly down streets as Vishna tried

to find her way back to Scott’s house. Judy sat with her arms folded and showed no

emotion. I felt like smacking her face.

“Judy! What the hell?” I said to her.

“What? What did I do?” She asked, quite angered now.

“How can you just sit there and not say a fucking word?” I asked.

“Because I am fucking numb right now. We’re like fugitives.” Said Judy.

Vishna was crying and swearing because Scott wasn’t picking up his phone. We

eventually pulled up and Vishna went back into the house to find them. Vishna left the

car running. There was a Dave Mathews song playing. It reminded me of my last

boyfriend. He had tickets to see Dave Mathews. I couldn’t go with my boyfriend and so he went with a bunch of friends. Kelly from my team last year got drunk and blew him at

the concert. I found out from friends of my boyfriend what had happened. At the next

practice, I took a shit and piss in her hockey bag while practice was going on. I left the

ice and dropped a tremendous shit in her bag. I eat a lot of vegetables and so the fiber

really helped produce the effect I was looking for. She made me feel like shit by blowing

my boyfriend and I made a really large smelly turd for her to deal with. Of course we fist

fought and I beat her ass. It’s not Dave Mathews fault, he had no way of knowing. I

think he’s a good guy.

Somehow Vishna got Scott to drive us over the border in his father’s minivan.

When we got to the border, the same little French guy stopped him. Our hearts were

jumping out of our chests. He gave Scott a hard time.

“Why are you going to Canada at three in the morning?”

“Um well, I’m in this prospects tournament and I live in Buffalo and so I’m just

going back to the rink… To the hotel by the rink.”

Boys are so inarticulate. He was a mumbling mess of lies and the little

Frenchman knew it.

“Which hotel?”

“It’s right by the rink by the university.”

Oh my god! What a blond disaster he had become. Our future in college sports

rested in the hands of an imbecile.

“Um my dad is sleeping in the hotel and I had to go home because I left my skates

there and had to borrow a pair earlier and I like fell asleep watching Buffalo play

Vancouver… It was an awesome game. But anyway, I had three games today and I was fatigued.”

A bit better but still not off the hook yet.

“What do you have in the back of the van?”

“Just my equipment… Do you wanna see it?”

I almost screamed. How could he invite the border guard to check his car?

“The last thing I want to see or smell is your equipment right now… You’re free

to go.”

We were free to get back into our country. We did not get caught. I wanted to

stop and kiss the ground right there at Niagara but the sentiment quickly passed. It was

four before we got back to our room and the alarm clock went off at seven. It felt like I

had just closed my eyes. I played like shit and so did Judy and Vishna. We took a nap

between games and were fine.

Vishna was able to talk Scott into putting New York plates on her Ontario

licensed car. Vishna got her car back into Canada. Scott had to lie again. He said he had

purchased a used car. There were a lot of cars that day and so he got away with it.

Vishna sent his plates UPS and everything turned out mostly okay.

Vishna was eating dinner when the Royal Canadian Mounted Police came to her

door in Barrie. They questioned her about speeding away from the border. She

vehemently denied being near Niagara much less the states. They questioned her over

and over until she broke down and told them the truth. Turns out that the detective was a

former junior league player from Barrie and he worked things out for Vishna without her

parents ever finding out. Vishna actually stayed in contact with Scott. She drove twice to

see him in Buffalo since the incident. She even saw the same border guard. The French guy asked again in

French her citizenship. Vishna learned to say Canadian.

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