Blackhumouristpress's Blog

February 16, 2011

Long Island’s Journey into Night or Je Ne Veux Pas

Filed under: Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 1:56 am
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If you take gin, tequila, rum, vodka, triple sec, sweet and sour mix with a splash of cola (doesn’t have to be Coca or Pepsi.  RC Cola would work too) and mix that with a man going through a divorce, you could have one potentially drunk male within a few drinks.  Give an average sized man six of these drinks and you could be listening to or speaking Portuguese.

I know a guy (that really sounded quite Italian rather than Portuguese) who was going through a divorce, playing Reggae music, coaching a youth hockey team and a C level women’s hockey team.

This individual’s days started with work from 1am until 8am.  Breakfast and a short three or four hour nap, pick-up hockey, lunch, practice the bass guitar, nap, coach a youth hockey team or a women’s team, play a men’s league game then back to work.  Rinse and repeat.

A mother of one of his youth players asked this man if he would take up the task of coaching a beginner female hockey team and so he did.  He quickly learned that speaking to grown women the way he might a pre-pubescent young man does not work.  Women are not boys.  Using reverse psychology will not work with women.  Using rhetorical questions will only create animosity.

“What the fuck are you doing out there?”

Pose that question and you may get one of several answers from a woman.  Here are a few you could expect.

“I am doing exactly what you instructed.  Maybe you don’t know what you’re fucking doing?”

Or…

“I am trying to do the best I possibly can.  If my best is not good enough for you then maybe you should consider fucking yourself.”

Instead the coach had to take breath and try to gather the proper words carefully so as to not cause a fight.  The coach understood well what it was like to use the wrong words and what the potential was if the wrong word or phrase was used out of anger or frustration.  Going through a divorce will cause a man to contemplate what he might have done differently.  Word choices are paramount with most women and especially with one who is contemplating divorcing you and so the coach was particularly careful with criticism while coaching a team of women that were struggling to string together two passes and play together as a team.

“Um… Abigail, try to take a second and think about what your options are before you make a decision.  Remember: hockey is a game of chess not checkers.  It is a thinking woman’s game.”

“Right, coach.  I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

The coach had one particularly mediocre player who really wanted to become a good hockey player despite the fact that she had never played sports before in her life and was not too athletic.  Her attitude was very good despite the fact that she might have been the worst player on the worst team in the league.

Abigail heard the coach talking about playing live music and took it upon herself to go out to hear him play.  If you took Ugly Betty and made her more matronly and a hockey player, you could then picture Abigail.  Abigail grabbed a table by herself close to the stage so that she could watch the coach play and sing music.  In between sets, the coach stopped by her table to thank her for making the trip out to hear and see him.  He asked her what she was drinking and came to find out it was a Long Island Ice Tea.  He had never had one before.

Maybe somebody from Long Island created the drink that appears to look like ordinary, innocuous ice tea or just someone thought it gave it a good name such as The Bitch Slapper, The Stink face, The Cross Checker or The Ass Pounder.  It is a potent drink among potent drinks.  If you find a good chemist or seasoned bartender, the drink is as sweet as candy.  If made wrong, it tastes like kerosene and then you know that the mixture of liquors is going to keep you in low gear the next day.  Abigail bought the coach one after he took a sip of hers and then he went on to have five more.  Six Long Island Ice Teas in a span of three hours.  What the coach remembers was that when he turned his head, his vision had a two second delay on focusing on the direction in which his head moved.

Coach put his hand on Ugly Betty and with a look of distress and innocence, he told Abigail that it would not be possible for him to drive and that it might be difficult to walk.  Abigail’s motherly instincts kicked in.  She placed the coach in the front seat of her minivan as he rode the roller coaster whenever he closed his eyes.  Coach felt no pain and felt as helpless as a baby as he listened to Celine Dion on Abigail’s car stereo.  Coach commented that she sang very well in French not knowing who was singing and that it was her first language.  Abigail took it to mean that Coach really liked the music.  Coach was listening to different music in his head.

Somehow after taking his last gulp of the toxic drink and then chewing on ice to fend off dehydration, Coach was more drunk than he was an hour before.  His head rolled around as he sat on the couch at Abigail’s house.  He could hear Celine again singing in French.

« Je ne veux pas … quelque chose, quelque chose … da da da, dee dee dee »

I don’t want.  Coach understood that much French in his drunken stupor.  I don’t want to be divorced, I don’t want to be drunk, I don’t want to be in someone else’s bed tonight, I don’t want to listen to Celine Dion and I don’t want to watch a woman pull feces out of a paralyzed dog’s ass with blue rubber gloves on.

“I know this is disgusting but I just can’t put the dog down yet.  She has been with me and the kids since they were little.  It’s just so hard to do this.  I’m a single mother with two kids and I can’t kill one of the only tangible things from the days when we were a complete family.”

Abigail was crying while putting feces in a bag and the half dead German Sheppard consoled her with a lick on her forearm.  Celine Dion was building to a crescendo and Coach was about to hurl.  He got up and stumbled to a bed in the back away from the dog, the gloves, Celine and Abigail.  The buzz was getting stronger somehow and the room began to spin for Coach.  The night eventually ended and with the light of day, everything gets just a little bit worse.

Coach opened his eyes careful not to move since he was not sure where he was.  He looked to his right and resting in the crook of his right arm was a head of brown hair and a body unlike any that he was accustomed to.  The room was foreign and the smell in the air was not unlike hallways of nursing homes.  It hurt Coach to blink and his throat was bone dry.  He wondered if like coyotes or wolves caught in traps if it would be possible to chew his own arm off at the shoulder so as to not to disturb the head that rested on it.  No such luck.  Coach dressed quickly and apologized profusely, grabbed his guitar and a cab in hopes of finding his automobile where he left it the night before.  To this day Coach will not drink a Long Island Ice Tea, listen to Celine Dion or coach a woman’s ice hockey team.  The mixture was not healthy for him.

Speaking of Long Island, the Islanders came to life in a big way Friday night.  After being blanked by Brent Johnson less than two weeks ago and watching Johnson knock out DiPietro with one slow blow, they pounded Pittsburgh 9-3.

Was it Talbot’s previous hit on Comeau that caused a concussion?  Was it the two previous shut-outs the Islanders endured at the hands of the Penguins?  The sucker punch of Talbot by Martin after the Isles were up 6-0 was a surprise that laid the foundation for the rest of the game. The goonery by a man named Michael Haley who was brought up from Moose Jaw, I mean Bridgeport, fighting a goalie, then Brooks Orpik driving Grabner hard into his own goalie, Gillies putting an elbow to the head of and then attacking Tangradi who was hurt by the check.  What a game.  Two games this week resembled mid-1970’s hockey a la Slapshot. 346 penalty minutes, 65 penalties and 10 ejections are exceptional for a season much less one game.  These sorts of highlights lay doubts about the sport in the minds of mothers and network executives in the states. These things happen and this week it happened twice,  Boston and Montreal and the New York Islanders and Pittsburgh.  Dan Bylsma said it best.

“The first half of the game was a hockey game and the second was not.”

On another note, Detroit which has the lowest amount of fights in the league at nine, finally returned from the all-star break with a 6-1 win over Boston.  Pavel Datsyuk is the key to their success.  Tomas Holmstrom too is back to collect trash and put it in the net.  Both were sorely missed by Detroit for close to six weeks.  The west is wild and crazy tight.  When the dust settles, who will be the eight that go on?

 

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