Blackhumouristpress's Blog

November 30, 2018

Third Period- Running Time

Filed under: humor,humour,Ice hockey,Short Story,Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 3:12 am
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Joe told the parents back when they were little mites, about five to six years old- give it time, they will learn and they will be good. Joe went through years of tying skates, checking on players who collided with opposing players and lay there like they were shot, only to spring up and skate back to the bench on their own. It took time to learn the offside rule, to cover the points in their own zone, to pass when they should and so on. As squirts they got a little better. Two years later as pee wees, they became quite formidable and two years beyond that as bantams, they were a machine. The passing was fast, shots precise, hard fore-checking, hard hitting and their defense made it such that they hardly allowed a shot on goal. The forwards back checked well and the defense was smothering. The goalie mostly watched the game from the far end, occasionally piling up snow in the corners. The ice in their zone would be clear after the first period and the other side looked like it needed the Zamboni. As pee wees, they came close to winning it all but as bantams, they were ready. The team was like a family and the family was a machine. Joe stood on the bench with his arms folded the way Rommel or Patton did on top of tanks after conquering new lands during World War II. They were great.


Joe remembered back to a tournament when the boys were 9 and 10 year old squirts and how they got absolutely rocked by a team from across town. That team had garment bags for their jerseys with their names on it and monogramed bags with their names on it, as well as stick bags and warm up suits. They were good for their ages and under their coach’s direction, ran up the score against Joe four years earlier, 22-0. Not only did they lose by that score but they kept the score up on the board. He had crying kids who wanted to quit after that game. Joe had to beg his goalie to stay with it. Parents questioned everything Joe did and told them that things were not going well. Joe talked them into staying with things and it paid off. Joe saw the opposing coach with his slicked back black hair, chewing his gum in a circular motion. After the warm up, Joe asked the players if they remembered the team, the coach and score. They did.

“I want you to keep in mind what that motherfucker did to us and so here’s what I want from you…”

Joe pulled the goalie after the drop of the puck and put out a sixth skater. Joe’s team cycled in their own end, the neutral zone and the other team’s zone. They held the puck for two periods without the other team so much as touching the puck but Joe’s team refused to shoot. After the second period, the slick coach stood on the bench and yelled over at Joe.

“This is horse shit what you’re doing. Play the game!”

“Oh, we’re about to open this bitch wide open now. We just were getting warmed up for two periods.”

Joe ran up the score to exactly 22 goals in a period and then went back to cycling in their own end until time ran out. When it came time for the handshake, the slick coach with a tightened jaw gripped Joe’s hand and told him that he was a dick and that it was horrible and that there was no reason to do what he did. Joe refreshed his memory.

“You beat us by this same score four years ago… Remember me now? That game was an inspiration to us all… I had to deal with crying little kids that day. They got better, didn’t they? Thanks for finishing the game…As they said in Goodfellas and you look like someone from that movie- now go home and get your fucking shine box.”

November 18, 2018

First Liners and Speaking Portuguese

Filed under: humor,humour,Ice hockey,Short Story,Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 2:32 am
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Pam was anti everything as a young woman. She didn’t like religion or government or patriotism or marriage and for sure not sports. She was a dowdy young thing that didn’t care to tweeze her eyebrows and only showered sparingly. She went to college to play tuba in the college marching band.

It was in her mid twenties that she met an older man at a bar. He befriended her by commenting on how good the USC marching band sounded at halftime while eating really salty peanuts at a lounge inside a hotel. Pam commented on USC and other schools with really good marching bands. The conversation moved to what she did and what he did and three drinks later, Pam had gone upstairs with the middle-aged businessman. It went from simple making out to fifty shades of gray around the temples in no time. A bottle of Viagra and Champagne, a few rounds of what felt like love to Pam and as they say in French-voila.

Twelve years later, Pam was the mother of a boy who looked a lot like what Pam remembered of the man she slept with one night only that sired her offspring. Larry was a different sort of lad and had a hard time keeping friends and an even harder time staying focused on things that did not interest him. Larry was put on Ritalin and went to special classes and then moved entirely to a Montessori school to hide his ADD. At the Montessori school, if Larry wanted to read about snakes or walk around the room making dinosaur sounds with his shirt pulled over his head, he could do that and a nice, young underpaid teacher, would tell him how well he did at imitating a dinosaur. Even at the unique school, Larry was having a hard time finding friends and fitting in. The young social worker that Larry would see weekly, suggested Larry take up ice hockey. Now Pam detested sports but thought the idea had merit and went to the local park district and put him in learn to skate classes and within a short period of time, Larry was put on a peewee team before he was ready. Hockey is like a language. If you cannot skate, you cannot play or even fake it. If you do not know a foreign language, you cannot converse in that language.

Picture a child taking Portuguese once a week for a month and then being plopped in a room of people speaking Portuguese… Bem Obrigado… And very little beyond that. Larry struggled to skate forward without leaning on the stick. Skating backwards was a butt-twisting waddle with no lateral movement. Receiving passes was as difficult as trying to shoot the puck without missing.

Larry drew a grizzled veteran who after coaching for many years, found himself coaching house league pee wees. Otto thought the kids were nice and attentive but he often grew impatient with their lack of ability. In practices and games Otto would often speak openly and plainly to the young boys.

“I know you all swear… I know you’re all looking at graphic porn on those phones when mum is not around. I’m not the police and neither are any of you. What I say stays in this locker room and does not go home to mum… Agreed?”

The boys nodded a yes and wondered where the coach was going with things as he paced back and forth in the locker room.

“People will tell you that winning isn’t important… Those people are lying to you. Do you think Ovechkin would have skated around the rink jumping up and down if he lost? Do you think Hillary Clinton threw a party for coming close and losing? Fuck no. I say fuck for emphasis, boys. Fucking comes later in life but we use the word now for emphasis… There is no and fuck no. I don’t ever want to fucking lose. I hate to lose but I can live with a loss if everyone moves their ass and does everything they can on every shift. If you are standing around like a right fielder in a little league game, I will let you know strongly. Play every shift like it’s your last and you will always try hard. Pretend that your goalie is not in front of that net and you will play good defense. Pass when you should instead of when you absolutely have to and think before you get the puck and you will be a smarter player… Let’s get out there and do what we practice and win this bitch.”

Otto’s goalie was a scarecrow in the net and let nearly every shot in. One line played well and the other was behind the action. Larry stood around watching everyone race around after face offs. As a right wing, he never covered the points and stood only feet away from the defense as they struggled to clear the zone. The concept of going the opposite direction in the second period perplexed Larry. The idea of not going into the other team’s zone before the puck, made no sense to Larry. Tagging up too was a difficult concept. Larry had killed momentum five times by going offside in just one period alone. Otto called a time out and got in face of Larry before a face off in the other team’s zone in a tied game with twenty two seconds to go in the game. Otto thought about passing up Larry and a few other of his lesser players on the team but he already had to discuss with the hockey director, an attractive young woman who figure skated as a girl that did not play ice hockey, that occasionally in order to win, you have to put out a power line, you have to have the right center and so on. Otto had to listen to a lecture about balanced ice time among all players. In a snarky reply, Otto told the director that Larry’s balance on the ice is reliant on leaning on his stick. Otto looked at Larry during the time out and gave him a pep talk.

“Our center is going to tie up their center and not play the puck. The defense is going to come in and get the puck and fire it at the net. I need you to get your ass to the net with your stick on the ice. Don’t fuck this up. Puck drops get to the net… Am I clear?”

It all worked like planned. The center tied up the opposing center and pushed him back just far enough to not get an interference call. The defenseman came in got the puck and fired it on net. Larry panicked thinking that the shot would hit him. As he raised his stick and twisted his body to avoid being hit, the puck bounced off of his stick and found the back of the net. Larry was tackled by the players on the ice and got the game puck. As Otto was sneaking out the side door to get to his car, there waiting for him was Larry’s mother Pam. She had on a knit hat with pussycat ears and a puffy jacket with political buttons up and down both sides. Otto was ready to hear something whacked out as he approached his car. Pam asked Otto a question that he was not ready for.

“Would you like to go out for a drink some time?”

I can’t tell you if they talked about marching bands or ate salty peanuts in a lounge. I can’t tell you if there was champagne or Viagra involved or if they worked on making a sibling for young Larry. People want happy endings. Things were weird between Pam and Otto before their date and they got even weirder after. Larry never made the power play or learned to speak Portuguese very well. Otto often ignored Pam’s text messages and calls. And that’s just how things go.

November 3, 2018

M.C. Trump

Filed under: Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 4:21 am

In a quest to create and be successful at a new reality television show, an obscure cable channel came up with celebrity political roasts. The platform was three Democrat politicians and three Republican politicians who would take turns roasting a prominent political figure who agreed to go on the show to be poked, prodded and straight up skewered. The final roaster or master of ceremonies was always the president of the United States, Donald Trump. MC Trump. From his desk at the White House, the president would unleash zingers.  Some of them light hearted ribbing and others a deep stab wound. Love him or hate him, people could not refrain from hearing what he would say next. The man, our president, has to be exhausted keeping us free and safe and employed while battling the press and Democrats and those high brow Republicans who refuse to acknowledge his merits even though he has done everything they dreamed of but could never find a way to do. Any and all money he would make from being on the show went into a fund to help build a wall on the Mexican border. The show went so well that they made a collector’s addition CD that could be purchased for $19.95. The title- Trump’s Greatest Hits. It went a little bit like this:


Don Lemon CNN- Don… Sweet Don… I like to call him Sweet Don. We have a lot in common. We share a first name and we’re both men. I happen to be a white man and maybe that’s part of the problem. Whose problem? I dunno…. His problem, my problem, your problem. I know the white man he keeps at home is not the problem. He’s probably admitted white privilege and purged himself for the sins of his relatives from hundreds of years ago. Whenever I feel good about the economy, the record low unemployment for African-Americans, protecting our southern border, reining China in with sanctions and turning Little Rocket Man into my personal golf caddy, I turn on Sweet Don. If I’m feeling good about myself, Sweet Don brings me down to earth. Me, a white man, responsible for terrorism in this country. A Nazi who holds his grandchildren on his knee during Yom Kippur and teaches the kinder all the words to Deutschland Uber Alles in German and let’s them know that granddaddy’s Reich will last for 8 years.  A man in bed with Vladi Putin… Picture that! Me, a white nationalist, xenophobic, misogynistic boob who just happened to get enough yahoos to come out from the set of the movie Deliverance to give me the electoral vote. I think it was Sweet Don who said that I didn’t deserve to win because I didn’t win the popular vote. Sweet Don who would probably try to catch a football and fail at it because being sweet and all, he doesn’t understand that in elections just like football, you don’t win on yardage, you win on points… Just like the Electoral College. Speaking of college… Sweet Don would have made one hell of a cheerleader for the losing team and then spin it to make it appear to the low information crowd that if hadn’t been for that Russian exchange student, his school would have won… Keep it up Sweet Don… Your show is now below the Hallmark Channel and the Cartoon Network. Somewhere there is an army of women at home with two cats and no man who still hasn’t gotten out of bed yet since November of 2016. All three of them are watching you nightly. You’re that safe black man that they yearn to be alone with in an elevator.


Bill Clinton- I like to call him Wild Bill… I don’t need to say the things that have already been said a million times. I happened to be in Italy with the President Berlusconi. Silvio and I were playing golf and through his interpreter he asked what the problem was. I had to explain that the problem was that he didn’t call Julia Roberts. Instead Wild Bill corrals a chubby Jewish chick… Oh here we go with the groans… Donald Trump hates fat chicks and Jews again… I love them. They voted for me. I just don’t love them the way Wild Bill does. You could have sent the evidence flying anywhere but it landed on a blue dress… Remember if it doesn’t fit you must acquit? If you wore the dress, you must confess. I’ll confess this… In order for me to nut with that chick, I might have had to have your wife Hillary in the room watching.  You’re all thinking… Mr. President! That is disgusting! You never know what turns a man on but the thought of that is truly dirty and we all know how dealing with Hillary can be truly dirty. Now then…Wild Bill… There are the things we know we know, the things we think we know and then the things we don’t know shit about. This will all come out one day on a coffee table book right along side the Kama sutra in that room in the white house where you took furniture and sold it… Christ, could you imagine if Obama had done that? Everyone would have said that’s his father’s side coming out in him. I might not make to see that book come out, Wild Bill but I have been to the mountain and I’m not afraid… Wrong night… Wrong speech.


Jeff Sessions- Jefferson Beauregard Sessions Benedict Arnold III… I walked ahead of good ole Jefferson and wondered what the sharp pain was in my back. I turned to see good ole Jefferson just smiling as big as he could. I tried to take my suit coat off and found that I couldn’t do it because I had a knife stuck in my back… Picture him in that folksy voice telling me that he had a vision and that Jesus Christ himself appeared to him and told him to take the job of attorney general but do nothing further until he returns… Jefferson is waiting of the return of Christ and has recused himself of his job in the interim. Speaking of interim… I have to pat his understudy down every time I see him for fear he’s wearing a wire and everything we discuss is being broadcast in real time on CNN… Look at Sweet Don smiling over there. He thinks that would be a good idea. Meanwhile back at the ranch there are dozens of the best lawyers the Democrats could buy, working on finding something, anything between the Russians and me. Look at Wild Bill over there… He made a half million on one speech in Moscow… Wow! What a country! I want to thank you all for letting me spin you over the spit. I go through it daily with our less than objective talking heads in the fake news. Like someone once said, all the bad press makes me stronger like Godzilla… So I thank you for coming… God bless you all and god bless America…

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