Shark Psychology, Shane Doan’s Injury, and the Shake Weight

 

 (My lastest piece for The Hockey News is here, on fans implying the league is against their team.  Though I admit, there could be refs like Tim Donaghy trying to influence things for their own gain, THERE IS NO grandiose puppet-master pulling pro-Penguin strings.  Exhale.  Exhale.)  Follow me on Twitter here.

 

Today’s blog has the potential to be a bit weird.  Or at least angry.  I’m one of those people that allergy season treats about as well as Clark Gillies treated Ed Hospodar’s face (two-word hint: reconstructive surgery).

I spend about a month every year feeling like when you have a cold, and whichever side you lay on, your bottom nostril is plugged – only last night, I was priveleged to have both sides shut down.  So I sat on the couch at 3:45, started eating watermelon and started writing this, strictly because that seemed like a better option than the only other thing I could think of, sticking my head a blender and hitting “liquify”.

Before I launch into hockey playoffs – have you seen the actual commercial for the “shake weight”?  The first few times I saw the ads, I mumbled “wtf”, and chuckled like every other male on the planet.  For those of you who don’t care to follow that link, just know that the product SNL parodied is actually real.  Here’s the good stuff:

Ahhh, priceless.  SNL was gold last week.  If you’re a fan and missed it, you gotta check out Andy Samberg in the Hip Hop Kids skit.   “What’re the odds?!”    “…That a bear would be in a bear cave?  Like 100%!”

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Okay, on to hockey:

Daniel Carcillo reacts to scoring goals like Keanu Reeves reacts to going on totally excellent adventures.

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 The Sharks knotted their series up at two, after Joe “I’m getting a bit of a reputation for doing this” Pavelski buried one top corner on Craig “really, Brodeur’s year was better than mine?” Anderson.  And for the Sharks, thank god he did.

But if I’m in that San Jose room, I’m still a little rattled at going to overtime again.

For an underdog to pull out a playoff upset, they need to get some bounces, and they need to get some calls.  Unlike the top dog, they know that every game is going to take maximum effort for them to have any hope of winning.

Even with that formula, in a best-of-seven series the underdog can’t get the breaks every night.  Usually along the way, like in the case of Washington/Montreal, the better team will just have one of those nights where they play to their potential, and win 5-1.  Or like how the Pens looked like defending Cup champs just a few nights after losing game one.  And I suspect one of these nights we’ll see the same thing in the Nashville/Chicago series, where they’ll play the type of game where the better roster gets some luck, brings their work ethic, and wins in convincing fashion.  Not saying Chicago will win the series (wait, yes I am), but they’ll have a night where they flex their muscles.

For San Jose, holy shit fellas, strike a pose. 

There hasn’t been a single game out of the four where a Heatley/Marleau/Thornton/Pavelski/Boyle-laden team can put together a convincing win?  I don’t care how good their goalie is, pick some corners, move the puck, what the f**k!

If you want any of us to believe in your squad (and you want to believe in yourselves), we gotta see some something bodybuilder-like, and soon.  Oil yourself up, get a fake tan, and flex those offensive muscles tomorrow.

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When Valterri Filpula banked the puck off the back of Bryzgalov, it landed on the goal line in the only conceivable way for it to not continue moving across the line, and I immediately thought the Coyotes were just destined to win.  Turns out, Jimmy Howard and Henrik Zetterberg had something to say about that.

(Phoenix takes the best overhead pics.  Love this one from game three.)

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 (DoanFace photoshop gallery)

As a hockey fan, it’s frustrating having Doan miss time in this series.  One, because no one in the entire NHL deserves playoff hockey more than him (and I mean that – he’s like Steve Nash.  98% of the league would have bailed on this organization for a better title shot by now), but also because I want what everyone else wants – a clear winner.  A way to say “this is the better team” definitively.  But Shane Doan is such a crucial piece of the Coyotes puzzle, the Red Wings getting wins with him not in the lineup feels like we all go cheated. (Rumour is he’ll play in game five, so yay to that!)

Kudos to the Red Wings though, they took care of business on home ice with the other team’s captain out, just like they’re supposed to.  And all the while, Zetterberg keeps performing like a first ballot Hall-of-Famer.

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So, this was brought to my attention yesterday: The Ref Cam.  It’s in a USHL game, Chicago vs. Green Bay.  We need more of this.

Can you imagine how much refs would resist a product that proves the offside they just whistled down was actually the wrong call, but the guy just made a panic decision?  Horrible feeling.  Thanks for the video, Jeff:

 

(What a toolbox reaction from the goalie)

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Before I shut’er down for the day, I need to say a major thank you to reader Steve Croteau.  Steve noticed that a couple times I’ve bitched about not actually having a computer, which means I wreck my fiancee’s all day, with a combination of food, grease and questionable downloads.

So, since his family was moving on to a new one, he sent me their old Dell, which works wonderfully (and only weighs slightly more than Todd Bertuzzi).  Now Bri and I can be on Facebook/Twitter at the same time and never talk, awesome.  Ooo, and I can live blog more now, cause she’ll have stuff to do.  So goooo Steve!  Thanks again, man.

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If you didn’t get enough randomness (or shake weightery) today, here’s an entertaining display from a couple of college baseball teams during a rain delay.  It’s worth a couple chuckles.

Weekend Catch-Up: All Hockey, No Golf

This is going to blow your mind, and probably make you happy, but….. I’m gonna leave the Masters blogging alone for today (though I’m not quiiiite done with it).  I’ma do what I do best.  Nooo, not make fun of the WNBA.  I’m gonna write about hockey.

Sweet, glorious hockey.

It’s that time of year, people.

So let’s cover the exciting events of the weekend, starting with…..

THE ROCKET RICHARD TROPHY

 GOALS

Crosby 51
Stamkos 51
Ovechkin 50

Though it’s sort of become what I do for a living, I hate “serious” sports arguments.

You know, some guy makes a point that’s supported by some random factoid he read somewhere, puts it in defense mode, and the conversation never advances.  This happens everytime you talk Richard Trophy.  Ice time!  Powerplays!  Games played!  Linemates!

Whatever.  They all had remarkable years.  Plus, this trophy shouldn’t leave much to talk about.  It’s black and white; based on totals. If we’re arguing about who the best goal scorer in the game is – that’s Ovechkin by a mile. 

But still, I feel inclined to make two points:

1)  Why isn’t there a tie breaker so someone can actually win it outright?  Give the trophy to the guy who had the least games played (Sid has one less), or to the guy who had less empty netters? (as has been mentioned a number of times, Puck Daddy included).  Orrr, am I just suggesting that because both stats favour Sid (only had one, to Stamkos’ three) and I was rooting for him “2 – 4 – 6 – 8″ style. (Who do we a-ppre-ci-ate!)

2)  While on the empty-net / pro-Sid talk….. Let’s all admit it.  Stamkos getting his 51st on a set play from a d-zone faceoff was a little cheesy.  I seriously do like Stamkos (just wanted Sid to get at least one Rocket in his career), but come on.  Up 2-1, your centerman wouldn’t push the puck forward in a normal game, for fear of giving it to your opponents d-man, who’d bomb it back down your goalies throat.  So to call a play you wouldn’t normally call, strictly to get your linemate a goal – while I would have done THE EXACT SAME THING - is still corny.  We’re allowed to acknowledge that, while acknowledging the fact that Stamkos’ season was mind-blowing. 

Congrats to all.  Except Ovy, who’s a complete and total third-place failure.

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I’d be remiss if I didn’t quickly mention the Evander Holyfield Kane punch on Matt Cooke (video), because nothing says “justice” like getting knocked the eff out by an 18 year old.  In the cartoon version of that fight, Cooke would’ve held up a “HELP’ sign just before the punch, and absolutely would’ve had little stars and birdies floating around his mini-ice-nap.

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So, I sat down at my favourite pub after work on Friday, and Breezy joined me.  To my left, some chaps were chatting about hockey, so of course, I chimed it.  Turns out the gentleman beside me scored the first goal in Canucks history, and had a 15 year NHL career – Mr. Barry Wilkins.  Here’s our conversation:

Barry:  Sure I know you’re Dad!  He was on the Islanders team that beat us (Pittsburgh) when we were up 3-0 on them in the playoffs!

Me:  Ah!  Oh.  Sorry bout that.

Barry: Not a week goes by without it bothering me.

Me:  Mmm.  Um… probably doesn’t help that my father-in-law was on that team too, huh?  Clark Gillies.

Barry:  He broke my shoulder/collar bone with a big hit.

Me:  This isn’t going well.  ….I’ll text my Dad and see if he remembers playing you.

Barry:  He’ll probably remember me as a d-man with rock hands.

Dads Text: “BARRY WILKINS? LEFT-HANDED D-MAN, STONE HANDS?”

Me: Sorry, he’s not writing back for whatever reason….

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The Flyers/Rangers play-in game was exciting, but Rangers fans… if Henrik Lundqvist makes 43 saves, you’re shooting on Bobby Boucher, and you can’t win… you don’t deserve to.  NY should ship Torterella and Sather out, grab an experienced GM and the best AHL coach, and just start over. 

Although, I must admit: as an Islanders fan, I think you guys should keep the same personnel and keep plugging.  You’re good enough.  You can do it Rangers, I promise.  No changes.  Just grab that shovel and start digging towards next season….

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Of all the eight teams to make playoffs in the West, only one team isn’t a plus in the “goal differential” category (which matters) – that being Nashville.  Their failure to get it done down the stretch buried their playoff hopes - now they play Chicago, who’s goal differential looks like my two round score if they let me try to make the cut at the Masters: +62.  Here comes a beat down from Chi town.

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Though you may not have been following my fantasy hockey league (okay, you haven’t been.  Like, at all), I made a late season charge to grab the last playoff seed (8th in a 20 team head-to-head league).  Then I won round one.  Then I won the semi’s.  And last week was the finals, where I……

Got SMOKED.  Badly.  Congrats to Pat of “The Kindrachuckers”, to whom I know owe a bottle of Crown Royal.  Curses.  Thanks for playin’ everyone, that was a blast.  I’ll be doing it again next year (a pay league, so I can buy the winner something cool…. or just give him/her the cash), and mayyyy end up doing something for playoffs if I have time to set it up.

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 Henrik Sedin won the Art Ross this year, with 112 points.  I have nothing to say except congrats.  That, and I’d like to subtly imply he’s a cyborg by asking people if anybody has ever actually witnessed him bleed blood.  Just a question, that’s all.

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Congratulations are also due to Boston College, who beat Wisconsin 5-0 to win the NCAA National Championship.  After watching Wisconsin play RIT, I was pretty sure they could handle the Maple Leafs with relative ease, so I was a surprised they got thumpled so bad.  But then I realized “is being better than the Maple Leafs that great of a measuring stick, at any level?”

 

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Okay, THAT’S ENOUGH.  Especially since playoff predictions are baking in the oven.  The deliciousness shall be ready soon!

 

Love-of-Team Tilts and The Skate-By

 

When Clark Gillies is your Dad, you can say this:

During the Coyotes/Lightnight game, Paul Bissonnette fought Matt Walker (first names learned after extensive Googling).  Bri, Clarks daughter and my fiance, says “Oh…. oh this is awkward.  I can’t watch.  *glancing through fingers* …Just so embarrassing…” 

I laughed my ass off.  Cause really… a fight where two semi-mad guys have good defensive jersey holds…. ain’t no Clark Gillies tilt (Bossy gets run in the corner just before the fight - long version is on YouTube): 

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And actually, that video is a nice intro to this weeks USA Today column.  I write a bit of a theory on why we’re seeing more players get their cantaloupe’s cracked with no suspension and rarely a real follow-up fight.  Enjoy.

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I hate the “goal-score skate-by”.

HATE IT.

There’s no quicker way for your teammates to build lingering resentment towards you than to score a goal, and insist on skating somewhere past the closest guy to get your extra four seconds of glory.  Curtis Glencross, my teammate in Alaska, was the king of this.  He’d skate by your open arms after a back-door pass he tapped in to go jump into the glass.  God, he loved him some glass jump.

This was not me.  The whole fun of the celebration is the stupid nonsensical shit that gets said in the pile anyways.  Especially in college, where skating down the bench is allowed -- guys are so fired up half they time they hustle more than they did on the actual goal.

But watching the NHL today, there’s still a large number of (*cough*euros*cough*) people doing the skate-by.  Which is why I was extremely happy to see the Penguins overtime winner the other day.  Dupuis scores, starts to skate mach six in the other direction, realizes that Staal went behind the net, stole the puck and passed it to him, and throws on the breaks.  I officially like Dupuis now.  Showed he has a conscience.

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What a finish to that game.  You know it’s a dangerous 3 on 2 when Sidney Crosby has the least dangerous shot on the rush.  Attaway Billy G.

Blog Comments, And My High Horse

 

A few words about negative comments left on my blog, or anywhere else.  So lets get to it.

Those comments?  

They’re welcome.

In some cases (and believe me, not all), I’m writing about things that matter to people, and taking a stance on those issues.  Not everyone is going to agree with that stance, and it’s great when the writing can start a conversation between both sides of an issue.  As my uncle recently pointed out, getting bad comments isn’t a bad thing – getting no comments is a horrible thing.

So here’s the comment that inspired these thoughts:

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Josh:

I love reading your blog Justin, but your little rant about Morency seems nothing but petty, it makes you look ridiculous, and makes you look like a horrible teammate. The guy was nice to you when your illustrious ECHL career brought you to Bridgeport, and you thank him by blogging that he’s a crappy player with little to offer in the professional ranks. Nice, dude. I admit I never got higher than Bantam A, went to UND for something other than hockey, and don’t know anything about a professional locker room, but that’s really shitty to rag on someone still with the organization.

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And I appreciate the comment, as much as I disagree with it. 

So for future reference, I’d like to qualify the rules of the relationship with my old teammates, and with my readers:

I’m not going to go all “Jose Canseco”.  But, I am going to be honest about what I’ve seen and what I know.  That’s my pledge to my readers on here, USA Today, The Hockey News, Hockey Primetime or anywhere else.  I’ve got the advantage of being able to provide a player’s perspective.  People read my blog for its candor and insight (and for the occasional chuckle).  I think people appreciate that combination, partly because most players don’t take the time (or may not be able) to put down “what its like” on paper.  And, I’m hoping by not pulling punches, people will want to read this stuff all the more.

I have the option to accept or delete comments on my blog, and I choose to never delete.  In this case, I’ve decided to make it a whole entry and use this (to quote the President) as a “teaching point”.  In no case (barring serious personal attacks or bad language) will I not accept a comment.

So there.

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JETS PATRIOTS TODDDAAAAYYYYYYYY!

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One last thing before I dismount my high horse.

The Clark Gillies Foundation is an um, foundation… put together by.. uh… Clark Gillies.  Believe it or not. 

Clark has raised volumes of money for children with physical (and financial) diabilities in the tri-state area.  They’ve pledged to raise a million dollars, and have already built a pediatric wing in the Huntington Hopital.

If you’re in for a lil tear-jerker, this is the link to the video on the foundations facebook page.  I highly recommend it.  I also intend to link to their fancy new website (that I wrote the copy for, back-pat back-pat back-pat) when it’s up and running.  That’s all for today folks.  Back to sports tomorrow!

The Perfect Salary Loophole

 

In an attempt to postpone the slow but steady journey from hockey player to fat cynical writer, I’ve given these so-called “Perfect Pushups” a try.  I gotta believe any product with “perfect” in it’s name is probably not the most reliable item to exchange legal tender for, but c’mon…  that guy on the box is jacked.

Anywho, they’re money.  They really are.  They better be, cause it’s shirt-off weather in Phoenix about 13 months a year, and I need to make some changes.  Apparently, a day of writing burns roughly four calories, and that sack of chocolate covered pretzels I just humbled contained a number similar to the national debt.

Moving on.

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How about those shade-ball owners in the NHL abusing the salary cap loophole?  I mean, come on.  For the Flyers to claim with a straight face that they think Chris Pronger has seven good playing years left is pretty feeble, isn’t it?  He’s got the operating speed and mobility of an early 90′s desktop computer, and they didn’t think it was just a little too obvious that they were trying to circumvent the salary cap?  I’ve seen more subtlety in Andrew Dice Clay jokes. 

For the uninformed, here’s a quick rundown of how and why you’re seeing massively long contracts:

NHL teams have a salary cap of $56.8 million for the 2009-2010 season.  The cap hit that each player costs is simple: the dollar total of their contract, divided by the amount of years.

Thus, in the case of Marion Hossa and Chris Pronger, they were signed to long term deals where they make the league minimum in the last few years, so the teams yearly cap hit comes down.  For example, Hossa signed for 12 years, roughly 60 million dollars.  But, he actually makes nearly 8 mill a season for the first seven years, then peanuts for the last five.  Instead of taking an eight million dollar cap hit (which is what they’re paying him), his contract works out to a five million dollar hit (60/12=5), so they Hawks are free to spend more money.

And now, an outside firm has been hired to figure out if the teams were intentionally signing guys to contracts that they weren’t actually going to play out.  Apparently, they’ve called the Hardy Boys, Sherlock Holmes, and the Scooby-Doo crew to crack this difficult case.  Pronger, $525,000 (league minimum) at 40?  Noooo, I’m sure he intends to play, right?

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Everytime I think about writing a book (which is becoming more often), this clip brings me back down to earth with a laugh.  Then I make a martini.

 ”

Ahhhh, crap that’s funny.

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So, our first celebs arrive tomorrow to hang out for a day or two before our Hockey Greats Camp starts, and I’ve got good news:  I will be blogging.  I’d be a fool not to.  Last year one of these guys told my Egyptian friend he looks like a half-chewed caramel.  These guys are a gold mine for material.

Over the  next day or two, the following is the group of gents we’ve enlisted to help make our camp a success (chosen on a formula of what great guys they are times how good they were):  Dave Semenko, Bryan Trottier, Steve Shutt, Billy Smith, Gary Nylund, Clark Gillies, Doug Bodger, Dale Hawerchuk, Ron Flockhart, Cliff Ronning and Larry Melnyk.  27 Stanley Cups between em.  Not bad.

I’ll be tweeting the frequent gems that stumble out of these guys booze-holes as the week goes on.

(Last year, the same tale was rehashed a half dozen times: A player gets beat when an opponent - frequently cited as being Pierre Laroche -- puts the puck between his feet and goes in to score.  After getting berated by his coach, the player says “Gee, I guess I shoulda kept my legs closed” to which the coach responds “No, your mother shoulda“.)

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And last, one more thing - Brianna gets here on Tuesday, marking the start of “NeverApartEverAgain time”.  Married men, pour one out for me.  Looking forward to it, honey! 

Bethpunked

 

Great news hockey fans – the US Open starts tomorrow.

So… time to talk golf.

The US Open will be played at Bethpage Black this year, which just happens to be located 20 minutes from my lady friends place on Long Island, and provides the perfect opportunity to explain what getting punked by your father-in-law-to-be feels like.

I wake up after my very first night at the Gillies abode (I’d just started dating Bri), somehow with the idea that I’d be playing golf with Clark (a zero cap at the time) in the morning at a course with the above sign by the first teebox (this morning is/was a major point of contention between him and I, my contention being that he’d asked me if I’d like to play the night before. Hence the somehow).

Yeah, kind of a nice course.

I crawled out of bed before six to get to Bethpage Black, a public course I’d seen on TV and dreamed of playing.  You have to get to Bethpage before the rooster is awake to have any hopes of getting on.  It was raining.

If the rain was a minor disappointment, the following was the cartoon anvil that fell and destroyed my day: I was informed by Clark that they suddenly had a full foursome (his contention being that they had one all along). 

Would I like to caddy?

Well no, I’d like to play, but I’m up, and I’ve never seen a US Open course, so sure. 

By the way, you’d have to carry two bags.

Really?  Shit.

Ah whatever, I’ll earn a little money.  Hey look, it’s still raining.

And so, this is how it came to be that on my very first day in Long Island while dating Clarks daughter, I carried two bags around a soaking wet 7,300 yard golf course at roughly 4 a.m. Kelowna time. 

Think Clark and his buddies have some laughs at my expense when they have a few gin and tonics?

In the interest of giving both sides equal time, I’ll tell you exactly what Clark says when he hears me bitch about that day.

His side?  I’m the worst caddy in history - and the only one to consistently hide under an umbrella while the players clubs get soaked.

Meh, they’re made of metal, and hey, do something bad enough the first time and you’ll never be asked to do it again.

At one point, it did stop raining…. just in time for him to tell me they were going to play 36 holes, the next 18 at Winged Foot.  That was the moment I realized it was all on purpose, and I was being hazed (though he still won’t admit that’s true).

All jokes aside, Clark paid me well and has taken me golfing a ton of times since, so my complaining has become mostly tongue-in-cheek — though I am seriously suspicious that the whole thing was a test.

In the end, who cares.  I learned this much:  I’m no Steve Williams, and you have to have a decent sense of humour to hang with the Gillies.

I’ve still never played the course.

Good On Him

 

Dear New York,

I said some very nice things about you in earlier blogs and you’re making me look like an asshole.

Stop putting dijon (deli) mustard on my sandwiches when I order mustard, try the yellow stuff, it’s delicious.  Your weather patterns have been Gary Busey-level-volatile.  As much as I’m enjoying the first day of spring/blustery snow storm you’ve offered up today, you can cram it.

Moving on.

Welcome to a section I’m calling “Good On ‘im“

Text I got yesterday from an AHL all-star goalie:  “No one can do what Mike Green does.  Nobody even comes close.”

Scoring in eight straight NHL games as a forward is insane, any reasonable player would be thinking pay-raise.  As a defenseman, in today’s NHL, it’s such an incredible feat, I had to make mention of it.  Definite good on ‘im to Mike Green.

The Islanders signed my roommate from pre-season in Moncton to a one-year deal for $550,000, Tim Jackman.  Jax is one of those guys who plays his role to the letter, and never succumbs to the self-love players develop that leads to glory-seeking.  Tim works harder (literally), than any player I’ve ever played with, and is a guy who’ll do anything for the team, and for the game.  Based on what he’s put into the game, nobody deserves it more.  Good on ‘im.

Ovechkin got to 50!  I guess on the shock-scale that didn’t warrant an exclamation mark, but an impressive feat nonetheless.  As my friend Neil mentioned in an earlier comment, nobody in today’s game consistently scores on wristers (and bullet one-tee’s) from anywhere in the arena like Ovechkin.  His 50th was insane.

Today’s coaches preach shoot-shoot-shoot, and the players usually want them to shut-up-shut-up-shut-up.  I’m still unsure if Ovechkin helps their case or not.  Pretty sure Ovi could snap a puck in Crosby’s mouth from two rinks away; that shots not exactly in my arsenal.

But his “good on ‘im” isn’t just for that.  It’s for his goal celebration.  Pretending his stick was too hot to pick up?  That’s the shit I do in practice to rattle the goalie.  Who is this guy?  …Whoever he is, good on ‘im indeed.

And that wraps up that section.  As for what’s going on in the world of Bourne, I spent last night listening to the unbelievable tale about one of Clark Gillies Stanley Cup rings.  I’m going to write that today, and then figure out which site would be the most interested in it. 

My article on surviving the locker room is up at www.thehockeynews.com.  And lastly, Newsday’s Gregory Logan is going to be running a bit about myself in his Islanders Insider section soon.  The link will be up as soon as the article is!

A Potentially Royal Islanders Family

 

Everyone wants to know, and Brianna loves to answer.  I love the answer as much as her; it’s the re-telling of our little fairytale that gets a little redundant. Brianna is my girlfriend. I would love for her to be my fiancé, but I play hockey for a living. And I don’t play private-jets-to-Montreal hockey, I play sleeper-bus-to-El-Mira hockey. The pay scale varies a smidge from the first type to the second, and shiny finger circles cost about what I earn per year. But that next level is so close…it’s just so close.

 

My Dad, Bob Bourne, won 4 Stanley Cups with the New York Islanders in the early ’80s. He put up great numbers as a big man who skated like a runaway train. He killed penalties and was a playoff performer, scoring 40 playoff goals with 56 assists for 96 points. His reward for his service was induction into the New York Islanders Hall of Fame in late 2006.

 

I was playing NCAA Div. 1 hockey at the time, representing the University of Alaska Anchorage in the highly-acclaimed WCHA. The Islanders offered to fly me down to be a part of the ceremony, so I gladly took them up on their generous offer. No, thank you, I won’t be needing accommodations; Dad says I’ll be staying with family friends. Let me take this thing back a little further.

 

Bob Bourne and Clark Gillies are Saskatchewan boys.  Clark was from Moose Jaw, and Dad from Kindersley (Netherhill, actually). They played baseball against each other growing up. In fact, both were so good that they ended up in Virginia, playing Double A ball for a Houston Astros farm team. They played against each other in the Western Hockey League – Clark for Regina, Dad for Saskatoon.  Dad may have mentioned on occasion he was glad to be friends with Clark, the hulking power forward of a generation, because it afforded him the free pass from punishment other players were not so fortunate to carry.

 

When they found themselves on the same Islanders team at 20 years old, the foundation of their friendship was poured. Both married, their wives (my wonderful mother Janice, and Bri’s wonderful mother Pam) were like two peas in a pod. They bought houses next door to each other, and their 5 kids became a little posse: my brother Jeff, and Bri’s sisters Jocelyn and Brooke. (Please note that Clark Gillies has 3 daughters. That’s another article entirely).

 

Brianna and I were particularly close.  We dredged up an old birthday video (at McDonald’s, no less.  Way to splurge, parents), and at one point I can’t find Brianna, and I call for her repeatedly. The pictures and stories go on, but those are largely for the pleasure of Pam and Mom. As the paths of Dad and Clark veered in ’86 (Clark to the Buffalo Sabres, Dad to the L.A. Kings), the families stayed in touch. Even when we moved up to Kelowna, British Columbia, Clark would come to Dad’s golf tournament with the kids, and all was well. What I’m getting at is, we were close.  Really-very-quite close.

 

Yet when I was flying down to stay with the Gillies Family for Islanders Hall of Fame weekend, they were kind of strangers to me. I hadn’t actually talked with them since I had formed a personality (still up for debate), and the last time I saw Bri I think she had an inflatable alligator around her waist and water wings on. The Gillies house is full of love and dogs. They have 3 Newfoundlands, which in case you were wondering, are indistinguishable from Clark if he’s in sweatpants. They’re huge.

 

I walked in, got hugs and hellos, and got slobbered on.  Bri wiped it off with her sleeve, offered me a beer, and we all caught up with one another.  She was my unofficial host for the trip.

 

We drank a lot.  The induction was a solid 3 days of meeting at a different place to have drinks (fine with me), so Bri and I were comfortable enough to really talk. She was great. Smart, funny and cute, she was everything I sort of stopped expecting to find while trying to figure out who I’d end up with. I thought about how amazing it could be. I thought maybe she did too…

 

What? Oh, you have a boyfriend. Oh.

 

Bri and I got along a little too swimmingly, and decided to stay in touch. I had had a great week with her, but it was time to grow up and move on and all that mumbo-jumbo. We talked frequently after that, each time as good as the previous. January 2nd, I got a text from my brother Jeff saying “Brianna’s myspace status changed to single.”

 

Bri called that night. After a few weeks of talking, we decided we had to give it a go. We booked her a plane ticket to Alaska (by we, I mean our parents; we were broke and in college) to see if this could work. Not only could it, it did. Bri spent time with my family in Kelowna during the summer, and I spent the remaining time with hers in Dix Hills. I was training for my own experiences…I had been invited to Islanders rookie camp and eventually the big one.  It was confirmed…we – Brianna and I – were officially an us.

 

Brianna finishes her Masters degree in Occupational Therapy on June 26th (to add to her BA in Psychology and BS in Health Sciences). I finish my second year of playing hockey professionally here in the next few months, and we have some decisions to make. (I also have a BA in Psych, but that parlays into squat).

 

We can’t wait to start our lives together, and the tentative plan is to move close to her sister Brooke in Boston and rent a refrigerator box while we try to make ends meet early on. I’m looking for work, hoping to write, and she’ll be putting out applications. She’s one of the best in her class in a much-desired field, so she shouldn’t have any trouble. Our families love the situation so much they can’t handle it. And we love it even more. So without further ado, I present my master plan:

 

I extend this offer to the Islanders:  We will sell you the breeding rights. All you have to do is pay for the wedding, and we’ll give you the guaranteed rights to our first-born son, breeding the styles of two Islanders Hall of Famers, restoring the Island to its rightful place of glory. The potential is huge. He could be Okposo’s linemate after a Chelios-esque 18-year career. He could be draft eligible while Ricky is still under contract. We’re building something here!

 

So whaddaya say, Mr. Wang? The puck is in your zone.