This is just how it's gonna be....just like this...

101 time. Here we go. What is a 29 year old, unemployed and bald part-time University student with an Internet connection, penchant for mischief, and a nice girlfriend to blog about? He has been in the same city for nearly a decade (on and off), has explored every nook and cranny of said city and is looking for fresh material but the only thing fresh in his life are the vegetables he obtains from the market - and how fresh are they even? However, with the possibility of change comes hope and with hope success and with success well - happiness? Sort of. Maybe? Or so I've kind of heard. But,in the meantime, this man will continue to scribe 'bout what he sees, hears, feels and experiences in his home, at the library, in the pub, on the rink and and on the roads, sidewalks and carpets with the friends, family and pedestrians of his exciting yet slightly stale and ever-inspiring life. For example, this man enjoys playing pick-up hockey on Friday mornings at the Ice Park in central Windsor. The rink there is not the greatest (the pad was built a top sand, which doesn't translate into a quality ice surface) but for seven dollars you get (usually) a half hour of warm-up (dick around, shooting, passing), 1-2 goalies (or four posts and two boards with holes in the corners), 5-10 pucks, two benches and total hours of ice time, and anywhere from 14-20 eligible players (guys with usable and somewhat fitting equipment) It's obvious, by the turn-out and pedigree of the low-amateur-beer-league-puck-enthusiasts that this man is not the only one taking advantage of a bag full of old equipment, a stick, some time, seven bucks and guaranteed fun and exercise. The various personalities, age and skill-level in attendance is something to behold. And to cherish and to consider deeply while observing their decision-making and reasoning from the bench. There are the regulars that always show: the hand-full of standard twenty-something University or college students with a break from school and a lot of energy, and the older semi-retired gray haired ones just looking for a, 'good skate.' But who can forget about Mr. Dependable - the forty year old Red Lobster employee who always skates super hard, loves taking slap shots and utilizes the entire two hours. He's always there. As are Mike, Jeff and this man (your humble narrator). Then you got the scragglers - those who come out of nowhere, from the depths of dressing room obscurity, with a fist-full of change and usually at least one screw loose - and zero friends on either bench. These random rink rats can then be broken down even further into categories based on age, talent, overall weirdness and 'fun to play with' factor. They usually aren't the best teammates. Does he pass? Can he catch a pass? Does he take over-extended and unnecessarily long shifts? Is he detrimental to the team? Yes, probably all of those and others you can't even think of until you see them in action. Most of these guys are not fun to play with, which is probably why they don't play much in the first place. Like the strange, freaky-looking, dirty-playing dude with the pony tail and two different coloured bug eyes, too-long pants and too short shirt, who figure skates around in circles looking for cheap shots, flip shots and empty space to waste time in. Watch out for this guy, because, not only does he suck, and never pass, but he is irresponsible with his stick, will trip you and likes to check - which is fine for him because he's wearing a full face mask and shoulder pads, but not for the man with already sore ribs who just got slew footed by the world's worst shinny hockey player. But this guy isn't even the worst one. For example, take Mr. Super-Fast-Skater-Master-Deeker-I-play-five-times-a-week-so-that-means-I-never-have-to-pass-Super-Star. He's worse, because though Mr. Screwball-Rat-Tail is a weird son of a bitch, at least you know what you're getting and can skate around him or just plain ignore him if you have to, but with Bobby Orr you're stuck admiring his end to end rushes like an obsessed fan in awe - when really you're annoyed and wish that he'd just play 'real' hockey. You know, the kind that involves passing, positioning, defense and well - teammates. There is a reason there are four other guys and a goalie out there, and it's not to cheer on your stick-handling abilities and blinding speed. But you know that, because you play eight days a week. Right? Wrong. This is same guy that waits at the blue line, banging his stick and hollering for a break-away pass on a goalie-less net. Who cherry picks in hopes of coming in alone on a blue board with holes in it? And sometimes there's not even a board - just an empty, defenceless net. Seriously, even that guy must think to himself, as he's bearing down on two posts and some string that he looks like an idiot. He must. Or does he? Probably not, because well, he plays five days a week - and he's really fast. And a pretty decent skater. But not a hockey player. I'm kind of glad that I crunched him a few months back (he was ripping through the crease as I was about to shoot and smashed directly into me) when I knocked a screw out his helmet. Though he was on my team, I'm not sure what he was doing, but I'm glad it happened. See ya on Friday buddy! And you too super star shin scraggler.