Arrested for Killing Penalties

Apparently, God forgot to pay his gas bill.

As of yesterday, the days of going to work sans jacket and taking the trash out sans pants have yet again disappeared. (I meant while wearing shorts, freakos. C'mon.) I can no longer get away with traipsing to the store in sandals, unless I’m cool with having frozen feet. (Note: I am not cool with this.) The winter clothes come out, and so do the cold-weather stories here in Blogtown.

Of all my memories, I can think of no other time where I’ve bundled up more than my weekly Saturday night high school excursion. Playing roller hockey in the Shawnee High School parking lot wasn’t just a game – it was a test of a man’s will. Wearing three pairs of pants, two sweatshirts, and a jersey really served two purposes. The obvious: keeping warm so that games last more than 15 minutes – these were often 3 hour affairs. The not-so-obvious – in 30 degree weather, we decided as a group decided that getting pelted by a whistling hard plastic hockey ball was considered “Not Fun.” Oww.

But hockey is hard to play with handcuffs.
I remember one game in particular vividly well. With 8 guys and a couple of goalies, we eschewed the standard “split-the-sticks” method of picking teams and allied for our hometowns. Medford vs. Tabernacle. For once, I played on a line with Joey “Sweep-the-leg” Brescia, Tim “Selivanov” Fischer, and Dave “Bullfrog” Kull. And as the temperature hovered around freezing, so did both teams’ ability to score. After an hour of hard play, it was only 1-1. And we were just getting started.

Or were we?

A Medford Police SUV pulled into the parking lot just beyond the ‘Nacle goal and stopped. He didn’t turn off his engine, but just parked with the car facing our direction. Now recall that we were playing under the lights of the high school parking lit – not exactly our own backyard. Figuring he would step out of his car at any minute to tell us we had to 1) pack up and leave the premises or 2) pack up and get in the back of the car, we mulled around a bit, preparing for the grisly fact that our weekly game was about to get deep sixed by the five-oh.

Nothing.

No, he just sat there in his car for what seemed like an eternity. But we waited on. For hockey, we would wait. Hell, I watched 5 overtimes of Flyers-Penguins during finals. Yeah, unless he says something, we’re not going anywhere. But standing around waiting and not moving – we would freeze if we kept that up.

Game on!

So for another 30 minutes, the game resumed. Our cop friend sat in his car, motionless. His window was tinted, so we couldn’t tell if he was watching the game or writing us tickets and booking reservations in the town jail.

But as the game heated up again, you began to forget his presence. Kull stole the ball behind Mike Hebert’s net and passed it out to Tim at the point. Time, always the graceful passer crossed it laterally to yours truly. Seeing a good sightline, I flicked a wrist shot at the net. Always the terrible shooter, it sailed to the left of the net – right where Go-Go Joey Brescia was parked. His redirection sailed over Hebert’s pad to score and take the lead.

GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAL.

The cop’s SUV sprung to life as he threw on his red lights and siren. We celebrated like we had never celebrated before. After all, not only did we get a game-winning goal, we were simultaneously cleared of all charges.