Tony’s still wearing the same shitty equipment I was wearing playing pick-up in Guelph in the early 2000s.
And that mask. I try to describe what goalie masks were like when I started playing in 1967, and the best description I can come up with is, they were plastic Halloween masks; at least Tony’s had some wire on it.
He also used to cover his body in Vaseline so the pucks would hurt less.
And he still holds the record for single season shutouts, set in 1970.
I have an autographed picture of Tony tucked away somewhere.
Not bad for a couple of boys from the Sault (Ste. Marie).
Tony’s taken a lot of pucks to the head; so have I.
Tony seems fine, me not so much.
Today I (almost) finalized the paperwork to donate my brain to the Sports Brain Bank in Sydney upon my death. They’re affiliated with the U.S. branch and do research on chronic traumatic encephalopathy (see the movie Concussion). They’ve asked us to post a picture with our brain donor card.
Awareness of concussions and how special our brains are has come a long way since 1967, but there is still much that is unknown.
I’m an ideas guy, not a details guy, but Amy sorted it out and things are now at dougsdeadflowers.com.
I started this post two days ago and forgot what I was writing about.
When I was a kid, our family would drive every other weekend two hours north to Cookstown, Ontario (that’s in Canada).
I usually barfed and still do today.
I have lots of memories of me and gramps driving from Cookstown to Toronto to get parts for his Massey-Ferguson dealership, but I can feel those memories fading away, every time I have to pause and rethink what I was writing.
I like Dyke was a play on the Eisenhower slogan of the 1950s and used by my vice-presidential running mate in high school politics – and best friend – which would make sense if I told you his last name, but first rule of confessionals and therapy, no last names.
Dave and I were tight through high school, we dated girls who were best friends – little Suzie being part of the inspiration for this blog, and Dead Flowers is Ben’s favorite Stone’s song – we both drove pieces of shit – I had a Datsun B210, Dave had a Ford Vega, a cousin to the notorious Pinto which had a tendency to blow up when hit from behind – and we spent every waking hour together.
And then, we didn’t.
Dave and I have reconnected in the past couple of months as we both could be on our last legs.
Hearing his deep chortle over the Intertubes has brought a warmth to what’s left of my heart and reminded me why we were such a good fit initially.
If only all relationships were like that (of course, we don’t live together, and if we did, one of us would be dead in days).
Relationships are hard like that.
But I’m glad I said my peace before there was nothing but regret.