This proud father just got prouder.

On Sunday July 10th I had the distinct honor of toasting my lovely daughter and her partner as they were married in an absolutely perfect ceremony, on a beautiful afternoon, in the fair city of Boston.

I used "the googles" to prepare for our speech and learned that wedding toasts are best delivered with an outline and some extemporaneous comments. Those of you that have received voice-mails from me know that I ramble, so, with apologies to those in attendance, I read our toast with my lovely bride at my side.

Here, with illustrations added, is the text of our toast.

"Lynn and Don, my meckhutonim (Yiddish for in-laws),

Today our daughters marry.

I heard many years ago that a woman never looks more beautiful than on her wedding day. Over the years I have found this to be true in most cases. Thanks to Laura and Abby we are doubly blessed in that regard today.

So we raise a glass to all who have been brides AND the grooms they married!

Today we celebrate relationships both old and new.

In the story “Ulysses”, Alfred Lord Tennyson wrote, “I am a part of all I have met.” I mention that because grandparents, parents, siblings, aunts, uncles, cousins and friends have all played a part in who Laura and Abby have become. Likewise, the two of them have changed who we all are today as well.

So we raise a glass to everyone in attendance here today!

Today we leap into the future by remembering the past.

Two notable honored guests are with us today in spirit only, Bubbie, (Abby’s Paternal Grandmother) and Grandma Ole (Laura’s maternal grandmother).

Grandma Ole, who was proud of her Irish heritage, might have offered the following toast:

Always remember to forget
The troubles that passed away.
But never forget to remember
The blessings that come each day.

And, although I never met Bubbie I believe she would wish Abby and Laura congratulations with a “Mazel tov”, and a blessing for a happy life together with “L’chaim.”

So we raise a glass to Bubbie, Ole, Abby, and Laura! L’Chaim!

And finally, today we share our pride.

Abby, we’ve never believed that you are a big, fat, meany. In fact, you’re quite the opposite and we’re proud to welcome you into our family.

And Laura, with the possible exception of pinholes in our waterbed mattress,

and the question of whether Jack jumped, or was pushed off of the top bunk (that one’s still being debated) you’ve ALWAYS made us proud.

But I don’t think any overtime goal scored, or academic achievement, or professional success has made us more proud of you than we are today.

Laura and Abby we love you both and wish you unending happiness. So we drink a toast to Laura and Abby’s continued health, happiness, and MANY years of happy marriage."

I made it through this reading and only broke down once, when I looked at my lovely daughter and was overcome with emotion.

The short, fat kid as a public speaker! Who knew?

Do we hafta know this for the test?

I don’t know what your school experiences were like, but it seems to me that in most classes I took in high school and college there was usually someone who, at some point, would raise their hand to ask the teacher/instructor/professor, “Do we need to know this for the test?”

I always wondered what kind of chutzpah it took to ask this question. Was the person asking this question unaware of the message this query might send to the class leader? If that question were asked of me on those rare occasions that I lectured at the U of M I think I would have been offended, and I was merely a guest lecturer! In my view, as a student, I felt that if the instructor thought a concept was important enough to mention in class then it was probably a good idea for me to pay attention to learn it.

I always wondered, if the professor would have said, “No, you don’t need to know this for the test.” would the student react like a juror when something is stricken from the court transcript? Yes, I heard that, but it no longer applies because, in one case, the judge sustained the objection, and in the other the teacher said it wouldn’t be on the test. Like unringing a bell; I don’t know if that is possible.

I always figured that, as a student, it was my responsibility to figure out how to prepare for the test. Now, as a civilian in the real world, I figure it is up to me to figure out how to prepare for THE TEST. I use all caps because responsible citizenship is more important than any academic tests I ever took.

Society has evolved through many different periods marked by different characteristics.

The Stone Age – Marked by the use, by humans, of stones as the hard material for tools.

The Industrial Age – Marked by the rise of industry, like Henry Ford’s assembly line.

The Information Age – Marked by the fact that individuals with computers have unlimited access to information.

The problem I see now is that as we prepare for THE TEST of responsible citizenship we unfortunately have entered a new era I refer to as The Misinformation Age.

Before the internet, when I was a young man, news and information was delivered primarily by respected news sources like newspapers and network news shows. These information sources were trusted and respected as they worked diligently to verify their reporting, if for no other reason than to protect their own reputation and standing as reliable news sources.

The internet, upon its introduction, bristled with possibilities. The sheer amount of information readily available to the masses potentially should be a good thing. But is it? The problem that I see with the internet is that not only can the average citizen access a large percentage of the world’s accumulated knowledge, but the average citizen can also PUBLISH their own views, opinions, and misinformation, presented as fact, with no fact checking, or journalistic integrity to keep the authors honest. The onus for determining truthfulness used to fall on the journalists and newscasters. The rise in citizen journalism has now passed the chore of verifying information from those who PRODUCE information to those who CONSUME information. That requires critical thinking, which requires work, which I fear many news consumers are not willing to do.

Maybe I’m over sensitized to critical thinking. As a kindergartner I rushed home to read to my parents, “See Spot run.” After receiving congratulations on this achievement I was told by my dad that the author only wanted me to believe that Spot was running. At the time I was confused. Later I realized dad was telling me not to believe EVERYTHING I read and that checking facts to either support or disprove a story was an important step to take. I fear that many consumers of wiki’s, blogs (like this one), and many other internet sites do not take the time to question what they read. Rather, they prefer to stop searching when they find ‘news’ that matches their views.

I find Google a good jumping off point when searching for broad concepts and good place to start larger searches for information. Google though can be problematic if used as an end point by lazy seekers of information. Check out this site, http://uncyclopedia.wikia.com/wiki/Is_the_moon_made_of_cheese%3F

It sure looks like a Wikipedia page – a trusted end source for the lazy and incurious – but one would be poorly served using this site as their ultimate source of information regarding lunar composition. Misinformation presented in a manner that resembles information. Who knew?

Daniel Patrick Moynihan famously said, “You are entitled to your own opinion, but you are not entitled to your own facts.” Seems fair enough. People can react to events and form their own opinions. People however should not be entitled to present their own version of the facts as ‘news’ or ‘information’ if they are heavily biased and laden with opinion. This leads me to my latest discovery, Conservapedia.

http://www.conservapedia.com/Main_Page

Presented like Wikipedia pages one can find heavily biased opinion articles, presented as fact, attacking climate change and evolution. The opposite views of both of these issues are indisputable fact according to most scientists. Again, the lazy searcher, or one trolling to reinforce their preconceived notions, could use sites like this, on either end of the political spectrum, to mine for more misinformation. Who knew?

We now have ready access to more information than ever before. We also have access to more misinformation than ever before. Critical thinking is more important than at any time in our history.

Who knew?

"...Fredo. You broke my heart, you broke my heart."

I’m well aware that movies are not real life, but movies DO provide analogies and parallels that can be used as a lens to view and consider our own lives. I think a lot of men of my generation and age have heeded the advice of Dean Vernon Wormer, from the movie “ Animal House”, when he advised Kent Dorfman that, “Fat, drunk and stupid is no way to go through life son.”

Many may take to heart the unrestrained optimism of Scarlett O’Hara, at the conclusion of “Gone with the Wind” when she utters, “I’ll go home. I’ll get him back. After all…tomorrow is another day.”

Me? I’ve always been a fan of the Godfather movies. The original was a great movie. Godfather 2 was pretty good. Three? Meh, it was alright, definitely the weakest of the bunch, but it had some good scenes and memorable lines too.

Godfather Two is interesting because it moves forward in time past the original movie, but it also looks back in time presenting a prequel to the original, showing how Vito Corleone came to America and started the saga. Godfather Two supplements the original Godfather movie very well.

I really like Godfather Two because of the way it tells the story of two people and how they deal with their unusual circumstances.

Don Vito’s youngest son Michael ascends to lead the family upon Vito’s retirement. He attempts to move the family into legitimate business and out of the underworld with limited success while trying to maintain the veneer of a normal family life as best he can. Michael, the Ivy-League (Dartmouth) graduate, ex-Marine hero (awarded the Navy Cross) is best suited to fill the leadership void left by Vito’s death since Vito’s oldest male heir, Sonny, preceded him in death. Michael’s story forms the bulk of all three of the Godfather movies. What I like about Michael, as the new godfather, is that he does what he can to improve himself and his family's situation given the obstacles he faces.

I’ve always found the middle brother, Federico (Fredo), to be an interesting but very sad character. Fredo is the hapless ne’er-do-well brother that lives his life bemoaning the fact that he is not the new godfather. He blames others for his circumstance and does NOTHING to improve his lot in life. His bitter attitude leaves him angry and those around him miserable.

Near the end of the movie when he confronts Michael about being by-passed for the role of godfather he proclaims, “I’M SMART!” Well, Fredo, with all due respect, proclaiming it doesn’t make it so. Michael explains that he was given the role of their father’s successor because, “That’s the way Pop wanted it.” I’ve always believed that the line, “I know it was you Fredo. You broke my heart, you broke my heart.” Probably touched Fredo doubly as he probably expected that he had not lived up to Vito’s expectations for him, but had never been told that directly. Michael, by kissing Fredo and uttering that line, removed any doubt. Fredo had disappointed both of the father figures in his life.

Hmmmm… Interesting concept… Fulfilling your parents’ dreams and wishes… Becoming what they want you to be…

I’m happy to report that even though there have been bumps along the way, both of my children have become the adults I dreamed they’d be smart, athletic, funny, and successful.

Now, I need to figure out myself. Am I more of a Michael, internal locus, self-starter, reasonably intelligent, family oriented? Or, am I a Fredo, confused, blaming others for my situation, confused, and bitter man, who lashes out in anger causing disappointment and heartbreak in others?

I’d like to think I’m more Michael than Fredo, but who knows? I've had setbacks.

Hell, I'm short and fat, but I don't let that hold me back. I embrace it!

I wasn't born a Kennedy, but the lack of a trust fund hasn't hurt me in any way.

I can't sing or dance or else I coulda been the next Wayne Newton! It's too hot in Vegas to being doing 7 shows a week (two on Saturdays) at the Sands anyway.

I think mom and dad are reasonably pleased with the man, son, father, and brother I've become in spite of myself and my circumstances.

So, the questions beg to be asked; How about you? Are you becoming the person your parents wanted you to become? Or even the person YOU want to be?

Movie characters as life guides...

Who knew?

Have I ever Told You You're my Hero?

A Major League Baseball legend died today.

Harmon Killebrew died from esophageal cancer at the age of 73. His legendary baseball exploits (573 homeruns) where achieved in a simpler time and place – the Bloomington Minnesota of my youth. Back in those days summers meant school vacations that seemed to go on endlessly with plenty of Twins baseball on the radio and an occasional trip to Metropolitan Stadium (The Met) to watch my heroes in person.

During Killebrew’s career we young fans were innocent and ignorant.

Collective Bargaining? As far as we knew that referred to those times we’d gather, each of us with a shoebox full of our baseball card collections, to swap, trade, and bargain for our favorite players’ cards. Now days we know that collective bargaining means billionaire owners fighting with millionaire players.

Salary Arbitration? For all we knew the players’ salaries were totally arbitrary. I kind of figured they just got paid a living wage and were happy to play a kids game that they were good at while having thousands of people cheer for them. Now we know that the salaries are astronomical and the egos are too.

We used to wake to get the morning paper to check out the box score and read the articles about the game, especially following those nights when we fell asleep listening to the game on the radio (DAMN those West Coast road trips!). Now you can scarcely read an article about Major League Baseball WITHOUT the business portion of baseball being mentioned. I liked it better in Harmon’s day when baseball articles were predominantly about BASEBALL.

A Minnesota Twin died today.

Harmon Killebrew started his career as a Washington Senator but became a Twin when the team’s owner, Calvin Griffith, moved the franchise to Minnesota in 1961. Calvin was largely believed to be one of the stingiest owners in Major League Baseball. It was said that Mr. Griffith threw around nickels and dimes as if they were manhole covers. As cheap as he was, he could also be generous.

On occasion, as a kid, my dad would take us to games at the Met. We didn’t get to as many games as we would have liked because tickets, while much more reasonably priced back then, were still kind of expensive on a minister’s salary. It sure was fun though on those occasions that we did go.

I believe it was the 1973 season when Calvin sent a clergy pass to EVERY minister in Minnesota, good for 2 free tickets to any game as long as tickets remained available – kind of a Student Rush for men of the cloth. We could show up, take our chance, and get whatever seats were available. Typically dad bragged about our seat location, on the way to the gate as, “Great seats! Right behind second base!” They usually were in that location, and they were great seats, (inside a Major League Park) but in the outfield grandstand.

I recall going with dad to see the Twins play the Yankees one time that year. I was amazed as the tickets we received that day specified that we were to enter the stadium through a gate near the infield. I continued to be amazed as the ushers pointed us towards our seats. We had BOX SEATS! As we continued to move forward we found out WE HAD BOX SEATS VERY CLOSE TO THE FIELD! As we approached another usher he personally escorted us to our FRONT ROW SEATS NEXT TO THE YANKEE DUGOUT! Never mind that the game got rained out after 7 pitches. I was able to sit in seats at the Met, so-o-o close to my heroes. Those are seats that would undoubtedly cost me today, at Target Field, about what I pay each month for my mortgage, if they were available. In Harmon's day they were freebies given to a minister and his son. Unbelievable!

See the people in the sunglasses? THOSE were our seats one day, and yes, that is Harmon at bat.

One of the heroes of my youth died today.

As a young fan I really liked Cesar Tovar and Rod Carew more than I liked Killebrew. Tovar and Carew were smaller players known more for their defense and hitting for average, respectively. Harmon was known for his monster homerun blasts. I couldn’t relate to Killebrew as a player, as I have NEVER hit a wiffleball, baseball, or softball, over ANY fence. I always respected him as a fan though, because regardless of the score of the game, if Harmon had a bat in his hand, at the plate, on deck, or in the hole, you knew that something special could happen shortly. With Harmon at the plate the stadium got both louder and quieter at the same time, if that is possible. The cheering and excitement level went up making things louder, but EVERY fan also blocked out any chatter or disruptions and concentrated on Harmon taking his cuts making it seem quieter as we watched him.

As a young player in the Bloomington Athletic Association (BAA) we often got to go to Knothole Games (Saturday day games – 5 kids free for every adult paid admission). Most memorable were the Knothole Games when the Twins would have pregame clinics. After batting practice a Twins coach would come out to right field and teach us all some of the basics. The highlight though was at the end of the clinic when Killebrew would come out and hit balls into the outfield grandstand while standing behind second base. It appeared as if Harmon had as much fun doing that as us kids had trying to catch those pop-ups. You’ve got to believe that for the kids that went home with one of those baseballs THOSE were the most memorable homeruns that Harmon ever hit.

Harmon was a humble hero and I believe he would want us to move on. I’ll take comfort in the fact that I am growing older and have formed new heroes in my adult life.

My lovely bride who raised two incredible kids is my biggest hero. Her patience and caring are endless. She raised a couple of kids who each got into their first choice colleges, and then out again in 4 years (actual graduation took me far longer than my kids). PLUS, she's put up with my crap for nearly 30 years and she still acts happy. (That's probably the biggest Who Knew mystery of all)

My daughter who, while playing high school hockey, was ALWAYS on the ice when the team needed either a goal scored or an opponent shutdown, is one of my heroes, because she is as dependable for doing the remarkable, in real life as she was on the rink.

My son, who never ceases to amaze us with his lively sense of humor (he’s actually the funniest guy I’ve ever known) and his compassion for others, through his work with students in need, is also one of my heroes.

I never actually met Harmon Killebrew in person, but I think he’d probably be impressed with the new adult heroes I admire now that the heroes of my youth are fading away.

Who knew?

There’s no business like show business!

The old joke goes like this;

A man sitting at the bar is complaining to the bartender about his job. The bartender asks the man what he does for a living. The now inebriated bar patron explains that he has worked for the circus for 10 years, cleaning up after the elephants, with a shovel and wheel barrow the only tools he uses to accomplish this task. The bartender agrees with the man saying, “That sounds like a pretty rough job. Why don’t you find another line of work?” To which the customer replies, “And what? Give up SHOW BUSINESS?”

I recently read the book, and then saw the movie, “Water for Elephants”. I recommend them both, but if you need to choose only one, read the book. I don’t recall the movie really addressing the issue of elephant waste as well as the book did, but that’s not the reason for my preference. The book just told the whole story more thoroughly than the movie. But I digress.

Me and my Lovely Bride? or a picture of

the stars of "Water for Elephants"? Who knows?

We’ve all had some pretty crappy jobs. Whether it is due to youth, inexperience, paying your dues, or learning the ropes, we’ve all been in the elephant cleanup guy’s shoes at some point in our lives. A positive attitude, however, can make tough jobs seem more palatable.

Probably the best job I ever had, as an equipment manager for the Gopher football team, had a lot of fun aspects to it, but there was a lot of crappy tasks as well. Doing laundry every day for 120 players and 20 staff members was tedious. The hours, in season, were ridiculous. And, some of the coaches’ egos were insufferable. But, working a unique job, and spending time with bright, talented, hard-working, college athletes and support staff, far outweighed the bad parts of the job.

The job I have right now at the University of Minnesota can at times be tedious but all in all it is quite satisfying. I like the people I work with, my superiors are good people, and being on campus, with a great benefit package is nice. In my position I do invoicing and financial reporting for some of the research grants that various professors at the U of M have been awarded.

Some of the research is fascinating. I don’t often hear the particulars, but some of the work I DO know about is truly fascinating. A recent article in the Minnesota Daily (the school newspaper – somewhat a misnomer as it is now only published 4 times a week – again I digress) revealed the fact that doctors at the medical school are doing ground-breaking work on Deep Brain Stimulation (the procedure my dad just had) for Parkinson’s patients (dad has a different malady). Without the work done by doctors and researchers like those at the U of M and the Mayo Clinic, phrenology (the study of the shape and size of ones cranium as indicators of character and mental illness) might still be the state of the art in brain science. Thank God we’ve progressed, through research, as far as we have.

Another team of researchers has been working with stem cells hoping to harness the awesome regenerative capabilities they contain. Somehow they were able to “scrub” a rat’s heart, removing all of its cells, leaving only a fibrous shell of the heart. After injecting stem cells into that structure the heart re-formed to look like a normal rat heart, and miraculously, after that, IT BEGAN BEATING! In time, the researches envision a day where it may be possible for humans to store some of their own stem cells to be used to re-generate our own organs as needed later in life. Right now transplanted organs have limited availability, compatibility is an issue, and rejection is a major concern (See Najarian, Dr. John and ALG – another digression). Re-generating your own organs could be viable answers to all three of those issues. The possibilities are amazing!

Once, sometimes twice, a year I am able to hear these researchers’ presentations at different gatherings of us U of M support type workers. The researchers typically do a good job thanking us for doing our jobs so that they can do theirs, reminding us that we are ALL a team, pulling together for the greater good.

So should you ever hear me bitching or grousing about a bad day at work, or complaining about my job, and you ask me, “Why don’t you find a new line of work?” Don’t be surprised if I pause, think of the elephant clean up guy, and respond with the question, “And what? Give up groundbreaking research?”

Who knew?

How's that workin' out for ya?

A few different events occurred yesterday that gave me pause to think.

My lovely bride and I were racing along the freeway as we were late for a family wedding. How you can be late for a wedding – an event you’ve known about for 5 weeks since the invitation, with a map, were received – has always amazed me. I guess I need to bear in mind the words my favorite US President, JFK, uttered on November 22^nd, 1963 before a speech in a Fort Worth parking lot. Mrs. Kennedy had traveled with him to Texas, but was not present on the dais with him that day. Many in the crowd had come to see Jackie, so with apology President Kennedy explained that, “…organizing herself takes longer, but she looks better than we do when she does it.” My lovely bride is far more fetching than I so I best not quarrel that she takes a little more time to address her appearance than I do mine, but I digress.

As we weaved through traffic I may have made a lane change too close to another motorist. The long protracted honk from her horn seemed to confirm this. My flipping her the bird in reaction to her horn solved nothing as she flipped one back at me. Then the thrusting motions of mine only seemed to exasperate her, but they made me feel better; for a short while. A few minutes later, after a little reflection, and the question from my bride, “Did that make you feel better?” I felt like the immature jack-ass I tend to be at times.

As we moved on towards the church we were stuck in construction traffic that infuriated us as we were rapidly running out of time before the start of the wedding ceremony. What infuriated me more was the bumper sticker on one of the cars we were stuck behind. It had a picture of a pointing Uncle Sam, and said, “I Want You, To Speak English”. I too struggle at times to understand foreign tongues and differing dialects, but America is no longer the Melting Pot of our youth. A wise young person (thank you Laura) explained to me a while back that now the conventional wisdom is that we are a Tossed Salad, made up of many different ingredients, each maintaining their distinctive flavors to make a unique whole. Assimilation is a dying concept. Embracing diversity is the new clarion call. I struggle with this at times, but I am trying. Bumper stickers, t-shirts, and sound bites, delineating an Us versus Them attitude seems narrow-minded and confrontational. I did feel better about myself as we do not display a bumper sticker with an intolerant message like that one on our car.

Yesterday the Dalai Lama visited Minneapolis and expressed his desire that humanity re-dedicate themselves to dialogue as a means to developing a more peaceful world. Until now my only real memory of the Dalai Lama was when Bill Murray, as Carl Spackler, the assistant greenskeeper in the movie, CaddyShack, tells a tale to one of the young caddies. Evidently Carl once caddied for ‘the Lamba’ and no tip was offered at the end of the round. When Carl asked, “How about, you know, a little somethin’ for the effort?” The Dalai Lama reportedly said, “There’ll be no money; but on your deathbed you’ll receive total consciousness.” To which Carl added, “So I got that goin’ for me, which is nice.” I hope, like Carl, to receive total consciousness on my deathbed, but it has not been bestowed on me yet, so I guess I’ll need to take what I can from ‘The Lamba’.

Dialogue as a means towards a more peaceful world? Hmm... Sounds far-fetched, but maybe…

An old Native American proverb requests, “Don’t judge a man until you’ve walked a mile in his moccasins.” What better way to stand in someone’s shoes than to participate in a dialogue. Not the closed minded grandstanding that seems to be so common these days, but honest, open, give and take. How about looking at the other person’s side, hearing them out and considering their views? Then, dispassionately explaining your thoughts and then going from there, embracing each other’s differences, and trying to reach agreement in a civil manner.

Perhaps if I can bear in mind the old adage I’ve often mentioned that we are endowed with two ears and one mouth so we should listen twice as much as we talk. Wouldn’t we all be well served if we listened more and said less? Two ears, one mouth. 2 + 1 = 3. Three is a very significant number in Christianity. (Father/Son/Holy Ghost) Problem is I’m not a real regular church-attending guy, so how will I be able to remember 2 ears / one mouth, shut up and listen, don’t be such a jack-ass, use dialogue for peace? I’ve tried to bear it in mind, but Dr. Phil would probably ask, “How’s that workin’ out for ya?” I’d have to answer, “Not so well.”

I need a mnemonic device. Something to jog my memory on those rare occasions when my lovely bride is not there to do so. I’ve always liked HOMES as a way to remember the Great Lakes (Huron, Ontario, Michigan, Erie, & Superior). I’ve also always liked the slogan that my favorite Minnesota Viking, Joe Kapp, used to emphasize that football was a team sport played by individuals that together were greater than the sum of the team’s parts. Upon receiving the team MVP award after the 1969 season Kapp refused the award and said that the team had used the mnemonic, 40 for 60 (40 players giving their all for 60 minutes) as their guiding principle. Since they all bought into it, and contributed to it, Kapp felt there was no one most valuable Viking that year. He walked off of the stage leaving the MVP trophy behind. I’ll never be able to come up with anything that memorable.

What I can do though is look at my left wrist where I have 3 bracelets. I have worn them to remind me of the three most important people in my life; the lovely bride, my daughter, and my son. Now, in addition to reminding me of what is most dear to me I can also use them as a reminder to be a better, more patient, tolerant person. Personal jewelry for self-improvement, Who knew?

Is that a bratwurst in your glove or are you just happy to see me?

January 26^th, 1990 is a date that will live on in my personal history. On that date there was a solar eclipse, but that is not why the date is etched in my memory. I recall the date for what happened one day prior, and what occurred one day after.

On January 25^th of 1990 one of my favorite NHL players, Chicago Blackhawk Denis Savard, broke his left index finger while killing a penalty in a game against the Buffalo Sabres. The next day as the moon passed between the sun and the earth, Savard had surgery to repair his broken finger. He would be out of action for only 17 days, returning while healing, to finish the season as hockey players are wont to do.

The day AFTER the eclipse I broke my left index finger in an intramural hockey game at the University of Minnesota. While tying up an opponent in front of the net in my defensive zone I looked to the point to see a rising slapshot heading directly at us. Baseball instinct set in and I attempted to use my non-throwing hand to either catch, or at least deflect the puck away. About a nanosecond after making contact with the puck an intense burning sensation replaced the feel of moist rotting leather that one normally feels in a hockey glove. Unable to grip my stick tightly with my left hand I waited until we cleared the zone and skated to the bench to regroup.

As often happens we did not have two full lines to play the game that night so breathers on the bench had to be short-lived. After about 10 seconds of rest a teammate skated to the bench for a break to catch his breath. Another teammate told me I was up and should get on the ice. I told him to go ahead as I was not ready. He had come off the ice just after me and wanted a bit longer to get a drink of water. I decided I better assess the situation so I took off my glove and was truly amazed at the amount of swelling and discoloration that had already occurred due to a middle phalanx (second bone) of the index finger that was broken into 4 pieces. (Hence the name "The Sausage Finger Incident") The teammate who was urging me onto the ice gasped, his eyes bulged, he turned a greenish pale, but in true hockey spirit he hopped over the boards to skate his shift. I attempted one more shift but receiving a hard, crisp pass from a teammate was a new experience in pain, nearly bringing tears to my eyes.

Not being a professional athlete meant that I was finally having surgery a few days before Savard was back skating for the Blackhawks. My season was done. Having the “Best Hand Surgeon” in the Midwest doing my surgery did not preclude me from sporting a hooked finger to this day. Somehow he didn’t re-attach the tendon taut enough so my finger still lists a little to port and cannot be straightened.

While I enjoy baseball and football I LOVE hockey. Unfortunately, at least medically, hockey does not seem to love me back. I still think hockey is the greatest sport at all levels; at the park, youth hockey, high school, college, Olympic, NHL and even pickup games.

I played the game as a kid in my backyard on a rink my parents would flood for us and the rest of the neighborhood kids. What could be better than a sheet of ice in your own backyard? Skating after school until dinner, then skating some more under beautiful winter skies until bedtime; and all day Saturday and Sunday. My first year of organized hockey ended with 7 stitches near my eye due to a friendly fire incident. Skating around our half of the ice before a game a slapshot taken by a teammate sailed wide of the net just as I passed behind the net. BOOM, took that one right in the head.

Years later at the last practice we had before an adult league season began I had finally bought a mouth guard as the league required them. The damn thing would not fit right and the arena had no scissors to cut it down, so I left it in the locker room figuring, what the hell, I’ve spent hundreds of hours on the ice and never got hit in the mouth. Bad, bad decision. Next rush up the ice I skated to the far post of the net, as all the great forwards do, looking for a rebound or deflection, only to take the goalie’s stick directly in the mouth, as he moved to block the initial shot. I had shattered my left upper central incisor (left front tooth). Portions of the tooth dangled from my gums. X-rays revealed the roots to be cracked and the tooth was not salvageable. Oddly enough, wearing the mouth guard to sleep at night became a necessity until the remainder of the tooth was extracted. Drawing air as I breathed across the exposed nerves was NOT conducive to restful sleep.

Fast forward a few years to another group of guys playing hockey as a regular Friday night activity. This time an errant deflection of a shot hit the outside of my right skate causing me to stand, flamingo-like on only my left leg for a few seconds. Again, with great pain I skated to the bench and hobbled directly to the locker room where, upon removing my skates, I was able to watch the swelling and discoloration occur quite rapidly. X-rays the next day revealed a broken fifth metatarsal (often referred to as a Dancer’s Break as ballet dancers break them routinely). A few weeks in a boot and walking with a cane and I was as good as new. I guess that explains why it was so hard that night for me to crush my empty beer cans by stomping on them as we typically did when gathering in the arena parking lot after skating to tell stories, bullshit, and generally hang out.

I relate these tales of woe to let you know I’ve seen how dangerous hockey can be, but I still love it.

Hockey has been a great source of entertainment and exercise for me. Even though I am not particular skilled at playing it I generally have a dopey grin when skating because the game is so much fun.

Hockey helped get my daughter into one of, if not the, best universities in the world. Sure she had great grades and outstanding test scores, but nothing helps more than having a coach on campus who wants you on his team to aid in the admissions process.

Hockey has provided both of my kids with lifelong friends, and our family with very fond memories.

How can you not love a sport where teams battle bitter rivals but respectfully line up and shake hands with their opponent after one team advances and the other’s season has ended?

In college football the storied Notre Dame players traditionally tap the “Play Like A Champion Today” sign as they leave the locker room on game days as the program's legends who preceded them have been doing for decades. Not bad. In hockey, the storied Montreal Canadiens locker room has pictures of the franchies’ Hall of Famers beneath a line from the poem, In Flander’s Fields, “To you from failing hands we throw the torch; be yours to hold it high.” How much more awesome is that?

In basketball the slightest bit of physicality results in personal fouls, random car horns honking, and free throws. Really? Are they athletes or just really tall entertainers? A cut and bleeding hockey player may miss a shift or two to get stitched up during a game but will return as soon as possible to keep on playing. Ya gotta respect that.

The 1980 Lake Placid Olympics? Would’ve been the Eric Heiden Show if not for hockey.

So if you ever wonder why I don’t mind it too much when old aches and pains give me some grief, or when the old wounds allow me to predict changing weather patterns, perhaps you’ll understand that I wear my scars with great pride and affection for all the joy that hockey has provided me and my family.

Who knew?