Archive for May, 2011

Team Stugots

May 31, 2011

Anthony grew tired of being on men’s league ice hockey teams that were mostly cops, or firemen, Polish, Czech or such a hodge podge that he didn’t feel he could connect with anyone on the team. Jerry went out of his way to find Italian descent hockey players. Before long, Team Stugots was complete. Team Stugots or testicles as it is known in Italian, lead the league in penalty minutes and fights. On more than on occasion, on of the fights happened between players on their own bench. Referees earned their money on nights when Team Stugots played and most referees chose not to officiate their games if it could be helped at all. Team Stugots was mandated to disband after one exceptional men’s league game that had to be stopped in the middle of the second period. Joey got thrown out for putting a hit on someone in the corner with his elbow. When a second man in came to the rescue of the player who was elbowed, a third, fourth and fifth Stugots player jumped the two players. Four Stugots sat in the box while three fresh players killed off the 5 on 3. Mark the Greek, who is Italian on his mother’s side and Greek on his father’s, got tossed for running the other team’s goalie and then squirting him in the face with his own water bottle. Mark’s older brother, Demetrius started in on the goalie from the stands. “You fat fucker… That’s right you fat fucking piece of shit. You wanna pick on my brothah, huh? Come up here you fat fuck. I’ll fucking wring your fucking neck, you piece of shit.” Demetrius wore a tight white shirt with an eagle on the front tucked into tight jeans and squared toed dress shirts. Demetrius had strong looking arms and was always looking for a fight. He sat in the stands with three other friends who were Italian. They all came because they heard that a fight was bound to happen at the hockey game with a fireman’s team called The Hosers and Team Stugots. George the Fireman, who played goalie for the Hosers, decided that he was not going to stand for verbal abuse from a young man with a big mouth. George took off his mask, opened the door to the stands and started up after Demetrius. Demetrius and his friends punched and kicked George while players from both teams squared off and punched one another. It was mayhem. One of the referees made a phone call on his cell phone. “Yeah, I would say this is an emergency at this point… Yes… I am an on ice official at the park district ice arena and a full fledged brawl has broken out in the stands and on the ice… Yes I am the ref but I’m one of two men and there are about thirty men fighting here and I ain’t got a gun. You got guns, you stop them. I gotta get up for work tomorrow. I only ref to pay off my wife’s goddamn credit cards.” Within ten minutes, suburban police showed up in riot gear with shot guns and German Sheppards. The two teams were taken to their locker rooms and questioned further. Anthony being the team captain spoke on behalf of his team to the sergeant who was taking notes. “I don’t give a fuck if they’re fire fighters or not. They’re a bunch of pussy cocksuckers and every time we play em, they start crying like little bitches. They can fucking slash and cross check and the fucking refs don’t call nuttin but soon as we get a slight little infraction, they wanna start tossin guys. Well their goalie started getting mouthy with Mark’s brother and they went at it in the stands. He fucking cracked Mark in the chops with his blocker. I think that should be assault with a deadly weapon. You can fucking kill somebody if you clock them just right with a blocker.” “Okay… Where’s the guy who spit in the director’s face? Whoever he is, he is getting arrested for that. Which one of you guys wants to take the fall for your buddy?” Guido had been arrested for a bar fight recently. He was talking to a guy’s girlfriend and wouldn’t let it go. A fight ensued outside the club and Guido took off in his car. The cops stopped him for drunk driving and resisting arrest. At the moment the cops arrived at the rink, Guido had ran out of the rink with all his gear on and his skates and was slapping mosquitoes in the bushes while he waited for the cops to leave. “Oh that fucking kid… We don’t know that kid. He is a friend of my cousin Mo’s brothah’s friend who was staying with some fucking guy who used to live on Long Island… Hey! Any youze know that kid’s name from New York? You know, that kid with the fucking schnazola. Looked he coulda been Jewish? Naw? Sorry officer… Nobody knows that kid. We didn’t know him. We just heard he was good. We had no idea he was a spittah. Anyone who spits should catch a fucking smack, you knowwhatImean?” The suburban sergeant had served with honor in Iraq and was used to hearing lame excuses from people in Baghdad who were harboring potential terrorists. He also had a daughter who was a figure skater at the same rink. The sergeant grew up playing football and so he didn’t understand ice hockey nor liked it very much. He cleared his voice and spoke in words all the young Italian men could understand. “I’m going to give you fucking grease ball, whop, dagos a chance to rat out the one who spit into the face of the director or you’ll have something special you’re going to do with the park district to right this wrong tonight… It’s your choices. That or county jail. You choose. This is a free country.” Anthony looked dead into the face of the sergeant with pursed lips and the palms of his hands on his knees. “None of us know nuttin… Whaddya gonna do?” The Sergeant had a sense of humor. He made the entire team get together with the figure skating instructor. For the end of summer ice show, the entire team did a synchronized skit or face a weekend in jail. The sergeant took roll call. The whole team showed wearing white tights and dresses. They learned to do The Can-Can while locking arms. Mark the Greek’s brother Demetrius and a whole lot of Italians found tickets to the sold out shows. It was a memorable event.

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Boris the Greatest or The Ice Cream Socialist

May 2, 2011

            Boris’s father played ice hockey in the oldSoviet Unionfor ЦСКА Москва otherwise known as Красная Армия.  For those of you who don’t read in Cyrillic, it was the infamous Red Army team.  Boris’s father had told him many times about the exhibition games he had played against NHL teams back in 1976 and how his team had dominated theUSSRleague right up until the end.  It had always been Boris’s dream to play for the same team as his father.

            At the age of nineteen, Boris had entered the KHL and ripped up.  He led the league in penalty minutes, goals and assists.  Boris could stick handle in a phone booth, skate like the wind and fight with the toughest of the toughest.  It had not gone unnoticed by the NHL.

            The Detroit Red Wings grew tired of being a contender but not a team that could any longer win the Stanley Cup.  The Swedes were excellent but they just weren’t winning the way the Red Wings were when they had the Russians.  The Red Wings found success with Kozlov, Larionov, Federov, Konstantinov and Fetisov.  When all five were on the ice for a power play, it was quite and exercise for the announcers.

            Of course the Red Wings had the great Pavel Datsyuk but they wanted a similar player like Pavel who could be rough.  Big Boris was drafted by the Red Wings and started his rookie year at the age of twenty four.

            Boris made a good living inRussiain the KHL but the money the Detroit Red Wings were offering him was absurd.  The brash young Russian put on a red Detroit Red Wing jersey at a press conference with the number 0 on the back and only his first name.  The Red Wings had to get permission to use a first name only and the number 0.  The league granted both.  The first press conference went something like this:

Press- Boris, what is your last name?

Boris- Eet tiz Boris only.  Jus like Bono andCher.

Press- It was Sonny Bono…

Boris- Wat!  Stupid, man… Next question

Press- How do you think you will do in the NHL?

Boris- Cis league ees you know gut but Boris ees the greatest.  I’m like Mohammad Ali of hockey,      

          Man.  I’m gonna make hockey a sport in cis country like it ees eenCanada…  You see.

            Boris first year, he scored the most goals, assists and had more fights by himself than the rest of the team had in total.  Boris had a beautiful wife and a giant compound of a home within the city ofDetroit.  Boris bought up a whole city block and turned it into a villa.  He grew grapes on his villa and sold his fortified sweet red called, Five Buck Boris.  It was twenty percent alcohol and had a hammer and sickle under his smiling face with a missing tooth.  Boris could be found at casinos inDetroitmost nights and there were pictures of him in the papers with various black women.  Several black women claimed that Boris was the father of their children.  When questioned about siring so many out of wedlock children with black women, he innocently answered.

            “Zee womens love Boris and I loves zee womens.  All womens not jus black ones.”

            And that statement was untrue.  Boris’s beautiful blond wife returned toRussiato make films again and divorced Boris.  When that happened, Boris was like a child without parents. Boris gambled and had wild parties.  The Red Wings hired a Russian driver to be Boris’s personal nanny.

            Vlad was paid handsomely by the Red Wings to drive Boris to and from Joe Louis Arena to his villa just north and west of downtown.  Vlad’s mother came to Boris’s fifteen bedroom house and cooked her famous Baklazhanovaya Irka recipe and borscht.  Boris loved Vlad’s mother’s cooking and loved Boris like a brother.  It wasn’t long before Boris had corrupted Vlad.  Vlad’s job was to troll the casinos and dance clubs and invite beautiful black women back to his compound.  Boris would invite rappers and basketball players to party at his nightclub within the compound that was within his villa.  Boris had a ten thousand foot nightclub with lights, smoke machines and a fantastic sound system.  Boris reasoned that if he could not hang out at the clubs, he would create his own.  Black basketball players would show up to his parties with white women while their black wives were at home and Boris did the opposite. Boris was an underground hit with Hip-Hop culture inDetroit.  Before long, Boris made his own video called, Boris in the D.  The video was a Youtube sensation and aired occasionally on BET.  Snoop Dog did a cameo as did Kid Rock on the video.  The hook of the song went as follows:

            Boris in the D playing hockey…  Joe Louis Arena and the bitches love me.  Bullet proof Mercedes, lots of ladies, riches, bitches, 100 proof…  Boris in the D, gonna put you through the roof.  The roof, the roof, put you through the roof.  The roof, the roof, put you through the roof.

            Images of Boris scoring, stick handling and fighting flashed along with images of him lifting weights, running, swimming and then driving in a convertible Mercedes stuffed with young smiling black women in sunglasses and bikinis.  It wasn’t long before the highlife caught up with Boris and Vlad.

            Vlad was fired by the Detroit Red Wings and hired by Boris as well as a dozen other young men that were part of the entourage of body guards.  An average night for Boris was to play hockey, dress, visit the casinos, send Vlad out to invite women over to the compound.

            “Excuse me, missus…  Dat ees Boris dee Greatest over there.  He is not at leisure to speak to you at thees time because he ees with the daughter of the owner of the Detroit Red Wings but would like to know eef you vood be interested to join heem at he’s home not far from here to have a drink and get to know you gut…  You can bring you friend too.”

            Most women understood that it was just a romp for the night, a chance to ooh and ahh over a palace within the city limits ofDetroit, drink, have some sex and disappear again.  One particular woman decided that she was not going to be just like the other women in his life.

            Felicia was a tall black woman with high cheekbones and a dimple on her left cheek.  She wanted to be a singer and a movie star and did not want to be just another conquest for a celebrity.  Felicia was content being who she was for the most part. Felicia went to Boris’s compound and refused to get drunk and have sex with Boris.  Boris was stunned.  An unbelievably beautiful black woman with a voluptuous frame and pretty face had turned down Boris.  Boris took it as a challenge.  It was like finding a goalie that he could not score against.  He had to find a way to put the puck in the net to add to his statistics.  Boris had to find away to convince a beautiful woman with standards and morals to give in to his flashy temptations.

            “You know dare ees a lot of vimans thaat vood like to be where you are tonights…”

            “Boris, you are a handsome man with a lot of money and I have to say it was poor judgment on my part to come and have dinner with you tonight.  If you thinking you bout to get you a piece of ass, Imma tell you, you wrong.  I ain’t a bitch or a ho.  Imma beautiful Christian woman that got to go to bed with myself at the end the night and atone for my actions.  So I don’t know whatchu thought inviting me all up in yo Dee-troit Kremlin west.  You thank you the tsar and Jesus Christ all rolled up into one sharp suit.  I’m looking for a gentleman who appreciate me for who I am and willing to do some work to see the fruit of thy labor…”

            “Vat?  I don’t know vat you are sayink…  Eet ess a lot of sound but don’t having meaning for Boris.  You saying you vant to be the one woman een my life?  Come on…  There ees a lot of Boris the world ees needing.”

            Boris went on drinking and partying and fornicating as well as fighting, stick handling and scoring goals.  Things were going well for the Detroit Red Wings.  It looked as though they were going to cake walk into the finals and manhandle their opponent in the Eastern Conference for the Stanley Cup.  Boris seemed unhappy and bored with life.  Vlad asked him what it was that he could do to make Boris happy again: more cars, more women, more parties, a trip toMiami.  Boris responded by pursing his lips and banging his fist on the table.

            “Nobody weens over Boris.  Boris ees thee wiener at all times.  How can Boris be the greatest and still hear no?  I vill vin thees thing…  You vill see Vladi.”

            Felicia had received flowers to make a florist jealous, calls to have dinner and drinks but Felicia would not respond to Boris.  After dozens of phone calls, Felicia answered the phone to send Boris off once and for all.

            “Look you Russian Valentino…”

            “Who?  Thees ees Boris.  Who ees thees Valentino.  I vill beating heem like dog.”

            “No means no, Boris.  I want more than you can or want to offer.  I want a man who wants me and ain’t running around all over, planting seeds wherever he be allowed to.”

            “Seeds?  Vat ees seeds?”

            “You cain stop calling me now.  I ain’t going wid you now or never.  You got a whole lot of women takin in by your world.  Go send yo boy to find them.”

            After the Red Wings had won the Stanley Cup, Boris did not return toRussiaor take off for tropical places.  He hired a woman to teach Boris about the bible and Jesus and Christianity in general for about a month before he decided to show up at the Motor City Missionary-Baptist Church within the city limits of Detroit.  Boris walked into the church and took a seat in the back, wearing an off white suit with a pair of sunglasses.  His three Russian body guards stood in the back of the church with black suits and sunglasses on.  Many in the church had ideas on who the FBI agents were there to nab.  Even the minister of the church had some thoughts that the white men were there for them.  Nobody recognized Boris the Greatest, the best hockey player in the NHL and savior of white hockey loving people in theDetroitmetropolis. 

            The minister sweated as he began to give his sermon.  He decided to inquire as to who the visitors were to their black only church.

            “It appears as though we have some new folks that have joined us today… Brother, what’s your name and where are you from?”

            “My name ees Boris and I am fromMoscowbut leave right here eenDetroitnow.  I verk here een the city ofDetroitfor a team you are having called the Red Wings…  Maybe you are knowing them?”

           A laugh went up in the church as people suddenly recognized the face and accent.  They were stymied as to why a white, Russian, partying, hockey playing, brash young man, would enter a poorly air conditioned black church at8:30amon a Sunday.

            “Romans 2:1 says and I quotes, “You therefore, have no excusing, you who pass judgments on someone else…  Uh… You condemning youself because you passing judgments. John 8:7  as you are knowing says, “if any one of you ees without sinning let her picks up a rock now and throw eet at me.”

            Boris boldly walked up and took the hand of the ravishing woman who was singing in the choir and kissed   her hand as he kneeled before her.  It was a penalty shot, one on one with the goalie who had stoned him so many times earlier.  Boris pulled out everything he had for the shot.  The puck went in the net.

            Vlad goes to bars and drinks alone or with other friends and tells people in his heavy Russian accent how for a few years, he was the body guard and personal bitch fetcher for Boris.  Vlad told stories of driving drunk, bagging women and the number of celebrities that hung out at the compound.  The question at the end of the story was always the same and Vlad always had the answer.

            “Every man needs to learn that he can lose…  And sometimes ven you lose, you winning.  The von who made Boris losing von.  Dat ees the one he needed.  Dat ees the one he gots now…  So sad for me.  No more parties, just backyard barbeques and church.  My man sings in the choir… and is an ice cream socialist…”