Tag Archives: Davy Crockett

Habs Hold On

Years ago, at one of my son’s squirt or peewee games, the referee didn’t show up, so because I had my skates in the car, I volunteered. I was terrible. The kids yelled at me, the coaches gave me grief, and parents in the stands had their say. I really sucked.

So I guess I’m qualified to be an NHL referee.

And needless to say, the two zebras who worked the Habs-Sens game will be on the couch in the suburbs come playoff time.

The Canadiens, after spotting the Ottawa Senators an early 1-0 lead, rebound with goals from David Desharnais and Erik Cole, and edge the Nation Capitalists 2-1 at the Bell, thus making up for their dismal 5-1 loss in Ottawa three games ago. The Habs held the fort like……….I was going to say Davy Crockett at the Alamo but apparently Davy lasted about 20 minutes so forget that lousy example.

It’s six wins and just two losses for the new-look Canadiens as they roll along, and now it’s the Bruins on deck Wednesday. I know I say this before every game, but wouldn’t it be lovely if the boys can win this one too?

Random Notes:

Shots on goal were 33 apiece, and Carey Price was once again a rock.

Max Pacioretty, in his first game back after surgery, assisted on DD’s goal, and Francis Bouillon and Pernell Karl helped on Cole’s winner.

Today’s big win puts the boys one point better than Sens, ties them at 12 with Tampa Bay and Pittsburgh, and sees them just one point behind the Bruins in first place. So Wednesday’s game is indeed a big one. And aside from all this beauty, I’m on a string of days off. Life is good.

Here’s what they did to Max.

Growing Up With A Beautiful Red Transistor Radio

Bill Bryson wrote a great book about growing up in the 1950’s, called The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid. I read it and realized he and I have a couple of things in common.


We both lived in towns with great main streets. We both wore Davy Crockett coonskin hats, we practiced our quick draw like Roy Rogers, delivered newspapers, and looked at our fathers’ dirty magazines which we found hidden in the back of closets.


Both our dads were creative, his being a sports writer, and mine a sign painter, but his dad got to go to baseball games in New York and Chicago, and my dad stayed home and painted letters on store windows.


Bill almost saw a naked girl once when he was about eight years old while playing doctor, but she backed out because she had a crush on him. I made sure I didn’t miss my chance because all I had to do was stand on my bike outside the window of the women’s change room at Couchiching beach and gaze in at the wonders of the world. I was doing great until one of my classmates, Carol Montgomery, saw me and screamed blue murder. Pretty sure I rode away with a smile on my face, though.


Bill’s big job back then was his paper route, and it was mine too. I won a red transistor radio once for getting the most new customers, and would tie it to my bike and listen to rock and roll as I made my rounds. It was the beginning of the end of my world as I knew it, because as soon as my ears made contact with Chuck Berry and the rest of those boys down south, everything changed. Music was sure better than school, and it gave me excellent ideas about girls. It couldn’t have been good for me. I blame my red radio for all the mistakes I’ve ever made.


Like Bill, we used to go to movie matinees and whip popcorn boxes like deadly Frisbees at the the screen and around the room. It was one of life’s great pleasures. If you’ve ever fired off a popcorn box missile and clunked some guy in the head who was making out with his girlfriend, you know what I mean.


Life then seemed to have only a few problems, like hoping the honourable defender of women in change rooms, Carol Montgomery, didn’t squeal on me. Or trying to decide between spending money on pinball or at the new Dairy Queen which had just opened up around the corner. Or straining to listen in school on my new transistor radio, without the teacher hearing, to World Series games which were played during the day while we were stuck struggling with remembering the route Columbus took when he left Spain.


Back then, Greenland wasn’t melting, the NHL only had six teams, and doctors recommended smoking for enjoyment and relaxation.


It was a good time to be young. Although I would’ve become a much better prson later in life if it wasn’t for that darn red transistor radio.