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| July 16, 2004
By Irish 19
The Day Before The Day It Starts
| Today started off really bad. It would take on an aura of the absurd extreme, and yet in the end, some ankle biting cubs and a Houle made it all worthwhile.
Thursday. July 15, 2004. I got up at 4 am, to get on the road and in an airplane by 6 am, to start on my way to NARCh 2004. I generally try to forget there are more than one four in a day. I like to pass at least one four in slumber.
NARCh this year means a great deal to me, mostly because it has been…well a VERY eventful past few months and if I ever personally needed a vacation it was now – if you can ever consider NARCh a vacation! I define it more as an experience, and depending on what you are doing, it is either intense or less intense, but always intense fun.
Like most people, I think it is a combo of seeing old friends and being able to experience the games that will be played, that stand out the most. NARCh is simply the Mecca of the talented bolstered by the crazed roller hockey enthusiast, all of whom jell in a mix of excitement and thrill seeking that, well, makes the rest of the year liveable.
Anyway, I got to LAX, with a heightened terror warning and so the crack transportation security agency were searching grandmothers in wheel chairs, uniform military members and men of my age – including me. You know, all of those that fit the profile of a mid-east terrorist… I don’t know about you, but it sure made me feel safe…
My guard was a wonderful nice lady who had left her personality at home and well, she was the type of lady you expected to be preceeded by flying monkeys while she mouthed “My pretty…” She eventually let me go just in time to miss my plane, and so I kept her ruby slippers and laughed all the way to the gate.
I didn’t think it could get any worse.
It would get worse. They lost my ID. Now, it is hard for me to get an ID, because I hate standing in lines and generally become so obnoxious they throw me out of those places. But they lost my ID, and an hour later they found it in between some XRay conveyor, and returned it.
At this point my plane was somewhere over Colorado, so I thought there was probably no point in trying to catch that flight. I got on the next one. Instead of lunch I was served Bannana and Strawberry flavored yogurt. You see, my view of economics in general is that there is a difference between yogurt and a medium rare Filet Mingon, and if you eat one you are having some kind of Keynesian based nightmare and if you are munchin on the steak, life is grand And all is right in the world.
I was eating yogurt for breakfast, which I agree was very “LA” but then I am a transplant and I never forgave the maker of sausage for making it so bad for you. If my morning does not include sausage, it will be a lousy day.
I arrived in Chicago drooling. No. I am being literal.
I fell asleep, apparently was snoring and drooling and I guess was mildly better than the movie they were showing. Now, ten years ago that would have bothered me. It was then I was very concerned over what people thought of me. Drooling in public would not have been a good thing. Snoring was cute. Now, its just all life, and well, any chance I get to sleep anymore, I take it. But, nonetheless, I arrived in Chicago well known to those I flew with as well as a stained shirt.
I got into Chicago in time for my original next flight, which means I got to have fun terrorizing a security guard and really didn’t lose any time. It is always good standing up to the “man” especially when it doesn’t cut into my nap time. I made new friends on my new plane flight, and got to drool.
My day was only half over.
Now, when I arrived in Chicago, I had about 37 seconds to make it to my connection 14 miles away as the cow flys, so needless to say I missed that flight as well... by three second. Now don’t get me wrong, it is not that I dislike Chicago, it is more I don’t like it, so I wanted to leave. And, I wanted to leave as fast as possible.
I got on a small roller coaster type small city to small city jet, where it seemed that the pilot was a Viet Nam era Huey pilot who thought it would be fun to bank really fast and see if everyone could keep down that stupid yogurt. This flight, however, was unique. It was full of NARCh referees…
This part of the story is true, so wake up.
Now, I don’t know about you, but me in a small Lear type jet with every official that NARCH employs is … well it is surreal, it is scary, and if you are thinking right a great opportunity. After a few levels of communication where I quietly steered the conversation towards ciritcism and finally there it was. “Irish” was spoken.
Now, have these boys were from up north and had not idea what I looked like and the rest had heard of me – nothing much good, he he he – but they obviously did not know what I looked like. Now when you get to my age, you don’t change much. Well, maybe when you die. But before that you generally look the same.
Here I was, in a small jet full of NARCh referees, flying at Mach almost one, talking about “Irish.” I think I had the best names for me!
But here was a chance to blow it wide open, to finally expose these evil doers for just what they were -- which I did not know what they were, but it’s a good pharse to use.
Instead, though, what I found were professional athletes turned officials, young men with great senses of humor who didn’t even mention the drool marks on my shirt, who spent more time cracking jokes about each other that participating in some ritual to try and referee inconsistently. They all laughed when I told them I was from California and ordered a fruit plate.
I generally began to like these young men, and that kind of bothered me.
They gave me a ride into Cincinnati from Dayton, and we continued to talk and I will tell you that I never told them who I was…not that they would care, but I didn’t want the walls to go up.
I thought back to when I first saw these young men in the airport in Chicago. Before we boarded the plane, I found a few of them reading the NARCh rule book, using a high liter to check out the rules and basically study on up for the tournament.
They still don’t know who they gave a ride to, but it made me feel good. NARCh is the pinnacle and one of the reasons is that the refs are the best and you need good policemen to have a great tournament.
I think we will be in good hands.
NARCh was now only hours away and there was one thing left for me to do: EAT.
After I had settled I immediately went to Bob Evans and ordered the first real hamburger I had in months. Now, they also know how to do Banana Cream Pie. It is all in the cream really. Not some form of weirded non-fat low carb dream whip, but real, heavy whip cream.
The day started off bad, but it was ending good. No, it was ending great and I was looking forward to the early dawn.
First game up? In Mite Gold AMB was going after the Iowa Spirit, Atom Gold Blast was going to attack the Cincinnati Storm, and also in Mite Georgia’s Selects would face New York’s Roadrunners.
They would kick it off and start us down the path to glory, and fun, and for a lucky few, both.
It was good to be here, and tomorrow the Golden boys and girls start us off – no doubt right.
I am turning in now, getting some more sleep before the morrow starts, and my remaining thought is this: anyone that offers me a yogurt has signed their own death warrant.
But when I felt the worst, in my hotel was some ankle biting Bordercats and a Houle, and you know, it made the day OK.
Seriously? “Hello Cincinnati, here comes the real roller hockey deal.”
NARCh 2004 has arrived.
Irish #19
(Irish#19 is owner of www.sealweenies.com. He reports exclusively on the NARCh 2004 Finals.)
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