the icehounds

There are days when I think I’m never going to get any better at this sport. The Icehounds’ first D league game of the new season was less than stellar at Yerba Buena tonight. We kept passing to our invisible friends and I don’t think I could get the puck off the boards if my life depended on it. I need to start a vigorous athletic program so I’m not melting two minutes into first period. Needless to say, we lost, and to top it off I got stabbed in the kidney after doing a header over some guy’s stick with 25 seconds left in third period. Hey, at least it was my good kidney.

Hattrick did the right thing by dragging my complaining ass to the bar afterwards (she drove, I was stuck), because I was a lot more cheery after the first round our team captain bought. Even my kidney pain went away, wow. Halfway through my drink, our captain said, “Don’t I know you from somewhere?” “Yes,” I said, “yes you do,” although I wasn’t even sure. “Where have you worked?” I asked. “Apple,” he said, pausing. I shook my head. “Ariba.” “Ariba?!” I responded, my eyes growing round. “You were a VP in software development, weren’t you?” “I was a manager,” he said. “No wonder I thought I recognized your name on the roster,” he added. In another bizarre episode of “It’s a Small Valley,” I’ve managed to join a random co-ed hockey team in San Francisco led by a guy who interviewed me for a tech writing job three years ago. Just another reason why you should never flip anyone off on the highway.

Do you ever get the feeling you’re being watched? How about stalked? That photographer that shot us at my women’s tourney showed up again at this game. So here are a couple photos of me in a way too big 2XL jersey that hasn’t been washed since the turn of the century. We’re not even sponsored by that bar anymore (Utah) and they’re still getting free advertising. As you can see, I haven’t yet learned anything about how to properly wear my hockey socks.