I wanted to let everyone know that I intend to get rid of the two boxes of old minis.
We just don't use them anymore and they take up space!
There are many memories in these molded metal minis, so if anyone would like to keep them - or just take a nostalgic few, please contact me as soon as possible.
Todd has offered to house them and care for them as if they were his own. oh....wait....
I will be delivering them to him on August 28 when he is in town for the First Annual Wiley Invitational.
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
John Q - One of the worst movies ever?
My wife and I watched John Q this weekend.
Let's just say that I was surprised at the modest box office numbers.
To summarize:
John Quincy Archibald's son Michael collapses while playing baseball as a result of a heart failure. Immediately, John Q. rushes Michael to the hospital's emergency room for a transplant. Unfortunately, the insurance would not cover his son's transplant. So in order for Michael's quick and complete recovery, John takes the emergency room hostage until the doctors agree to get the transplant successful.
What a waste of talent! Denzel, James Woods, Anne Heche (well.....)
What a waste of 2 hours!
The setup is simply preposterous. The hospital said it would cost $250,000 to do the transplant and wanted like $40,000 as a downpayment before they would even put him on the Recipient list! Almost every meeting and situation with the hospital management was abrupt and unrealistic. Send him to County? Come on! The outright said they wouldn't do it without insurance or payment. The son spoke the whole time he was intubated - one of numerous medical missteps. The huge (fat) rent a cop had multiple opportunities to EASILY incapacitate John in the ER. John wrastled a drop-ceiling-ensconced sniper to the floor AFTER having been impaled in the shoulder by a very long scalpel. At the end, John is going to shoot himself in the head, so his son can have his heart. He pulls the trigger - click. Doh! He had on the safety! THE SAFETY?! CLICK?!
Of course Denzel emotes, and of course my wife cried, and of course it makes one think of losing one's own children (very briefly...), but this movie is everything that is wrong with dramas today - criss-crossing reality with heart strings and bouncing an understated political message on the mesh.
3 out of 10. Ray Liotta is always worth at least a half point.
44 street cred points to anyone who identifies the Star Wars connection.
Let's just say that I was surprised at the modest box office numbers.
To summarize:
John Quincy Archibald's son Michael collapses while playing baseball as a result of a heart failure. Immediately, John Q. rushes Michael to the hospital's emergency room for a transplant. Unfortunately, the insurance would not cover his son's transplant. So in order for Michael's quick and complete recovery, John takes the emergency room hostage until the doctors agree to get the transplant successful.
What a waste of talent! Denzel, James Woods, Anne Heche (well.....)
What a waste of 2 hours!
The setup is simply preposterous. The hospital said it would cost $250,000 to do the transplant and wanted like $40,000 as a downpayment before they would even put him on the Recipient list! Almost every meeting and situation with the hospital management was abrupt and unrealistic. Send him to County? Come on! The outright said they wouldn't do it without insurance or payment. The son spoke the whole time he was intubated - one of numerous medical missteps. The huge (fat) rent a cop had multiple opportunities to EASILY incapacitate John in the ER. John wrastled a drop-ceiling-ensconced sniper to the floor AFTER having been impaled in the shoulder by a very long scalpel. At the end, John is going to shoot himself in the head, so his son can have his heart. He pulls the trigger - click. Doh! He had on the safety! THE SAFETY?! CLICK?!
Of course Denzel emotes, and of course my wife cried, and of course it makes one think of losing one's own children (very briefly...), but this movie is everything that is wrong with dramas today - criss-crossing reality with heart strings and bouncing an understated political message on the mesh.
3 out of 10. Ray Liotta is always worth at least a half point.
44 street cred points to anyone who identifies the Star Wars connection.
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
Monday, July 11, 2005
A hockey epiphany
I did FOUR games Sunday evening, the last 2 being the same two teams. By the middle of their 2nd game, they were at each others' throats.
Damn, that was fun!
I used to be nervous about making the wrong call, mainly because I didn't want to look incompetent by not KNOWING the proper call. Last night, though, a thought popped into my head; So what! So what if I screw up! I'll still get paid, and the players will gripe regardless. And I did - and they did too! The more confident I become in my knowledge of the rulebook, the more confident I become on the surface.
I heard someone say, after the last game; "It's all part of the game." There were no hard feelings, and noone bitched at me afterward. It was fun to watch that kinda game.
There's a player out there who looks a lot like Mark Wiley, only he's a better player. (Hey, I kid....) He's got the Small Euro thing going on - shifty, quick, emotionally indifferent....he even has the round helmet and colorfully crowded jersey. Fun to watch him slip away from the big guys trying to clutch and grab. He even got back at one of the Jerks who had knocked him down, a totally unseen slash that the Jerks bitched about for 10 minutes.
That number 19 I mentioned last time, now in his Euro #13 again, is still an unredeemable jerk. I don't referee with any kind of vendetta, but I sure do enjoy giving him a penalty. I've explained to both teams numerous times about hacking at the goalie when he's got it covered before the whistle. Inline is a little different than Ice that way - you CAN get a slashing penalty even before the whistle. Well, this jerk blatantly and harshly jabbed at the goalie after he had it covered, claiming that it was loose. I was at the top and called it anyway - mainly for the violent nature of the jab.
Before the 3rd game, I was chatting with a captain, leaning against the boards near a door. I didn't even realize it, but I had my arm down in the jamb. Another player comes from the backside and closes the door! I felt it crush my knuckles first, then the pain in my wrist exploded. It coulda been much worse for the wrist! Vessels popped, causing immediate bruising, and there is some lingering pain this morning. Still, I don't think it's a major injury.
One final scene: A big guy for the Red team was bitching about a goal I called, saying it shoulda been whistled down. I kept saying "It was loose," and said it one last time to the complainer. He responded "Like your wife." I made sure everyone heard the whistle and saw the sharp dramatic 'T' , which was followed by the slow arcing directive pointing from the player to the penalty box. I heard nary a peep from him the rest of the game. Of course, his team scored shorthanded.
And so it goes....
Damn, that was fun!
I used to be nervous about making the wrong call, mainly because I didn't want to look incompetent by not KNOWING the proper call. Last night, though, a thought popped into my head; So what! So what if I screw up! I'll still get paid, and the players will gripe regardless. And I did - and they did too! The more confident I become in my knowledge of the rulebook, the more confident I become on the surface.
I heard someone say, after the last game; "It's all part of the game." There were no hard feelings, and noone bitched at me afterward. It was fun to watch that kinda game.
There's a player out there who looks a lot like Mark Wiley, only he's a better player. (Hey, I kid....) He's got the Small Euro thing going on - shifty, quick, emotionally indifferent....he even has the round helmet and colorfully crowded jersey. Fun to watch him slip away from the big guys trying to clutch and grab. He even got back at one of the Jerks who had knocked him down, a totally unseen slash that the Jerks bitched about for 10 minutes.
That number 19 I mentioned last time, now in his Euro #13 again, is still an unredeemable jerk. I don't referee with any kind of vendetta, but I sure do enjoy giving him a penalty. I've explained to both teams numerous times about hacking at the goalie when he's got it covered before the whistle. Inline is a little different than Ice that way - you CAN get a slashing penalty even before the whistle. Well, this jerk blatantly and harshly jabbed at the goalie after he had it covered, claiming that it was loose. I was at the top and called it anyway - mainly for the violent nature of the jab.
Before the 3rd game, I was chatting with a captain, leaning against the boards near a door. I didn't even realize it, but I had my arm down in the jamb. Another player comes from the backside and closes the door! I felt it crush my knuckles first, then the pain in my wrist exploded. It coulda been much worse for the wrist! Vessels popped, causing immediate bruising, and there is some lingering pain this morning. Still, I don't think it's a major injury.
One final scene: A big guy for the Red team was bitching about a goal I called, saying it shoulda been whistled down. I kept saying "It was loose," and said it one last time to the complainer. He responded "Like your wife." I made sure everyone heard the whistle and saw the sharp dramatic 'T' , which was followed by the slow arcing directive pointing from the player to the penalty box. I heard nary a peep from him the rest of the game. Of course, his team scored shorthanded.
And so it goes....
Friday, July 08, 2005
My very first set of dice......gone.
Today I shipped off, to some lucky eBay cheapass, the first set of gaming dice I ever owned.
http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=5212836986&rd=1&sspagename=STRK%3AMESO%3AIT&rd=1
Although this isn't the original, I fist received this boxed set for Christmas in the mid 1980s. I believe it was the same year that Todd introduced me to the game, which would've been Christmas of 1984. I distinctly remember staying up late, that night and many others, devouring the DM book, images of clerical chicks and tough kobalds leading me to slumberland. My original red set was summarily worn to shreds, covers torn and pages removed for photocopying, and ultimately discarded some time ago. I honestly do not recall how I came to posses this near mint copy.
The light plastic dice, a pale achromatic blue, required crayon rubbings to make the indented numbers visible. They rolled off the table far too often. They weren't so easy to read, especially after the crayon worn away. But they WERE the first ones that I owned.
I sold the entire package for the whopping sum of $2.02
Oh well..........
http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=5212836986&rd=1&sspagename=STRK%3AMESO%3AIT&rd=1
Although this isn't the original, I fist received this boxed set for Christmas in the mid 1980s. I believe it was the same year that Todd introduced me to the game, which would've been Christmas of 1984. I distinctly remember staying up late, that night and many others, devouring the DM book, images of clerical chicks and tough kobalds leading me to slumberland. My original red set was summarily worn to shreds, covers torn and pages removed for photocopying, and ultimately discarded some time ago. I honestly do not recall how I came to posses this near mint copy.
The light plastic dice, a pale achromatic blue, required crayon rubbings to make the indented numbers visible. They rolled off the table far too often. They weren't so easy to read, especially after the crayon worn away. But they WERE the first ones that I owned.
I sold the entire package for the whopping sum of $2.02
Oh well..........
Thursday, July 07, 2005
Why I enjoy being a Referee
First things first; why this post belongs on this blog.
I took a slapshot to the left skate last night, bending the frame enough to restrict the movement of the front two wheels. After repairs and relacing, I jumped back into the game. Well, attempted to jump..... I slid over the dasher at the bench and went to put my feet down on the other side, but it was farther down than I anticipated! I took quite a spill, but laughed it off. Fortunately, not too many noticed. I nearly lost my balance at the next face-off, as well, trying to readjust to rediscovered mobility. A little later, I was skating hard to the corner, trying to follow the play, when there was a sudden reversal. I tried to slide-stop, but lost it and skidded to a halt on both knees.
These misfortunes I can easily laugh off, though, especially in light of the most rewarding aspect of hockey refereeing; Watching the Hot Dog fail miserably. This guy, call him 19, walks the Fine Line between jerk and idiot. He's great at not getting caught; an extra whack when I turn away, firing the puck into the opposing bench while trying to clear the zone, etc. Last night, he was sitting on the bench during the game before his. One of the doors was left open and I asked the 3 who were sitting there to get it for me, as I was in the deep zone. They wouldn't budge. He was closest. I glared as he smirked, and I finally had to go do it myself. After a serious run in with the Tough Guys (jerks who can all shoot the puck at about 120 mph) earlier this season, in which I literally feared for my safety, I've taken to the personal policy of not talking with the players at all. So, 19 comes out next game (against the Tough Guys, btw) and proceeds to stink up the rink! He scored one or two, but missed many more opportunities. He plays very little defense of course, and he was hounded by the other team the whole game, forcing at least a dozen turnovers from him. He even fell down once, on his own, away from any other player. Of course against the Tough Guys he's not such a jerk, because he knows he'd get pummeled.
Jerks deserve a dose of misery every now and then.
I took a slapshot to the left skate last night, bending the frame enough to restrict the movement of the front two wheels. After repairs and relacing, I jumped back into the game. Well, attempted to jump..... I slid over the dasher at the bench and went to put my feet down on the other side, but it was farther down than I anticipated! I took quite a spill, but laughed it off. Fortunately, not too many noticed. I nearly lost my balance at the next face-off, as well, trying to readjust to rediscovered mobility. A little later, I was skating hard to the corner, trying to follow the play, when there was a sudden reversal. I tried to slide-stop, but lost it and skidded to a halt on both knees.
These misfortunes I can easily laugh off, though, especially in light of the most rewarding aspect of hockey refereeing; Watching the Hot Dog fail miserably. This guy, call him 19, walks the Fine Line between jerk and idiot. He's great at not getting caught; an extra whack when I turn away, firing the puck into the opposing bench while trying to clear the zone, etc. Last night, he was sitting on the bench during the game before his. One of the doors was left open and I asked the 3 who were sitting there to get it for me, as I was in the deep zone. They wouldn't budge. He was closest. I glared as he smirked, and I finally had to go do it myself. After a serious run in with the Tough Guys (jerks who can all shoot the puck at about 120 mph) earlier this season, in which I literally feared for my safety, I've taken to the personal policy of not talking with the players at all. So, 19 comes out next game (against the Tough Guys, btw) and proceeds to stink up the rink! He scored one or two, but missed many more opportunities. He plays very little defense of course, and he was hounded by the other team the whole game, forcing at least a dozen turnovers from him. He even fell down once, on his own, away from any other player. Of course against the Tough Guys he's not such a jerk, because he knows he'd get pummeled.
Jerks deserve a dose of misery every now and then.
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