Patty Kane Cameo

November was a busy month. Not only was there a lot of epic hockey and a lot of epic hockey encounters, but it was also National Novel Writing Month. This was my fourth attempt at NaNoWriMo, and my third time in a row making it to the 50,000-word goal. If you'd like to look more into what NaNo is, you can look at their website.

My opinion on NaNo: It is hilarious, ridiculous, crack-tastic fun trying to write 1,667 words per day in 30 days for a story. It's 30 days and nights of literary abandon and at the end when you make it to that goal, you feel extremely satisfied. And also drained. I haven't wanted to sit and write since it ended; I finished with a little over 53,000 words in my story, and it is not yet finished.

Summing it up in a nutshell, my novel this year is about the life of an outlaw on the run, and she's on the run for a crime she didn't commit. And the media has given her the uncreative alias of Cassidy Sundance, simply because she used the name Cassidy once. [I swear this gets hockey related...]

But within this month of novel-writing, there are crazy storylines that come out of nowhere. At one point in my story, Cassidy and her sidekick at the time, Jason, get videotaped on Cash Cab. Also, she goes to a Washington Capitals game in DC against the Vancouver Canucks and talks to a Wings fan at the game.

Also, Cassidy has a run in with Patrick Kane. In a taxi cab.

Now, if there are any good-natured Hawks fans reading this blog, I mean no disrespect at all. I swear I'm just poking fun. A special thanks to @alyssa_irl for giving me some background information on Patty Kane as well, since I really don't know much about him outside of the taxi incident.

Background info you need to know for the scene: She's in Chicago [duh]. The Jason mentioned in the narration is her last cohort and he was, for lack of a more appropriate word, a badass. And please remember this is pretty much unedited and crack-tastic.
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She tried not to take taxis, mostly because they were expensive. But leaving a crowded club in what looked to be a bad part of town at three in the morning made Cassidy think twice. She hailed the first taxi she saw, surprised that they stopped when there was a young looking guy in the back seat.

“You sure I can hop in?” Cassidy asked as the guy opened the door and slid across the leather seat to make room for her.

“Yeah, of course, sure, why not?” he replied in a rush, seeming overly elated at Cassidy’s arrival. She got into the taxi and closed the door behind her. In Cassidy’s opinion, he was a scrawny little kid, who looked a little on the dorky side, although she had to admit that his neck and shoulders looked pretty tough. His light brown hair was curly and long, practically a mullet, with several longer locks seeming to wrap around his ears.

“So where are you headed?” he asked. In just these few words, Cassidy got the impression that Jason would have beaten this kid up for simply existing.

“Downtown,” she replied. She wasn’t about to reveal her entire history to this stranger.

“Downtown’s pretty big, hon,” the guy told her. “Care to be more specific?”

She noticed a bit of a slurred edge to his words. Was he drunk? Cassidy shook her head. “Wherever you’re not going,” she told him.

“Oohh.” The guy let out a bark of a laugh. “Nice one, but I betcha you don’t know who I am if you’re saying that…”

Cassidy narrowed her eyes at the boy. Was he supposed to be famous? She certainly had never seen him before and she didn’t really care to find out his name. Well, two could play at that game. “I bet you that you don’t know who I am if you’re being so casual with me.”

He leaned over the invisible barrier between them to ask in a low voice, “You aren’t a cop, are you?” There was a hint of beer on his breath, but it was so faint that Cassidy wasn’t sure if she smelled it or if she was just imagining what she wanted to smell.

“No.”

“Okay good.” He moved back to his seat with a grin on his face. “So you really don’t know me?”

“Nope.”

“Want to see my Stanley Cup ring?” he asked suddenly.

“Your… what?” Cassidy tried to repeat what the guy had said.

“My Stanley Cup ring! For winning the Stanley Cup!” He was holding out his right hand, which had a large diamond-encrusted ring on his third finger; it had an Indian chieftain head in the center with “Stanley Cup” on one side and “Champions” on the other.

“…Impressive,” Cassidy finally said. She didn’t know what to make of it.

“Thanks!” He was grinning at her, looking more like a teenage boy than however old he was. “I’ve got a silver medal from the Olympics, too.”

“…Do you wear it all the time?”

“Just when I think I’ll need it,” he joked. “Tonight, I wasn’t so smart.”

“Too bad,” Cassidy said, sarcasm etched in her tone. “That would have really done the trick.” The guy sat back in his seat and sighed. “So then where are you headed?”

“The United Center,” he replied. “Practice in a bit.”

“Practice for what?”

“The Chicago Blackhawks. This city’s National Hockey League team,” he explained, giving Cassidy an incredulous look. “Are you from out of town or something?”

“Yeah, I’m from Tulsa. I’ve never paid attention to hockey,” she said. “And you do know it’s three in the morning, right? You probably don’t have practice.”

“What?!” he exclaimed. He rifled through his pockets and pulled out his Blackberry. “But Tazer sent me a text that said we had practice! Here!” He held out his phone for Cassidy to read a text. The road was so bumpy that she couldn’t get a good look at the screen, so she just made a noncommittal noise.

“Maybe he’s playing a prank on you?” she suggested.

“Hm… that does sound like him.” The guy sighed and sat back in his seat, looking out the window dejectedly. Cassidy felt a little sorry for him, although she didn't know why. Being pranked seemed perfectly normal for someone his age (or what she assumed was his age; after all, he looked like he was barely sixteen).

"What's your name?" she finally asked, realizing they hadn't exchanged that information.

"Patrick," he told her. "You?"

"Cass," she said. "Nice to meet you, Patrick."

"You, too." He was smiling. "So seriously. Where are you headed?"

"I don't know. I'll just get out wherever you get out."

"Sounds good." Patrick's knees bounced in time with an unheard song. For the remainder of the taxicab ride, they sat in almost complete silence, save for extended moments of small talk. Patrick seemed to be engrossed in nothing but his hockey, and Cassidy couldn't say anything on the subject; likewise, she couldn't tell this random person the truth about her, even if he wouldn't remember the next day since he seemed to be drunk.

"Well, I'm getting out here," Patrick said as the cab pulled up to the United Center.

"You're still getting out here, even if you don't have practice?" Cassidy asked.

"Yeah, there's some good restaurants around this area," he explained. "And I don't live too far away. Actually - " He seemed to be off in his own world. " - Tazer doesn't live too far from here. If he's home, I could get him back..."

Cassidy tried not to roll her eyes at his childishness. Instead, she reached into her bag and started looking for the envelope of money she carried with her at all times. Patrick put a hand on her wrist to stop her.

"No way, Cass," he said, shaking his head. "This cab ride is on me."

"I can't let you do that," Cassidy tried to protest, but Patrick was already handing money to the driver. "Thanks, Patrick... I guess."

"Not a problem." He was grinning at her again.

"Excuse me?" the cab driver said to catch their attention, his Spanish accent thick. "I don't have enough change for you."

"...What?" Patrick asked.

"Your change is twenty-five cents," the driver repeated. "But I have no change on me. Not at this time of night."

"So you're shorting me a quarter?" he said, his voice slowly raising in volume and pitch. "I should kick your ass for that!"

"I'm sorry..." he was trying to explain, but Patrick seemed to be blinded by his rage.

"Geez, you're getting upset over a fucking quarter?" Cassidy exclaimed, causing Patrick to look over at her. She hadn't realized she had sworn at him; apparently Jason's foul mouth had rubbed off on her. "You're a professional athlete and you're upset over a quarter? I mean, come on." He was giving her an incredulous look. She was enjoying poking fun at the guy. "You would really beat up a cab driver over a quarter? That's just stupid. Maybe even career suicide." She didn't know the workings of the sport of hockey, but assumed fighting with a cab driver over a quarter didn't make for a pretty headline.

"I hate to break it to you..." Patrick tried to begin, although Cassidy wasn't listening; she had exited the cab and was already walking down the sidewalk. He was hot on her heels. "Hey, wait a minute!" he called after her as she strode down the street.

"No thanks," she said over her shoulder. "I've got my own plans, Patrick, and they don't involve getting arrested for beating up a cab driver for a quarter. Even I wouldn't do that, and I'm almost at rock bottom."

The running footsteps that had been approaching her suddenly slowed and came to a stop. Cassidy didn't dare look back; she had a feeling Patrick had a sad puppy dog look on his face and she didn't want to be sucked into feeling regret.

"Call me?" he shouted before Cassidy rounded the corner. She just shook her head amusedly and kept on, hoping to find a park of some sort to get some rest in for the evening. Perhaps tomorrow would bring better fortune. And better fortune certainly wasn't in Chicago, Illinois.

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[By the way, having Cassidy call him "Patrick" is just really weird. I'm so used to calling players by their last names.]

Comments? Concerns? General responses?

Ted Lindsay Foundation Dinner

Last night, I had the opportunity to go to the Ted Lindsay Foundation Celebrity Golf Outing to Benefit Autism Research - the dinner part of it, at least - at the Wabeek Country Club over in Bloomfield Hills. Hey - it's not what you know, it's who you know and I can attest to that.

I went with my two brothers, my one neighbor, and the guy who had the four extra tickets. We ended up getting there super early, so we browsed through the 50/50 raffle prizes and the silent auction items. There was some pretty sweet stuff, but nothing that I said, "HOLY CRAP, I NEED THAT RIGHT NOW!!" ...Maybe the signed Lidstrom stick, but I didn't try.

After an hour of sitting around, waiting for people to show up [aside from seeing Draper leaving in his Range Rover as we were walking in], Ken Daniels walked into the room. Man, that guy is really short in person. By this time, there were a decent amount of people loitering around, having appetizers and drinks.

I swear I saw Henrik Zetterberg out in the hallway while we were waiting. We were sitting at a high table directly in front of the doorway and I'm telling you I saw the Zetterbeard. No one else was paying attention and he never showed up, but I'm telling you it was him! It's quite possible that he just hit the bathroom and left - a lot of the guys did that [Abdelkader for sure].

Then this tall, lanky guy walked in. Like, legitimately lanky. Awkward lanky. It was weird. And I couldn't stop staring at him because all I could think was, I know this guy. He's from somewhere. I should know him. I was staring at him for a good ten seconds when my brother finally says, "Oh hey, that's Mike Modano!" [By the time I finally got the courage to interrupt and ask for a picture, he had disappeared, and in the end he had actually left. I was sad.]

Mike Babcock came out of nowhere. He's always fun to see. And yes, he does actually smile.

Then Darren Helm and Drew Miller came in. My neighbor was freaking out because he loves Helm. They ended up disappearing, but five minutes later, we noticed them loitering at the other end of the hall, talking to each other with no one else around. So my one brother and I trekked over there first to ask for a picture.

They seemed a little startled at first, probably because no one was around them and then suddenly we were there being all, "HI. PICTURES?!?!" ...Okay, not exactly. But you know. Hockey players. You get a little excited to see them, but you play it cool. They were really nice about it.

Thanks for smiling, Helm. [and yes. There are a lot of stripes in this picture.]

Then it was the other brother and my neighbor's turn to go bug them. My neighbor got two pucks signed and was fawning over them the whole night [mostly to make us laugh, but probably for serious, too. I can never tell with that one.]

Right before we all were seated at our actual table, Ted Lindsay finally showed up. My oldest brother has been adamant about wanting a signed puck since we met him at church back in June [best sharing of peace I've ever gotten. Thanks, Ted]. I went over with him because I wanted a picture.

You all know Lindsay's legacy, his image, how he played, yes? He was nicknamed Terrible Ted for a reason. Maybe not as bad as Happy Gilmore trying to stab someone with his skate, but still pretty terrible.

That man is absolutely adorable now. He reminds me of my grandpa, whom I love to death. He's the only player where it doesn't feel weird to call him "Mr. [last name]." Come on, do you really want to say "Mr. Zetterberg?" You call him Hank! But Mr. Lindsay just rolls off the tongue. He deserves it, too.

My brother got a signed puck and when I asked for a picture, he had to shift his hold on the puck. Lindsay was all, "Oh oh! Be careful! That's still wet! You don't want to smear it!!" It was freaking adorable, seriously. And I apologize if I'm saying adorable too much.

As a sidenote, I also saw Ken Kal and Mickey Redmond. When Mickey walked in, it caused my brother to pretend to scream, "WHOO! MICKEY! LET'S MAKE SOME HAY!"

The dinner itself was delicious. And after dinner, they had an auction for four different items: two of them were different paintings of Lindsay that were pretty sweet, one was 32 rounds of golf at courses in Southeast Michigan, and the fourth one I would have bid on in a heartbeat if I had any kind of money.

It was a trip on the Wings' jet to the game in Chicago on October 9. A trip on the Wings' jet with the team.

Bidding started at $3,000. It was up to $4,500 by the time we were leaving.

Anyway. Shawn Burr did all of the auctioneer stuff and he is hilarious. He told a lot of jokes, one of them absolutely terrible that I can't even repeat on here in fear of offending anyone. But it had everyone in stitches for a few minutes afterward.

All in all, it was an unforgettable night. Even though there weren't many Wings players, I did get to meet a few and that is always fun. I can't thank my friend enough for including my brothers and I in these sort of gatherings.

Wings Door, Part II

I should post the back of my door, too, yes? The back of my door is not as awesome or jam-packed as the front, but it's still pretty decent. And as always, click on the picture to make it bigger. ...Ignore the mess of CDs on the side there...



Okay, starting from the top. There are a few things on the back that are not Red Wings-related. Like this note that my brother put in my lunch once when I was in high school. It's from The Simpsons. And below it is the map of all our Swedes from the Free Press last year.


Oh, Dan Cleary. How much I loved you at that moment...


Next is the last of the non-Wings related stuff...or at least non-hockey. These are both birthday signs from my brothers from a few years back. The top is the two guys from Steely Dan. "Hey Nineteen" is my favorite song by them and I just happened to turn nineteen. And the bottom one is from "South Park." The Guitar Hero episode. I love Stan's dad.


Down the left side of the door now...I have this picture just because Homer looks so ridiculously happy. It's the first thing I see right before I leave my room.


I've always had a weakness for pictures of saves from this angle. Thanks for that save, Jimmy.


Alex Ovechkin may be my guilty pleasure player. What can I say? I like the guy. But I can see why other people hate his guts. It's not like I'm blinded by my love for him. And hey, if he's up against the Wings, I want us to crush his stupid Russian face. Anyway, I have a macro of him on my door. For the lolz.


Now down the right side of the door. Man, Bert, that was a snipe of a goal.


This is the section I have dubbed as "The Ass-Kicking Section." ...Mixed with some more macros.


The "blatant interference" may be my favorite one, only because it's the most relevant because the refs hate Homer.


This is from the "Olympic Game" last season against Ottawa, the one right before the Olympic break. I was at the game and holy crap, all their kids are adorable. I was telling my friend that Homer's kid came skating out and my friend asked, "Did he head straight for the front of the net?"


Corey Perry, this was the weakest shootout attempt I have ever seen. And yet Dom is somehow on his back, splayed out on the ice.


In the middle of all this is my Red Wings calendar. Well...now it's on Rafalski for September.


Below all of this is the Home Swede Home poster from the Free Press.


Two years ago, I went to the Detroit Economic Club Luncheon with the Detroit Red Wings. Aside from Brett Lebda eating at my table and me finally meeting Filppula [and seeing him shove piles of rice into his mouth], we also got one of those giant Hossa flags and this freaking sweet poster.


And finally, the sports section front page from when we won.


And that is my door. We'll see what additions I make this coming season...

Red Wings Door

Hockey season is closing in on us, people, and I for one am extremely happy for this. Sure, the weather's going to get cold and bitter and it will get dark at five in the afternoon, and I'll be shoveling buckets of snow, but at this point in the off-season, I am so ready to see a hockey game on my television set again that I do not care.

And I'm sick of the Kovalchuk drama, along with probably about 94% of all other NHL fans. And since the Red Wings are slowing down everything they've done [aside from signing Abdelkader. Come on!], there's not a lot to report on for the Wings.

So let me tell you about my bedroom door. Back in the season after the lockout, I started going through the Detroit Free Press and Detroit News papers for the sports section. For some reason, I really wanted newspaper clippings from the front pages. And since then, my bedroom door has turned into this. [click to make it bigger, of course].

And that's just the front. There has been a lot of rearranging over the years, trust me. It all started with the picture on the right.



From our first shootout [and shootout victory] against Columbus. It shows Datsyuk's awesome skill at shootouts. The one on the left is from Game Seven against Phoenix this past post-season. The similarity between the two pictures is why I hung up the "Dat's All" next to "Shootout." And "Shootout" is the oldest newspaper clipping I have on my door. It used to be in my locker throughout high school.

But let's start at the top of the door.

Ville Leino's first goal. Yeah, I know you're thinking, "WHAT?! LEINO?!" It'll be the first picture to come down for the newest one, don't worry. But you have to admit, his first NHL goal was pretty sweet. And my brothers were at this game in DC!



Next comes the reason I call Kronwall "Kronwall of [whatever he just did in the game]", IE: Kronwall of Penalty Kill, Kronwall of Power Play Assist, Kronwall of Check, etc.


Finally, the ZetterCaptain-to-be. When we signed him for twelve years, I knew I needed the newspaper for the next day.


Next row on my front door. This is actually kind of a lame picture to go with the caption, but since it was Lidstrom's 1000th point, I needed it.


"Captain Immortal" was on my door before "Life Off The Ice." I made sure I had "Life" solely for the similarity of the two pictures. And it's Stevie Y. He needs to be on my door.


Next row! Chris Osgood, the love of my life. Of course he has to be on the front of my door. I don't care how many people say he's not a good goalie; he comes through when we need him the most. I still say that if we had won Game Seven against Pittsburgh, he would have had the Conn Smythe in the bag and BAM. Hall of Fame right there. Don't get me started on Chris Osgood, people, or I'll never stop.


Next to Ozzie is the Datsyukian Dangles.


Next row! Remember his Game Five OT winner against Nashville? That was very Frantastic.


This is from when he did that amazing interview with Mitch Albom. If you haven't read it, read it now.


Justin Abdelkader to the rescue in Game Two, anyone?



Next row! Naturally, you need the 2008 Detroit Free Press sports page from the Stanley Cup win. This is actually super yellowed because my door is always in the sun. But don't worry - I have a poster of it, so we're okay.


I saw this magazine at Borders about two weeks after the Game Seven loss last year. I debated buying it then and decided against it. The next day, I went and bought it. There was a two page article about how Detroit is still Hockeytown, but other than that, there was nothing of importance in the magazine.


The Mule is on my door the most out of all the Wings players. But that makes sense, since it's The Mule and this is Franzenmuth. Oh, Jonas Hiller... [and you can see a Wings pillow to the side of my door and part of a Wings poster.]


Beneath the giant picture of Henrik's face is Marian Hossa. I know most of you think he's a traitor, blah blah blah, but I still like him. And come on, look at how happy he is in this picture. And the caption is awesome, too.


Happy Abdelkader from round one against Phoenix.


Next row! Another Hossa, another pretty awesome caption. This was a pretty good fight anyway.


Oh, Mule and his awesome game-winning goals in the postseason. Man, I miss watching him play.


And finally, the Game Four we all loved. Thanks for the FranzenFries. They were Mule-tastic.


That finishes off the front of the door. I realize how long this post is [length, not overall content/word count], so I'll do the back of the door in a separate post. It's not as epic as the front, but it's still pretty damn sweet.