To help bring in the new era of the new and improved blog, I've decied to delve into the archives, a la Bill Simmons, to bring my faithful reader(s) a little something special, by request. This marks the first blog entry to include a guest writer, and it should be noted that this is being printed without any prior consent or knowledge of his. This correspondence took place more than six years ago, two days after New Year's Eve. Enjoy.
From: "Kevin O'Flaherty" <firstname.lastname@example.org>
Subject: Re: Happy F*!#'n New Year's
Date: Tue, 02 Jan 2001 23:32:05 -0500
Mr. Pat McGroyn,
Without a doubt that was one of the funniest works these eyes have ever seen. my roomates rushed into my room to see what the fuck was so goddam hillarious. 2001 - what a way to bring it in, i can not believe the shit that went down that night. van zant and the goldfish is an all-time classic (i have been asking everyone around, how much $ it would take to do that deed, the answers have widely ranged). So dalwick lost $130 and got punched in the face to boot - happy new year! sketter and maria are the new millenium couple - when i was down last week, i was talking to maria at the oar house, and susie came over and told her that sketter had a crush on her - she didn't even blink, it was too funny. seany, i can not state enough what a great suprise it was to get that fuckin' letter, picturing big 'vo wiping out in the washroom to everyone smoking reef outside the bar it just sums up that we are all maturing into fine young adults.
let me set the scene for you for the clarkson golden knight's opening to '01. our original plan was to get into syracuse about eleven than to hurry home to the booming new year's party here in good ol' potsdam. when we got to the airport at 5:00 pm new year's eve, the pilots of all delta planes departing from florida decidied to sart their new year's boozing early and go on strike. they went on strike that fuckin' day. Rather hang out in sunny florida and fly straight to minnisota on the 4th, we decided to hang out at the airport in ft. meyer's fla. for a couple hours to wait for a bus and take a red-eye greyhound to atlanta on new year's eve. let's just say i remain a little bitter about the situation. we had a 55 seater and there was about forty-five people on the bus including the coaches, athletic director and all of their wives and famillies. rather than complain, 15 mins into the 11 hour trip i preceded to the tiny bathroom with a copy of swank magazine and snap a load off. that helped the bus ride go a little smoother. since this huge mishap had some of the boys a wee bit pissed off, the coaches decided to treat us to the outback. but when we arrived, we soon discovered that we weren't the only ones wanting to eat out that night and they didn't have a table of 45 ready. the restaurant next to the almighty steakhouse was named "the cracker barrell" and for some reason had plenty of room. we quickly learned that the reason there was many open tables was due to the fact that it was an unliscened establishment. they did have a gift shop and that is where i made one of the best investments of my life - a $3.99 harmonica. so we hopped back on the bus and brought in the new year two hours later. there was about six of us awake when we started the countdown at 11:59, but everyone seemed to let out at least a yawn or something when the big ball dropped. two freshmen, tristan lush - a wannabe lobster fisherman from massatchaus and rob mcfeeter's - a farmer from no joke woodville, ontario also thought the harmonica was a wise investment. for the complete elevn hours, there was at least one of us playing.
we finally did make it to atlanta where we had a six hour wait until our flight took off, if these georgia delta pilots did not go on strike. we did not stick out at all - 25 pasty white guys in the atlanta airport. it turned out to be one of the coldest nights of the year in atlanta so all of the homeless people in the surronding area decided to crash at the airport. i somehow found a vacant couch, slept for five hours and to my own amazement had all my belongings when i woke up. we than flew to montreal than bused two hours back to good ol' potsdam. let's just say the thought of you guys guzlling beer after beer and drink after drink ran through my mind a couple times.
down in fla there was a night to remember. the day after the tournament ended we had practice in the morning and from noon on the rest of the day to ourself. we preceded to get our beach gear, put our bar clothes in a knapsack and get the bus-driver to take us to fort meyer's beach which was about 15 mins away. he agreed to take us, but it was a one-way ticket and we were on our own to get back. upon arrival we headed straight to the beach which was awesome but the weather wasn't cooperating and while we were in our trunks the rest of the people were walking in thier turtlenecks and jackets. we than proceded to get some lunch and sit down for an hour at the local fish and chips joint. over that hour about fifteen of the boys decided to go back to the hotel and the other 10 of us stayed at the "the shark bite" that hour turned into being the biggest gong show ever. we ended up getting billed for 35 pitchers which was pretty generous because the waiter was a typical california surfer dude and hooking us up big time.
we than headed for the hot bar on the beach and we were hugely dissapointed because it was pretty dead - we did not realize it was 7:30. over the next couple of hour we proceced to drink beer after beer and deided that shots of crown royal would be a lot more fun. they were great until the seventh shot which sent me and everybody's favorite knight murray "cuntz" into the corner of the bar. cuntz decided to spit his shot out, which triggered something in my brain because a lot more than crown royal came out of my mouth. somehow i did get kicked out of the bar and i pulled off the legenday "puke and rally" we than headed down to the reef where there was some live music happenin' (too bad i didn't have my harmonica at this time) anyways the band on stage was a wannabe veruca salt and would have made rush look like the beatles.
there was about five of us there in this sit-down place and cuntz and i decided a condiment fight would be a great idea. i guess they don't get cbc because this wannabe "out of blue" commercial was not very well aprreciated. due to the fact my white golf shirt was covered with mustard and ketchup my excuse to the bouncer did not hold a lot a weight. that fine gentleman did let me finish my beer but our visit at the reef lasted about 9 or 10 minutes. we than headed back to the cool bar which name has slipped my mind which was pretty jumpin' at this point but for some reason i thought sucked and decided to walk back to my hotel.
i ended up waking up an hour later in the elevator of the quality inn, which wasn't too bad because i could just walk to my room. i proceded to room 222 but couldn't find it because when i looked at my key, it said welsey inn. when i went down to the lobbey, it turned out i had walked about 100 yards from the bar. i than looked across the street and saw kuntz, reid and carosa which was a huge relief. they had already ordered a cab and when it arrived carosa wanted to take some girls from none other than chatam, ontario back with us. reid thought this was rather a bad idea and was letting carosa know about it - the way a man who had been drinking for ten hours would. kuntz was sleeping in the cab at this point so it turned out to be the swing vote, for some odd reason i decided reid was right and carsoa informed me the following morning, as the girls were getting in the cab i remaked "if you aren't going to suck all our dicks, get the fuck out". i guess they weren't that impressed and deicided not to make the trip with us. ash would have been proud.
we made back to the hotel at about 1:50 which was pretty good, but curfew was at 1:30 which is pretty bad, usually not that big of a deal under normal circumstances. these were far from normal circumstances though because chris line another guy out that night was at the holiday inn pulling an oaf and going to the wrong hotel and a security guard had called the cops and were close to arresting him. chris decided to call coach morris which is the last person he should've called to come pick his ass up. it turned out about 12 guys were late so we have to do some coaching and community shit, but it was well worth it!! so we got home 7:00 last night (the 1st) and head to syracuse tomorrow and fly out to minnisota till sunday, where the weather has been been -20'F. sounds like fun. thanks for the letter bud, flats
p.s. if you wanna give me a roster of who all went to the stinky's bar, i'm assuming it was made up of many of last year's participants but if they were any newcomers to the line-up - i wiwh i was there!!
p.s.s does courtney have a boyfriend? Haha
From: "Sean McCallum" <email@example.com>
Subject: Happy F*!#'n New Year's
Date: Tue, 02 Jan 2001 15:48:16 -0500
What a way to bring in the new millenium. I was just checking to see how you lads did in the tourney, and then I came across this minor anecdote whereby it states that your flight was cancelled, and that you guys had to ring in the new year on a bus, in the midst of an eleven hour ride into Georgia. That's brutal. But what can you do. I'm sure you guys had a blast down there, and probably made up for the lost night somewhere in the sunshine state. I also read that you are on a five game point streak - atta boy. I guess that once you stepped it up a notch and played with the big boys at Glen Abbey arena that Saturday night, the rest was simply academic.
As for our New Year's, as usual, it was a beauty. We ended up doing the same thing as last year, although for awhile it was all up in the air. You know how our unemployed and unmotivated friends are - I think that 90% of the tickets were bought either on the 30th or the 31st. But it finally came together, and by the time we got on the bus to go to the bar, I was already feeling a pretty nice glow (a few glasses of vino at the annual Foley birthday dinner, Jen Foley trying to get in my pants the entire time). The bus ride was a treat with beers a flowing and joints a smoking. When we got to the bar, most people were well on their way - including our bus driver (there were two busses), who decided to ring in the new year with us by staying at the bar, getting smashed, and hitting on every girl at a rate of failure that rivalled even my best outing. I made sure that I didn't get on his bus on the way home, although by the time we left, I would have let a puking, passed-out, birthday celebrating Mike Foley drive the bus. For the record, Foley puked like a champ, once over the railing out front of the bar, much to the delight of the throng of celebrating onlookers, and countless times behind the white Midas van next door. Classic.
Once inside the bar, most males headed directly for the bathroom, far too small for the amount of weed in which it would soon be engulfed. Within a matter of minutes, the owner of the restaurant upstairs came tearing into the bar, complaining that his restaurant had fallen victim to the same inexplicable cloud of green smoke that had rendered visibility in the men's washroom to become non-existent - So that was the end of the indoor hotbox, and as a result, people had to move to the front steps, which I thought would be worse, but nothing came of it. So the booze was flowing, and most people, myself at the top of the list, were double fisting double rye-and-gingers at a torrent pace, so much so that I found myself wondering if I had missed the count down. When I asked someone the time, they told me that it was 9:44...Ouch. Time to take 'er down a few notches. One of the highlights early on was Van Zant swallowing a live gold fish for $130 that Dawick had offerred to the first taker - it was an absolute classic, but essentially sealed ol' Dannny Boy's fate early on with regards to the ladies - somehow I don't think that they find digesting living animals as sexually stimulating as guys do. Much of the rest of the night is a blur, although I do vividly remember watching Skeeter get his groove on with Maria (Suzy's housemate/Skeeter's dream woman). Let me tell you, this episode of Skeeter just goes to show the value of persistence. I think that he went to kiss her about a half dozen times, each attempt ending in Maria's last second head fake, shake-and-bake, go the other way, thereby eluding the mighty moose. I remember watching from a distance with some girl who knows Maria (I think that it was either Magda or Mel, but to be honest I don't remember), and laughing our asses off at the effort being put forth. Finally, however, the good Catholic girl gave into temptation, and the rest, as they say, is history. I think that Skeeter is in love, and judging by the way she was all over him later on, I think that there could be little Uren footsteps pattering in the not-too-distant future. It was quite a sight.
Then all of a sudden it was midnight, and everyone was soaked in beer, and I remember kissing people (both male and female) that I have never spoken to - ahh, the beauty of New Year's. The rest of the time at the bar is a drunken haze, although I do remember walking into the washroom, the sight of next year's world figure skating championships, and seeing Big Vo doing a triple lutz that he, with the pin-pointed precision of a professional, landed on his right eyebrow, leaving a gash larger than those of most of the women I've slept with. Poor Vo didn't even know what hit him, and if it weren't for Kyle helping him up, he'd probably still be lying on that floor. Skeeter also took a spill, smashing his forehead against the Uren-al (bitter, bitter irony), leaving a nice mark.
I pounded back an entire bottle of champagne on the bus ride home, for which I am still paying the price. The bus dropped us off at Glen Abbey golf course where we had an army of carts warmed up and ready to go...no, of course not. It dropped us off on my street, leaving little room for incident. About 15 people came over to my house, and you know what's coming next. We walked into the kitchen and were absolutely awestruck: 10 seventeen year old girls in their underwear and pajamas, dancing around my kitchen table to the Backstreet Boys - it truly was a thing of beauty. We hung around there for awhile, as you might imagine, before Laurie McKeen punched a belligerently drunken Derick Bendig in the face - Digger's response: "That would have hurt if it didn't come from a fuckin' whore" - Classic. Then Digger, ever the center of attention, attempted a triple sow-cow in my front hallway (dodging Rich Morgan who was passed out on the hardwood floor). Luckily for him, he broke his fall with a wine glass, severing a vein in his finger, and turning my bathroom into a scene out of a Quentin Tarrantino movie, flayling his hand around, spraying blood every where, saying "It's only a little blood - it never killed nobody. I just need a band aid". There's still blood on my walls. Eventually, I went to bed (it was around 5:30 by then), but not without one more highlight. Dan has been in love with one of my sister's friends (the one who wore the "Titty Hot Dog" jersey to your game) for quite some time, and decided that this night, the first of the new millenium, would be the night where he'd make his move. After much savvy persuasion, an entire year's supply of intellectually stimulating learned conversation, and countless tricks that the old veteran Dan had tucked up inside his sleeve for this one special occasion, the seventeen year old girl responded by saying "Well, I'm going to bed now", before giving him a noogie, and leaving the room. OUCH. Danny boy went to sleep alone, unsatisfied, underappreciated, but $130 richer.
All in all, it was a hell of a night, but we do wish that you and Ash could have been there. Keep burying those goals, thereby proudly representing the ASHL Cocks. Take 'er easy,