Coach and players motivate before a big game

Posted on Wednesday, June 5, 2013 by Eric Miller

Eric hockey mug shotPublished in Hockey Player Magazine (June 2013)

“Head-manning the puck means passing it down the ice…not at your own guy’s head.”

Wayne Marshall, Colorado High School Coaches Association Hall of Fame

I never thought much about prayer before sporting events.  I do now but it isn’t to score and win.  It’s to implore divine intervention to keep my knees from blowing out.

To maintain a cool head before a big game is challenging, especially when playing rivals.  I reflect on our cross-town foe, Cheyenne Mountain High School.  They had bigger athletes and were league bullies.  Rumor was that their players started shaving in seventh grade.  Some of their seniors had gray hair, mortgages, and investment portfolios.

Cheyenne Mountain skated four lines compared to our three.  Our third line was camouflage.  We wanted opponents to think we had more players than we really did.

Coach Marshall epitomized the hockey coach persona.  He rarely became excited and was not a touchy feely guy. He disdained Cheyenne Mountain like the rest of us.  He wore a jacket and ties to games, chewed his cigarettes, and spoke in choppy sentences that we could understand.   A competitive softball player, Coach brought his sports bag one day and removed a catcher’s mitt.  “Pass it around,” he grumbled, as he gave it to Bowman.  “Take a bite.”  One pregame speech went something like this.speech einstein

“Forwards:  Spread out, create opportunities, pass the puck.  Forecheck. Backcheck.”  Bowman bit a mouthful of leather and handed the mitt to Gerstung.

“Defense: Guard the blue line, shoot low.  Protect the goalie like your kid sister.  The net is YOUR territory.  No stupid penalties.”  Coach forgave penalties like a traffic cop pardoned speeders.   Penalty box visits meant doom at the next practice.

Coach hesitated and watched Gerstung slurp a rawhide lace like a spaghetti noodle.  Gerstung relayed the mitt to Hurley, who bit off a chunk and handed it to Watt.  Watt grew up on a cattle ranch and ate living animals.  Coach continued.  His intensity rose.

“Third line: Wipe off the camouflage face paint.  Pause.  Who scotch-taped Donovan’s blades?  Boys, this is not the time to horse around.”

Coach revved up.  By now he had chewed a pack of cigarettes and his tie unraveled.  Energy buzzed from the locker room.  We smacked shoulder pads and helmet-butted, warriors preparing for battle.  Hurley started eating the carpet.  Our testosterone level reached 10 on a 5 scale.  Then Coach switched gears.

“Huddle up, time for the Lord’s Prayer.”  Huh? hockey huddle

Only Coach knew it:  “Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.  Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.  Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.  And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.  For thine is the kingdom, and the power and the glory, forever and ever, amen.”

But we said it this way:  “Our Father who art in heaven, hollow be your name.  Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth and in heaven.  Give us Wonder Bread ® today. Forgive trespassing and trespassers…cough…mumble…hiccup.  Keep us out of the penalty box…  For yours is the kingdom for which it stands, one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.  Amen.”

We broke the huddle and stormed out.  “Let’s kill those guys!”

So much for turning the other cheek.

We beat Cheyenne Mountain once in four tries.  The games were hard-fought battles.  We hustled, played smart, and left nothing on the ice.  Coach was disappointed to lose but never chastised us for trying our best.

I wish we had beaten them my senior year.  I recall the sweaty stench in the locker room after losing.    We sat dejected, realizing an opportunity was missed.  If we had a few more shots, one more shift, or said the Lord’s Prayer right, we might’ve won.

Those memories are over 30 years old.  I’ve since forgiven Cheyenne Mountain for trespassing across our goal line.  But I sure wish we won.

 

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Guy raves about his Husqvarna lawnmower

Posted on Friday, May 24, 2013 by Eric Miller

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAThree of anything can be a good thing.  I own three pairs of slacks, three sets of skis, and three hockey jerseys.  The slacks decorate my closet and hang next to three dress shirts behind three ties.  My wife, Hun, insists I keep them in case we’re invited to a wedding.  Over the past 15 years I’ve only been to three of those.

There is a rule of three.  Whenever you own three of something, one will either be too small, too large, or just right.   This theorem works for my slacks and belts.  The problem is that the frequency of being too tight is greater than being too loose. I also have three trailers, one for sleeping, one for hauling trash, and the other for hauling whatever else.  Guys have purpose when towing a trailer.  Our lives have meaning.

Among my greatest joys are three lawnmowers.  They are the tools that help me change my yard one swath at a time.  I need a third because the other two usually aren’t working.  They conspire and take turns not starting.  Then again if all three ran, there’s only one of me to operate them.

Hun gets credit for discovering the third mower.  She knows I frequently destroy them and has become a lawnmower aficionado.  “The hardware store has a Husqvarna on sale,” she said one weekend.  “Hitch a trailer, and check it out.”

I was born in Sweden and try to support their economy, so I headed out with trailer in tow.  I own a Husqvarna chain saw (only one) that saws engine blocks.  We also own a Husqvarna weed-eater that, in addition to whacking weeds, has more power than a Toyota Prius.  It can also wax and buff a car.  I figured their lawnmowers must be good.  Hun’s reconnaissance was correct but incomplete.  The mower was actually a self-propelled-front-wheel-drive Husqvarna HU 700F, powered by a Honda motor.  Honda?

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAI stared at the mower and contemplated deeply for three seconds.  Sweden, in the far northern hemisphere, is about 26 latitudes and 123 longitudes away from Japan.  I understand we have a global economy, but how did this happen?

I picture a conference room in Stockholm with IKEA furnishings.  Photos of Bjorn Borg adorn the wood-paneled walls.  ABBA music plays softly.  Design engineers, Sven and Yoshi, pitch the concept to their respective Boards.  These cultures rarely match up on a hockey rink or judo mat, but the decision makers listen.

Sven: “The mower starts on first pull.  The mower is orange.  Tack [thanks].”

Yoshi: “The blade is sharp.  It can slice tomato. Arigato [thanks].”

The tall Swede and the reserved Japanese, men of few words, wait patiently for feedback.  The executives nod, then approve.

“Our nations have filled American garages with cars.  Let’s now fill their sheds.”

The men shake hands, and project Husqvarna HU 700F is born.

I bought the mower and loaded my trailer.  Other guys smiled as I exited the parking lot, affirming my purchase.  I backed in the driveway, unloaded the mower and wheeled it to Hun.  She started the engine on the first pull and squeezed the throttle.  “Whoa,” she exclaimed.  Her arms jerked forward.  “That thing can pull a water-skier!”

I am confident these two great companies created a long-lasting and reliable lawnmower.  The irony of this global collaboration is that an American is pushing it, or in this case, getting yanked out of his boots.  Husqvarna and Honda would really corner the lawnmower market if they added radar to locate hidden garden hoses, tennis balls, and rocks.

I look forward to when the Japanese and Swedes combine sushi with lutefisk.

 

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A Post-Mother’s Day Report: Guy Finds the Right Gift

Posted on Wednesday, May 15, 2013 by Eric Miller

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAWhew, my kids saved me from shopping for a sarong.  Kate’s text intercepted my brain waves while I strolled through Old Navy with Maggie.  We had been there an hour.  A sales clerk laid out four sarongs: one pink, one yellow, one blue, and the other green.  The clerk gave me the pros and cons of each color but I couldn’t decide…so many decisions.

“Mom wants a new weed-eater,” Kate texted.  Younger daughter, Maggie, agreed.  “Let’s get it, Dad.”

I figured that Maggie and Kate were on to a great idea.  I ditched the sales clerk, hopped in my SUV, and burned rubber en route to the hardware store.  A guy wearing jeans and a work shirt greeted us.  He walked us to a line-up of 17 weed-eaters.  They were all orange.  After ten minutes we settled on a Husqvarna.

My wife, Hun, likes her new tool but I have a feeling I’ll become the chief operator.  On the plus side, this new Husqvarna not only whacks weeds and has more power than a Toyota Prius, but it also waxes and buffs cars…

As for my mom, I was a bit more conservative.  What do you get a woman who has everything?  A card with a heart-felt note did the trick.

Also visit Etc. Guy at www.etcguy.com and connect with me on Facebook.  Or send me a note at eric@etcguy.com.

 

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Tips for Guys this Mother’s Day

Posted on Wednesday, May 8, 2013 by Eric Miller
(Photo of a sarong?)

(Photo of a sarong?)

Category:                        Mother’s Day shopping

Anxiety Level:                 Near Panic

Level of Difficulty:          Extreme

Results of Blowing It:      Major

 

Brothers, wake-up!  Mother’s Day is May 12.  Postpone taking down the Christmas lights another week.

Run, don’t walk, to shop.  This time it’s for mom.  But be advised guys, if you have kids your wife is also a mom.  Don’t forget her.  We face a potential double-whammy, and failure is not an option.  Sensitive guys face a triple-whammy if their mother-in-law is on the shopping list.  Some advice for you sensitive guys: take out that Michael Bolton CD and watch a hockey game.  You’ll be cured by the third period.

My memory lapsed on how I addressed Mother’s Day last year.  I can only offer common sense, combined with amnesia and internet findings.   So, here are gift ideas that may (or may not) work:

  1. Unless your mom or wife is a decathlete, sports bras are NEVER a good idea.
  2. Neither is climbing rope, shovels, or fishing tackle.
  3. Chocolate – a fresh box, not leftover from Valentine’s Day.  Reconsider chocolate if the family genetics is prone to acne.
  4. Roses – another reliable hitter.  Get fresh roses from a real store, not from a guy selling them at the street corner.
  5. Or be a bit more imaginative, perhaps something artsy, relaxing, and creative…
  6. Now if you’re thinking apparel, consider a sarong.

A sarong (pictured above) is either a skirt or a dress, depending on how it’s wrapped.  Based on my research, sarongs do not require exact sizing (quadruple-check that).  The female’s anger fuse ignites quickly if you mess up.  In a woman’s mind size really does matter.  The practicality of a sarong is they range in size from pup-tent to parachute, which is good news.  Guys, we have more tolerance sizing a sarong than gapping a spark plug.

Do not confuse a sarong with a thong.  Carefully type when ordering via the internet.  I’m already in trouble and lack the gigabytes to respond to angry moms who receive a thong from their numbskull sons.  Memorize this: Yes to sarong, no to thong, and you’ll all get along.

Nearly 316 million Americans live in the USA and 49% are men.  Guys, we are outnumbered.  If we are to survive and propagate the species, we need to use our right-brain this Mother’s Day.  Or at least use our brain right…

Feel free to send me a note at eric@etcguy.com, or visit www.etcguy.com and link to the Etc. Guy Facebook page.

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Child labor comes in handy

Posted on Wednesday, May 1, 2013 by Eric Miller

Kids drive parents crazy if given the upper hand.  I try to control the deck as best as possible.  Youth is no match against experience.

Like many parents, I nag my kids to do their homework and clean their rooms.  My folks did that and I turned out okay.  My wife and I parent two daughters.  We enjoy watching these future taxpayers gain their independence.

Thankfully, child labor laws do not apply to parents.  Or at least I plead ignorance on the matter.  I put them to work.  My dad taught me that. Free labor is a rite of passage for kids and a gold mine for parents.  The challenge is getting kids to do what you want.  I’m sure Dad tired of seeing my eyes roll when asking me to do chores.  So, he took advantage of parental ingenuity.

I was a high school junior when I asked Dad how he developed such muscular forearms.  Weight lifting didn’t seem to help.  Dad had waited years for my question.  He blurted his answer, seizing the opportunity like a lion on beef steak.

“They came from mowing the lawn.”

I swallowed the bait.  We lived on 12 acres, two of which needed mowing.  Convinced I’d have “Popeye” forearms by the start of my senior year, I mowed the equivalent of 40 football fields that summer.  By the time school started I had a spectacular tan.  My forearms were twigs.

“Maybe you should try digging fence-post holes,” Dad said, “Or move that pile of bricks.”  Dad had it all planned.

I learned from Dad and began experimenting with my own kids, starting with Maggie, my 7th grader.

Maggie is analytical and cunning. She knows the desired answer before asking a question and has the ability to quietly vanish if chores are involved.  Maggie is also mechanically inclined thanks to her mom’s dominant genes.  So I commissioned her to tune-up the lawnmower.

“Maggie, I need your help.”

“I’m busy Dad.”

“Homework?”

“Nope, busy,” she answered, while lounging on the couch playing computer games.

I unplugged the computer.

“Not anymore, come on.”

She trudged outside, head hung low as if walking to the gallows.

“You’ve always wanted a horse,” I told her.  “Better learn about horsepower first.”

She took the bait.  We have three lawnmowers, two we push and one we ride.  I laid tools on a tarp and explained their use.  Maggie yawned.

“Use the socket wrench to loosen the spark-plug.  Then unscrew it with your hand.  We’ll clean it.”

“Dad, what if I get electrocuted?”

“You won’t.  Besides, your mom will kill me if you’re electrocuted.”

Maggie removed the spark-plug.  She scrubbed it with a wire brush.  “This feels slippery, like porcelain.  Same as a toilet, right?” she asked.  Her interest sparked.  “What’s next?”

“Let’s check the air filter.”

“Right, it keeps dirt out of the motor.  Dad, hand me the Philips screwdriver.”

We were on a roll.  She removed the air filter and knocked out dirt and grass.  I showed her how to reinstall it.

What’s next?”

“Oil change,” I said.  “I’ll insert the siphon hose to suck out the dirty oil.  Give it 15 pumps.”

She pumped the siphon without spilling oil, taking pride in her work.  Maggie’s eyes focused on the oil flowing through the hose. I speculated she appreciated learning these practical skills.  Surely, she would realize the value of fixing something herself; and she’d have the gratification that comes with it.  She will thank me someday and I’ll have a lawnmower mechanic in the family.

“How much oil does it need?”

I showed her the fill line on the dip stick.

“Careful, not too much,” I advised.

I blew up a lawnmower once. I thought a shotgun went off and nearly had to change my underwear.

Maggie filled the oil tank and replaced the cap.  I started the engine.  The motor hummed.

“Are we done?” she asked.  “Mosquitoes are biting me.”

“Yes, but don’t leave.”

Maggie’s eyes studied mine.  Her smile straightened and then sank into a frown.

“Lawnmower noise bothers mosquitoes, so scare ’em off.  It’s now ready for YOU to push it.”

Dad taught me well.

Readers: feel free to send me note at eric@etcguy.com or visit www.etcguy.com.  Etc.Guy is also on Facebook.

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Thank the Sun this Earth Day

Posted on Sunday, April 21, 2013 by Eric Miller

“It’s not easy being green.”  Kermit the Frog

 

Earth Day, April 22, is when the global community acknowledges our planet’s environmental status.

Seven billion humans inhabit Earth and we should really figure out how to manage it.  Think of us as sharers of a gigantic sandbox.

I think our sun deserves credit though. We awake to it every morning. Without the sun there’s no reason to have daylight savings time.

Hun, my wife, and I have tried our best to go ‘green’ and installed solar panels on our home — not just to save the earth but to also preserve our investments.  The stock market sank and our portfolio flamed.  Achieving a zero loss was the new positive. We considered ways to beat zero and thought about the sun’s 4.5 billion year performance.  We figured that a solar investment would outlast the stock market.

We hired a contractor who installed the solar panels in about two weeks. The sun is 93 million miles away but its rays powered our home within eight minutes of connecting all the equipment.

One recent cloudy day we generated 15 kilowatt-hours of power.   I called our utility company to learn the net electric costs. Put simply, our monthly electric bill is roughly the cost of two large, extra cheese pizzas.  At summer time we actually sell power to the grid.

We also experimented with electric powered transportation.  I returned home from goofing off one day to find a strange looking vehicle parked in the driveway.  Hun has a habit of getting weird things when I’m gone.  They’re usually animals.  I’ve come home to new dogs, cats, chickens, rabbits, and even goats.

“What’s that?”

“It’s called a Zap,” she said.  “It’s 100% electric.  Not even you can electrocute yourself.  Plug it in.”

I shook my head and stared at the rig.  She found the three-wheeled mini-truck on eBay.  Batteries were included.

“It looks like a Cessna fuselage without wings.  I’m not driving it.”

I eventually warmed up to the Zap and loaded it for errands.  I hauled straw bales, pizzas and even a girl- scout troop.  The only time it visited the gas station was to fill fuel containers for the lawnmower and chainsaw.

The Zap is powered by six 14-volt batteries that last 12 miles between charges. It tops out at 35 mph and has an AM/FM cassette.   I’d arrive at my destination after three songs.

I’d charge the Zap overnight.  The nonpeak electricity rate is 10 cents per kilowatt-hour and I learned the Zap cost about a nickel per mile to charge. That beats the 24 cents per mile to fuel my SUV.

The Zap has a simple console with a volt meter. I barely earned a C in physics but all I needed to know was that a full charge is 80 volts. Below 40 volts and I’d better coast home.  It had a back-up alarm when shifting into reverse to warn unsuspecting pedestrians. Folks expect a dump truck and then chuckle when they saw my electric wheelbarrow.

I met a friend and teased him about his gas guzzling hybrid. “You loser,” I howled, “You’re wrecking the environment.”

Upon leaving, the Zap blew a fuse.  I headed home and prayed for green traffic lights because braking sucks volts.  If it died in an intersection I’d lift a manhole cover, jump in, and hide.  My speed fizzled … 20, 18, 12 … but the signal remained green. I floored it and crossed the intersection at 5 mph. From there I could push it home. All that stress caused by a blown 75-cent fuse.

We sold the Zap to get a safer vehicle for our budding teenage driver.  But at least we tried going green.

We strive to leave our environment in good condition for future users. It’s polite etiquette, like making the bed after staying at a friend’s house. There’s no sense in leaving a mess for others to clean up.    Green technology has saved us some bucks. But nothing is truly free except for that daily trip around the sun.

Read more at www.etcguy.com or send me a note at eric@etcguy.com.

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Guy looks back at 1963

Posted on Friday, April 19, 2013 by Eric Miller

I reached a milestone today.  I became cordless 50 years ago when dad snipped my umbilical cord.

I am a product of the 60’s, a planned child but unscheduled.   If you can’t remember where you were, or weren’t, here’s a glimpse at Americana in 1963…

 

  •  Jack Nicklaus won his first Masters (and $125,000)
  • Alfred Hitchcock directed “The Birds,” a movie that still freaks me out
  • The Flintstones were a TV hit (I always had a crush on Betty)
  • The Chevy Impala was a top seller
  • The first successful liver transplant occurred
  • The sedative valium became available
  • The United States unemployment rate was 6.1%
  • The average cost of a new house was under $20,000
  • The average American income was $5,807
  • The average cost of a new car was $3,233
  • A gallon of regular gas cost $0.30
  • American life expectancy was 70 years
  • AT & T introduced touch tone phones
  • Zip codes were first implemented in the USA
  • Michael Jordan and Johnny Depp were born
  • My wife, Hun, was 2 years old (She’s still older than me.)

I downloaded this information from the new iPhone Hun bought me.  It came with programmed reminders, which reminds me my first call is to schedule a colonoscopy…

That story is just around the bend.

Read more at www.etcguy.com or send me a note at eric@etcguy.com.

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Guy is better at filling up holes than filling out tax forms

Posted on Saturday, April 13, 2013 by Eric Miller

I helped my wife dig 100 holes last weekend to plant grape vines.  Filling up the holes is a lot easier than filling out IRS forms… I wish I had orange flags to show me the loop holes.   Whaddya think?

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Memory lapse triggers hunt for milk and eggs

Posted on Wednesday, April 10, 2013 by Eric Miller

Either my memory is failing or my brain is overtaxed.  I suffer from CRS syndrome – can’t remember squat.  My wife, Hun, points this out with ease.  Forgetfulness surfaces when I’m charged even a menial assignment.

“Honey, please get some milk and eggs.  I’m heading to the office.  Write yourself a note,” she added.

“Aw, come on, any fool can remember to buy milk and eggs,” I answered.  “I’ll be back in 30 minutes.”

Maggie, my 7th grader, and I hopped in the car for the errand.  We stopped at a sporting goods store en route and browsed for an hour.  I should have known better than to make the detour but she’s fun company.

Three hours later we were in the back yard target shooting when Hun arrived.

“Just what are you two doing?” she scolded.

“I’m turning Maggie into Annie Oakley.  Check out the soda can.  She’s a great shot.”

Silence.  “You bought her a BB gun?”

Hun glared, ignoring Maggie, her eyes focusing on me instead.  “What are you thinking?”

Suddenly I was the target. She wanted an explanation.  I’d better invent one, quick.

“Dad got me a BB gun when I was 12,” I said.  “I watched Clint Eastwood westerns all the time.  Learning to shoot is a rite of passage for a kid.  Maggie will develop a new skill, self-confidence, and learn to respect firearms.  Maybe she’ll even make the Olympic Team.”

I dug deep referencing the Olympic Team.  It was admittedly weak but I had no time to think.  We had enough of a challenge hitting a stationary soda can. Unfortunately my lack of thinking resulted with dumb rationale.  Ready, fire, aim…my mouth ran amuck while the brain froze.

Hun stared coldly without flinching.  Both hands rested on her hips.  Her posture reminded me of a gunslinger preparing to draw.  But she was weaponless except for her next question.

“Did you get milk and eggs?”

Whups.  I put away the rifle and scrambled to the store muttering to myself…milk and eggs…milk and eggs…get milk and eggs…  I returned within 20 minutes, parked, and walked through the backyard gate.  Hun lay prone on a blanket aiming the BB gun.  She focused on a line-up of cans perched in front of a dirt pile, fired, and re-cocked the rifle without looking at me.

“Did you get butter?” she asked.

“I thought you said milk and eggs?”

“I meant butter.  And while you’re at it, get more ammo.”

Next time I’ll just write down my tasks lest I forget.  I had better remember the direction I’m going before returning to the OK Corral.

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Dad Hikes Mall with Teenage Daughters

Posted on Friday, March 29, 2013 by Eric Miller

Category:  Shopping With Teenage Daughters at Mall

Frustration Level:  Moderate

Hike Level:             Extreme

I enjoy spending quality “Dad time” with Kate and Maggie though I occasionally take one for the team.

The difference between hiking across Nevada or shopping with my daughters at a mall is about 180 miles.  Nevada is only 320 miles wide but mall hikes with daughters are a good 500.

Feel free to visit the Etc.Guy site at www.etcguy.com and browse around…

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