So I went and bought the season tickets for the MLS team in Philly.
They carried a $100 deposit each, with the balance to be paid partially at the end of this month and then the following two. Guess it's not a bad deal. Parking and food should be cheaper than the Phillies. Hopefully fewer douchebags as well.
But that's a few months away! Thinking of summer of soccer when there's about a foot of snow on my patio.
Tonight I drove two hours to go 20 miles to referee a hockey game in front of 150 people. (The arena can hold 7,000)
The ride home wasn't quite as bad as PennDOT decided to plow some of the roads leading me back home. Didn't get stuck anywhere or have any trouble until I tried to enter my driveway and got hung up on some snow.
Luckily it wasn't that heavy, wet snow that makes for nightmarish shoveling.
It's nights like these that really remind me of Dad.
See, he was a stickler for bad weather. Like at the slightest hint of frozen precipitation, he'd start getting antsy. Never mind that in high school I drove a Zamboni at the local rink and that I drove an ice resurfacer before I could drive a car.
See, hockey started to be my thing right about when I was at the end of pee-wee age, start of bantam. Basically missed all of the 5 a.m. practice slots, fortunately, though I did play on an in-house team one year that had some 7 a.m. game times.
For some reason I was named captain of the team that year and we had a pretty significant snow. Still, I pulled the "I'm the team captain, I have to be there" card and we went. Without argument, he shoveled, I slept late and went to the rink.
Of course the other team never showed. Dad never spoke a word of it, but I'm sure it ticked him off.
If snowflakes plastered on Dave Robert's five day forecast were up on a Saturday when he saw it on a Monday, then that was when the badgering would start.
He was constantly worried about me driving in the snow.
Wasn't really a "milk, bread, eggs" worrier - just the transportation part of it.
Same thing even if I was half a continent away. On Saturday leading up to Christmas, I was in Flint, Michigan to ref a tournament. The temperature without the wind chill was 4. Yes, 4, with 2 feet of snow.
A bunch of the coaches invited all the officials down to a conference room at the hotel and we had a couple sodas. Our supervisor was this kinda round guy with a pushbroom stache and a santa belly. For some reason I thought it'd be a funny gag to go to the nearby Walmart to get one of those inflatable front yard Santas, then take a sharpie to it to darken his hair.
He got a real kick out of it when he came back from the bathroom to find this thing in the middle of the room.
Dad got a pretty good laugh too when I told him the story. It was enough to distract him from the frozen, snowy nightmare I was driving in.
Never did I mention the night that Gunner and I drove from Springfield, MA to Glens Falls, NY in a blizzard on an unplowed NY State Thruway. He thought I was going up the next day.
There are three memories of my father that I'll really always cherish - two of them in the year leading up to his death.
The first one was my last game in high school. We were abysmal that year, going 0-22-1 into the final game of the season. Most likely I was in the top three on the team in skating and stickhandling, and I was the goalie.
We won our last game, 2-1. Something like 43 saves on 44 shots.
All the parents on the team knew we were shitty, but waited for us at the door of the rink. I skated off the ice like I always did, my glove and blocker still on and my mask clutched in my waffle hand. Kinda nodded to everyone as I walked to the locker room, but something made me double back and hug Dad.
Got a big round of applause from the crowd, even the visiting team.
The second memory happened almost a decade later when I decided to clean out the garage the summer before he passed. The place was a mess and it was just as he was starting to get sick.
He didn't help much, but somehow found the energy to throw a football around. It's the old Nerf thing I've had for the longest time. Just a simple toss, back and forth. Nothing more.
The last memory, and what ties-in this long-winded post is the last time it really snowed when he was alive.
A good 9-inches of snow fell, preventing him from getting to the patio to fill the bird feeder. Once we cleared the cars off and dispatched the snow from the driveway, the task of clearing a path to the back yard was on the list.
Who takes a shovel to grass? Well, us.
Mom was out, Dad, my Sis - a team effort. Instead of the football we'd throw, it was snowballs. Snow angels too.
Not sure where he is now, but if he's in heaven, he has his salt at the ready.
If he's somewhere else, surely he's ready for the day it freezes over.
They carried a $100 deposit each, with the balance to be paid partially at the end of this month and then the following two. Guess it's not a bad deal. Parking and food should be cheaper than the Phillies. Hopefully fewer douchebags as well.
But that's a few months away! Thinking of summer of soccer when there's about a foot of snow on my patio.
Tonight I drove two hours to go 20 miles to referee a hockey game in front of 150 people. (The arena can hold 7,000)
The ride home wasn't quite as bad as PennDOT decided to plow some of the roads leading me back home. Didn't get stuck anywhere or have any trouble until I tried to enter my driveway and got hung up on some snow.
Luckily it wasn't that heavy, wet snow that makes for nightmarish shoveling.
It's nights like these that really remind me of Dad.
See, he was a stickler for bad weather. Like at the slightest hint of frozen precipitation, he'd start getting antsy. Never mind that in high school I drove a Zamboni at the local rink and that I drove an ice resurfacer before I could drive a car.
See, hockey started to be my thing right about when I was at the end of pee-wee age, start of bantam. Basically missed all of the 5 a.m. practice slots, fortunately, though I did play on an in-house team one year that had some 7 a.m. game times.
For some reason I was named captain of the team that year and we had a pretty significant snow. Still, I pulled the "I'm the team captain, I have to be there" card and we went. Without argument, he shoveled, I slept late and went to the rink.
Of course the other team never showed. Dad never spoke a word of it, but I'm sure it ticked him off.
If snowflakes plastered on Dave Robert's five day forecast were up on a Saturday when he saw it on a Monday, then that was when the badgering would start.
He was constantly worried about me driving in the snow.
Wasn't really a "milk, bread, eggs" worrier - just the transportation part of it.
Same thing even if I was half a continent away. On Saturday leading up to Christmas, I was in Flint, Michigan to ref a tournament. The temperature without the wind chill was 4. Yes, 4, with 2 feet of snow.
A bunch of the coaches invited all the officials down to a conference room at the hotel and we had a couple sodas. Our supervisor was this kinda round guy with a pushbroom stache and a santa belly. For some reason I thought it'd be a funny gag to go to the nearby Walmart to get one of those inflatable front yard Santas, then take a sharpie to it to darken his hair.
He got a real kick out of it when he came back from the bathroom to find this thing in the middle of the room.
Dad got a pretty good laugh too when I told him the story. It was enough to distract him from the frozen, snowy nightmare I was driving in.
Never did I mention the night that Gunner and I drove from Springfield, MA to Glens Falls, NY in a blizzard on an unplowed NY State Thruway. He thought I was going up the next day.
There are three memories of my father that I'll really always cherish - two of them in the year leading up to his death.
The first one was my last game in high school. We were abysmal that year, going 0-22-1 into the final game of the season. Most likely I was in the top three on the team in skating and stickhandling, and I was the goalie.
We won our last game, 2-1. Something like 43 saves on 44 shots.
All the parents on the team knew we were shitty, but waited for us at the door of the rink. I skated off the ice like I always did, my glove and blocker still on and my mask clutched in my waffle hand. Kinda nodded to everyone as I walked to the locker room, but something made me double back and hug Dad.
Got a big round of applause from the crowd, even the visiting team.
The second memory happened almost a decade later when I decided to clean out the garage the summer before he passed. The place was a mess and it was just as he was starting to get sick.
He didn't help much, but somehow found the energy to throw a football around. It's the old Nerf thing I've had for the longest time. Just a simple toss, back and forth. Nothing more.
The last memory, and what ties-in this long-winded post is the last time it really snowed when he was alive.
A good 9-inches of snow fell, preventing him from getting to the patio to fill the bird feeder. Once we cleared the cars off and dispatched the snow from the driveway, the task of clearing a path to the back yard was on the list.
Who takes a shovel to grass? Well, us.
Mom was out, Dad, my Sis - a team effort. Instead of the football we'd throw, it was snowballs. Snow angels too.
Not sure where he is now, but if he's in heaven, he has his salt at the ready.
If he's somewhere else, surely he's ready for the day it freezes over.
VIEW 6 of 6 COMMENTS
mile1423:
Good Morning!!!! I'M SO JEALOUS!!! You got season tix to the Philadelphia Union! Lucky 
beautifulxalone:
Glad to see you're still alive though!