So I fenced in front of a lot of onlookers, won one bout,
and didn’t look out of place. The event was outdoors: it wasn’t as hot as last
year, but I was still sweating profusely under the mask. Lost in the
quarterfinal as expected, got changed, and hustled home. Then I had a whole 15 minutes to put
down the fencing bag, grab the hockey bag and ref briefcase, make sure (twice)
that my sports glasses were in the bag, and leave for the rink (with time enroute
to grab something to eat). When I
got to the rink, I exchanged pleasantries with a group of players and
wives/girlfriends tailgating in the parking lot, which had me looking forward
to a nice friendly skate.
Not so. About
five minutes in, we had our first scuffle of the night. Several more ensued, each one more
heated than the last. The last
three I managed to get in between the combatants before any punches were
thrown, but my partner had had enough.
He called the two captains over to the referee’s crease and read them
the riot act. “You guys are acting
like a bunch of five-year-olds arguing ‘he started it.’ This is a charity tournament: we’re
here for something more important than the final score… and if we have to break
up one more fight I’m calling the game and sending you home!”
That got us through the second period with no more
incidents, and by the third, the players were too tired to fight. They weren’t too tired to play though,
and the white team took a 3-0 lead.
Halfway through the third, with the white team shorthanded, one of their
good defensemen wound up a slap shot to clear the puck out of the zone. Instead of aiming up the middle of the ice,
he aimed for the boards, right where I was standing. The puck hit me on the top of the hip, so hard it almost
drew blood even though it hit me on the padded girdle I wear.
Fortunately the second game was much more what we expected:
C teams playing for fun and only one or two minor tussles. I got a bag of ice from the snack bar
and stuffed it under the girdle while I skated. The bruise has been a beauty. Sunday there was a red diamond with a white center where the
puck hit, Monday and Tuesday it turned deep black and blue; a splotch about as
big as your fist. The end of the
week was a rainbow of colors; who needs tattoos? And today there’s still a puck-sized mark more violet than
purple, with a knot where I was hit.
So far no pencils have suffered any injuries as I work my way through these puzzles:
Two acrostics this weekend: by Mike Shenk in the Wall Street Journal and by Hex in the New York Times (puzzle behind the paywall, comments and spoilers at Wordplay).
Block cryptics in the Canadian papers: by Hex in the National Post (blogged by Falcon) and syndicated (Hot informs us it is not Fraser Simpson constructing these) in the Globe and Mail. Easy and hard respectively.
Catching up with Kevin Wald, I solved Bachelor Party this week: another example of his amazing ability to hide themes in clues as well as the grid.
BEQ reminds us that Lollapuzzoola is going on two weeks from now in New York, but you are invited to play from home too. The ever-useful BEQ also points us to an article in The Atlantic expressing concern about the future of crosswords in an age when fewer and fewer people read printed newspapers and magazines. BEQ catches the irony of seeing this in a publication that is “covered in Emily Cox and Henry Rathvon's blood.”
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