The 'MBA at The Winterhawks' Tale

Sometimes a “Hey, that sounds like a good idea”, can turn into an epic night with the right chemistry, timing, and luck. Such was the night of “MBA night at the Winterhawks” in December 2009.

Author’s note: Here’s a bit of the background on the evening. After completing an in-depth project over the summer on the strategy behind saving Major League Baseball, our group: myself, Chris, James, Lindsay, and Huy agreed we’d celebrate with an evening at the AAA Portland Beavers game where Thursday nights (obviously Thirsty Thursday) are a notorious pick-up event: the baseball is always secondary to the Beer Garden. Unfortunately, we could never agree on a game night, and our promise of meeting outside of class dawdled into the fall semester.
With the conclusion of our fall classes, we recommitted ourselves to getting together but opted to attend a Portland Winterhawks hockey game. As it was December and we were in a diversity of classes, our invitee group altered a bit. Huy, Chris, and James were unable to come out, leaving a group of three: Lindsay, Adam, and myself.

So here’s how our evening broke down:

3:50 – I roll into our pre-game meeting place: Widmer’s Gastrohaus admittedly pretty late. I cajoled Lindsay into moving our meet time up for fear of missing the 5:00 pm start of the game (we'd blow by that one in due time). I find her frantically texting her entire phone roster for her own entertainment value. (Subsequently she continues to get texts throughout the evening.) I find out that she’s self-described paranoid of being “that person who sits by themselves in public places”. She’s pretty excited to see me as she's halfway into her first brew – a winter-beer aptly named “Brrrr”. She regales me with her story of driving back from Astoria that morning and drinking Spanish coffees with friends minutes before meeting up. Oh, it’s going to be that kind of night.

3:55 – Adam rolls in just as we’re about to order, food for us is minimal and drinks are liberal.

4:20 – Dinner arrives and our discussion turns to the relative value of Business Ethics – our just ended class. Adam and Lindsay re-up to their second Widmers of the night.

4:23 – I turn down the offer for more beer, rationing that we’ll have more at the game. Adam and Lindsay give me the economics argument of buying $4 beer at Widmer versus paying “Trailblazer” prices at the Rose Garden. There argument is sound, though we’re short on time. Quickly I’m rewarded with half of Lindsay’s beer.

4:50 – We finish up dinner, pay, and head out to park a bit closer to the stadium. Soon I'd find that we're trading an 8-minute train ride for a 6-minute drive and a 7.5-minute walk. I did mention we're MBAs and not Engineers right? This especially embarrassing as I only argued for moving as I was parked in an hour spot. In retrospect, it probably wouldn’t have mattered much on a Sunday – Oh well.

4:55 – I’m tailing Lindsay and Adam, who are riding together as they’re driving back to the ‘Couv later that night. We proceed to take a giant loop around to get to our parking area. We drive by The Alibi (headed North), Harbor Freight Tools (headed East), back to get onto the Interstate (headed South), probably getting off at the same exit we just came from (and turn back East). (Sigh) At least we’re getting to the stadium.

5:05 – On the way in, Adam recalls some of his experiences at the Rose Garden, mostly related to old school Blazer games. This leads into him singing a song, which Lindsay quickly recalled but I, being a relative recent Portland transplant, had never heard of. One of those, corny “have to be in the moment” to appreciate it local songs proudly entitled “Bust-a-Bucket.”

Yes, it did happen and you can relive all the joy of it on youtube.

Be warned: this is straight out of the era when Cross Colours were “in”, radio songs were sung by Bel Biv Devoe and En Vogue, and if I'm not mistaken, Joey Lawrence just put out an album. Embarrassing times for all.

5:15 – Taking full use of our WSU Student ID cards, we get into the stadium for the discount rate of $10.75, still wildly overpriced for a minor-league hockey game. We're just in time to hear the buzzer signify the end of the first period – so much for getting into the flow of the game.

5:17 – We spot a Pyramid Brewing bar and grab our first drinks in the stadium. Adam bolts for the requisite potty break. My 20 oz Hefeweizen comes to $8.50. That economics lesson that Adam and Lindsay bestowed on me earlier comes home to roost. Ugh.

5:18 – A young man in a red Winterhawks polo and a clipboard notices the commotion we’re causing (we’re probably still singing Bust-a-Bucket to anyone willing to stand close enough to us) and approaches me. “Want to be part of a race during the second intermission?” I’m stuck with the thought of falling over myself on TV and in front of the 200 fans assembled and decide it’s not worth the risk. I turn the offer down. Rather dejected, Clipboard guy shuffles in the direction of a replacement victim.

5:19 – Arriving late from the restroom, Adam asks what clipboard guy offered. As I tell him, his eyes light up like Seth MacFarlane encountering an open bar. He tracks down clipboard guy and quickly signs the safety waver to get him on the ice. I see all credibility I’ve accumulated in my 30-some years drain away as I too, sign on the dotted line. Lindsay signs on and we have ourselves a three-person race.

5:20 – Proud with their shiny, brand new accomplishment, Lindsay and Adam taunt each other mercilessly about their pending race victory. We head to our section and find … well, ... pretty much whatever seats we want as the stadium's purely empty. Most fans in attendance are hockey purists however, and bare the spectrum of NHL jerseys. This includes two genuine finds: a Chicago Blackhawks “00” Griswold jersey and a Hamilton Mustangs “Youngblood” jersey. I guess it’s true that hockey fans will shell out more cash on commodities than the average fan of other sports. (See, I am still a capitalist at heart!)

5:30 – The second period begins and I aid Lindsay in catching up in hockey lingo. Honestly, it’s hard to keep shouting over both of them at the taunts continue to fly. We make full use of the Rose Garden cupholders and I explain to Lindsay that Adam and I will have to attend to some business after the third “quarter” but promise to return for the fourth if she stays seated. Adam does get this joke and can hardly contain a chortle.

5:37 – Adam mocks the other guy in our section, baring a XXXL Flyers jersey, who is making love to his delicious nachos and not at all concerned with what’s happening on the ice.

5:39 – As the period winds down, I’m wondering how Clipboard Guy is going to find us. The other two are humoring themselves by watching the other spectators in attendance. I turn my head and find Clipboard Guy virtually sitting on my shoulder. It’s one of those creepy, “too close to me on the train” feelings. Oh yeah, he wasn’t going to let the most entertaining fans of the evening escape out of this one. I ask how long we have (a few minutes) while Adam asks if there’s time for a trip to the urinals (yes, if we leave right now). Yep, I’m already calculating the dimensions of Adam’s bladder in my head.

5:40 – We’re on our way and Lindsay is struck with a dilemma – how is she going to race with half her beer left? As any good red-blooded American would – she opts for downing it. There's definitely some 'Sconny' in her somewhere.

5:41 – The three of us are brought down to the bowels of the Rose Garden Arena and Adam is cheering as if Def Leopard is on next. I have to admit, I’m a mixture of nerves and anticipation. Whatever I do, I can’t get the silly grin off my face.

5:42 – We’re introduced to our host and emcee Jerry, who assures us he can find a video of the event after we’re done. By Jerry, we're walked through the parameters of the race we’ll be taking part in along with the added caveat: 'Right here, off the ice, these are the rules; but once we're on the ice, no rules apply'. Sounds safe to me!

As it turns out, we’re the only three participants (blocking us from a potential detrimental loss to someone from a different major) and we’ll be racing around the center circle. To make things more interesting, we’re told we’ll be doing the “Hippity-hop” race. Do you know what these things are? I think I’ve seen them, but have never used before. If you want to get your own, here’s their website.

5:43 – Tom-a-hawk, the Winterhawks mascot, a giant Hawk in breezers and a Winterhawks jersey, joins us. Adam and I are pumped and high five him. He’s the consummate hype-man. As Lindsay shies away, I direct Tom-a-hawk to give Lindsay a hug. She literally starts screaming and runs away spouting something about “the fear of mascots and clowns”. Tom-a-hawk is offended by being compared to a clown.

5:45 – The second period ends (of which we got to watch all of five minutes), the refs come out of our door and we’re on the ice. Jerry does a great job of introducing us and before we know it we’re lined up to race. Lindsay has the inside corner, I’m next, with Adam to the outside.

The next few minutes are an honest blur. What I can remember is 0.5 seconds into the race, Lindsay slips and goes down …
… My slight advantage in the middle lengthens my lead …
… I initially thought the best “hippity-hop” strategy is two hands on the handle, but half of the way in, I adjust to a one-handed hold and use my other hand for leverage/balance. Yes, I now look (and feel) like a rodeo cowboy riding a giant inflatable playground ball …

… if only I had on a red hat to complete the Brokeback Mountain ensemble …

… I think Adam’s right on me as I round the ¾ cone and head for home, I glance over my shoulder and see Adam’s still way back at the ½ way mark (He would say later that he let up pursuit in order to impede Lindsay’s progress). …

… This revelation causes me to stop, turn around to cockily (yes, I just made up a word) bounce over the finish-line backwards just before Adam catches me. He sees this and directs Tom-a-hawk, who is dutifully watching on, to attack me. In defense and without thinking, I evade his generously oversized beak and do a crappie flop backwards over the line, thus finishing the race…

5:48 – We’re all smiles as we celebrate the completion, with minimal embarrassment, of the race. Tom-a-hawk grabs a ball and races around himself, much to the crowd’s amusement. We're all laughing so hard, we hardly care if we're a spectacle or not. Wishing there was a camera to capture this moment for the three of us, I guess I’ll have to settle for a mental image of us on the Rose Garden ice and my victory in the Hippity-Hop contest.

5:49 – Not content with the humiliation of coming in a distant third, while walking off Lindsay gives me the “watch this” gesture and goes for the big leg sweep of Adam. Of course, this joke writes itself: Arrogance + Alcohol + Low Surface Tension = Hilariousness. The result is Lindsay flat on her back, just missing Adam’s shin and Adam looking down laughing at her attempt.

We aid her back on her feet, but seriously, is there anything funnier than watching someone go for the big, dynamic move and eating it? I'm pretty sure there isn't.

5:50 – We reach the edge of the ice and I’m handed my first place price: A bright red Winterhawks shirt.

I celebrate and gloat to my fellow contestants until I notice the prizes handed out for second and third place: The same bright red Winterhawks shirt.

5:52 – Tired, giddy, and parched from our escapades, we had to the nearest bar for another round of gigantic $8.50 beers. We proudly display our new shirts for anyone willing to ask, and some of those who don’t.

5:53 – On our way back to our seats, we run into two of my hockey teammates, Diss and Red. Introductions go around and I ask the boys if they “Saw those bozos who did the hippity-hop race”. Diss and Red mention they have a suite courtesy of another hockey player friend of ours and subsequently invite us up to watch the third period. We jump at the chance, only somewhat to distance ourselves from the XXXL Flyers Nacho guy.

5:55 – The suite is what we expect it to be and for added convenience there’s a bar steps out the front door. We regale our new suite-mates and fast friends with our exploits in the last 20 minutes … in case they couldn’t see from their vantage point.

The game ends, we finish our beers and head for a last stand at Red Robin. Our lisping, sophomore-status server is apparently petrified of loud noises and wants nothing to do with us. He checks on us two times, both timidly, and dashes away like a scared mouse after both encounters. The night winds down with the three of us taking turns recalling college exploits, telling most embarrassing stories, and amazingly funny jokes involving the Red Robin Seasoning.

We concur that the Astoria High School mascot (Fisherman) is immensely cooler than that of rival Seaside HS (the Seagulls). Yes, they’re coastal towns and that's what we can muster for comedy after such a night.

Thus far, we’ve mildly discussed MBA night at Winterhawks II: the revenge of Tom-a-hawk, but no current plans are in the works. Just how we duplicate the magic in the air (Bust-A-Bucket songs aside) might be a challenging proposition. Of course, anything’s possible if we include the two “most likely to be the life of the party” candidates I was partnered with in the first round…

The 'Catching a Samoan Bus' Tale

We've been back in Portland for awhile now, but I can't get out of my head the experience of riding a Samoan bus to our Fale in Lalomanu. I knew we were in trouble when the brochure claimed "Samoan buses come in a variety of colours!" Nothing about timeliness, comfort or style. Oh well...
So here's a time-line of how it went on March 14th on our way across 'Upolu:

9:00 AM - Check bus schedule at our hotel - buses to Lalomanu depart the Fish Market in Apia at 10:30, 11:00, and 11:30 - awesome. Catch taxi to the craft market/fish market for the morning.

10:00 AM - Enjoy a fine lunch of fried chicken at the craft market.

10:40 AM - A little bored, head over to catch the 11:00 bus to Lalomanu - beach here we come!

10:45 AM - Ask the teenage "bus driver's assistant" what time we're leaving. 11? No, 11:15? No. Noon, he says. Try to keep wife from kicking the kid.

11:00 AM - Decide he's actually right. Send Janwyn back into the market to pick up a few other crafts. Notice an amazing amount of people boarding the bus. Maybe we're leaving early?

11:20 AM - Board bus. Wait.

11:40 AM - Wait. More people board the bus.

12 noon - Waiting, folks sitting in laps as well as standing. Notice that I'm the only "White" person on the bus and my wife is the only Asian. Huh.

12:15 PM - We pull out of the bus corral! Yay, we're on our way!

12:20 PM - Notice we're pulling into the vegetable market 3 blocks away. What?

12:30 PM - We spin through, apparently, the bus driver didn't see anyone he recognized, so we're BACK to the Bus corral. We've been on the bus over an hour and have gone in a giant circle. But at least we have seats.

12:40 PM - FINALLY leave the bus corral FOR REAL this time. We're headed East out of Town.

12:45 PM - Uh oh, spoke to soon. We stop for gas and EVERYONE gets off the bus! This is like doing your grocery shopping at Super America. We're we not just at the Market? What gives? Janwyn and I are beside ourselves.

12:46 PM - Notice a gal selling ice cream outside the store (mmmmm, ice cream). Decide to sign up for a cone for 4 Tala (that's $1.30 to you Americans). This is going to be awesome!

12:47 PM - Watch the bus creep ahead with my wife frantically waving on-board. All the sudden ice cream doesn't sound so good. Jump back on the bus.

12:50 PM - JUST KIDDING! The bus driver wanted to make sure the gas works, so pulled ahead 10 feet. WE'RE STILL WAITING!

1:15 PM - Everybody back on the bus. Fun Times in 100% humidity. We're on the road again.

1:30 PM - We're rolling now! Yee-haw!

2:00 PM - Hope the transmission holds out as we creep up the hill. 10 kms per hour. Feel that breeze!

2:30 PM - We start dropping folks off. At the end of their driveways.

2:32 PM - Another stop.

2:33 PM - 5 meters down the road, another stop.

2:34 PM - 10 meters down the road, another stop. It occurs to me a fantastic idea hasn't hit Samoans yet - a bus stop!

2:35 PM, 2:37 PM, 2:41 PM, and on and on until 3:30 - you get the idea. I should have ridden a turtle across the island.

3:45 PM - We see the sign saying we're in Lalomanu! Huzzah! We keep an eye out for Litia Sini, and our Fales.

3:50 PM - Take a turn off the road towards Lalomanu school. Are we on a side trip?

3:55 PM - We c-r-e-e-p past a Saturday afternoon Rugby game. Everyone leans out the window to watch.

4:00 PM - Pull a U-Turn at the end of the road. I don't recall anyone getting off the bus on this side trip...

4:05 PM - We STOP, engines off, as EVERYONE watches the Rugby game intently. Wow, we're never going to get there!

4:08 PM - We on the move - Oh wait, the bus driver just realized he could sit in the shade if he pulled ahead 10 feet - we're still watching the game.

4:15 PM - On the move again. Tired, sweaty, and ready to get off the bus.

4:25 PM - Yell out as we pass Litia Sini - That's our resort, jump off, pay 16 Tala for the pleasure, and get set to enjoy the fantastic views of the surf.

Total Distance: 35 kms --- Travel Time: 4 hours, 5 minutes.

The 'Beginning a Blog' Tale

So, here I am.

For the positive and the negative, Facebook has allowed every voice you've come across to be reintroduced into your life in near real-time.

Though we usually hear about the negative stories related to this invasion, this blog is borne out of a positive one.

I recently re-connected with a good friend of mine, an annual roommate actually, who had resettled in Knoxville. As we both went to school in Western Wisconsin and I've since moved to Portland, without Social Media there would otherwise be little opportunity for us to reconnect. Fortunately though, we had.

One of the things that he said to me, to the effect of, "I hope you're still writing. You had an incredible skill in that area," went straight to my gut.

Is is possible to let someone down whom you haven't connected with in ten years? Without social media, would this phenomenon be limited to class reunions?

In one swift sentence, and probably still a bit unbeknown to him, I've again re-investigated this latent skill-o-mine.

And such is the tale of the beginnings of this site. I'm hoping to use this as a semi-public diary, an open anthology of my short stories - whatever form they should come in. I have a few written on paper and a few more will surface with time. Perhaps the blessing for me will be a format not stricken to particular topics ... and with 'The Red Tussock as a title, I'm amorphous enough to cover whatever I like!

So just what is a 'Red Tussock' anyway? I'm glad you ask!

Tussock is a form of high grass native to New Zealand. The name, suggested as Scottish in origin, thrives in the paddocks and rolling hills of Godzone. It is the ancient foundation for one of the last colonized countries on Earth and one of the binding ties of the Kiwi culture. I don't believe there is a more basic, and at the same time more noble, title to be found. But that's just one writer's opinion.