Wal-Mart Bathroom

Who knows...

Christmas

Christmas is here, and in the words of one friend, "It's just a funky year." You could say that...

I'm sitting in my apartment in Lafayette, seventeen of my teammates are doing the same, some have visitors and family, and others are going about their business like it's any other day. I talked to my family this morning to wish them well, I opened a package sent for me, and I made myself something to eat. We're all getting ready for our game tonight at 7pm, and then tomorrow morning we'll board a bus and travel to Mississippi for a Sunday game. From there we travel to Columbus, Georgia, return to Louisiana early Wednesday morning, and then leave again Friday morning, only to return for a New Year's Day game on Saturday here in Lafayette. It's a crazy stretch, with six games over the next eight days, and the holidays being here.

It's safe to say that Christmas in 2010 doesn't have the same feel as Christmas in 2009, but I guess that's the way the world goes, and a lot can change in only a year's time. The last time I saw my parents was for a brief three-week stretch back in June, before I decided to leave home for what proved to be more of a lesson about life and people than I even thought possible. I haven't seen my twenty-three year old brother since last Christmas, which is a weird feeling. Things are just a little cookoo-for-cocoa puffs if you catch my drift.

I guess in hindsight it's fair to say that Christmas really is just another day, unless you have family, friends, and loved ones to spend time around. It's a different feeling when you spend the day at home, mostly with yourself, and preparing for a game. It's almost impossible to recognize the day as a holiday, but you do what you got to do. Just like any other day.

Merry Christmas to everybody.

Sunday Funday

42" or 47"? Important life decisions.

Back Again, For The First Time

I'm finally back on the ice after a nice rollercoaster ride for the past thirty-to-forty days, and it feels good to be back. I went from tearing my groin sixty-percent in my right leg, to weeks of recovery, to the waiver-wire following my rehab, and eventually re-signing with the team within forty-eight hours of being released from my contract. I'm not going to touch on the release/re-signing situation because that's not important, those things happen and it's part of the game, but I will touch on the injury, my recovery, and my first game at the Cajundome.

First, the injury. I thought it was a minor groin pull and initially I thought I was healthy enough to play through it. I felt like the thirty-day IR was too long (but it's the shortest IR term that our league allows), and that I would be able to skate with the comfortability that I had prior to the injury. I tried practicing after two weeks, and the pain was ridiculous. I couldn't move without a problem. Well, after more observation it was determined that I had torn my groin in my right leg, roughly sixty-percent of the way. I had to have injections (real pleasant...), do rehab/therapy, exercises, ultrasound, stim, ice, anti-inflammatories, pain-killers, the whole nine yards. It was a battle to say the least. The doctors affiliated with the organization did a great job of helping me to rehab quickly, and they really did help me. The team helped to order me some extra equipment to help me on the ice, and so far it all seems to be working. I don't feel very fast on the ice, but I can move and the pain is minimal. So it's all gravy.

Secondly, my first game at the Cajundome was a good personal experience, although I wish the outcome had been different. We lost to Fayetteville by a score of five-to-three (they added an empty-net goal to lock it up in the last minute of play), but our team played well. It was nice to finally be in the locker room, on the bench, and on the ice for a game, instead of watching from the stands. It's easier to coach the game from up top because you can see what everybody technically "should be doing." I say that because it is easier to coach the game from way up top when you can see the whole surface. It's not easier to coach the game, play the game, or get a pulse on the team from the stands. It's impossible. If you think that you can determine how the game is being coached, played, or how the team is "feeling" just by watching from the stands, then you are sadly mistaken. It's a different pace at ice-level, and when you're in the thick of things. I was pleasantly surprised with the way things played out during the game. I thought we were coached well, we played well with the exception of a few mistakes (small mistakes, but mistakes that are costing us big games), and the pulse of the team was pretty good overall. The team was upbeat, positive, and motivated. All good signs. Everything points to us moving in the right direction, and hopefully putting things together for a full sixty minutes.

Lastly, thanks for everybody who supported me during my difficult time. I appreciate all of the kind words and support. You are all great people. Hopefully we can start stringing together some wins for the fans, the organization, and ourselves. It's what everybody deserves.

One last thing, I want to throw out a quick note to my roommate and friend, Clay Lewis. Clay recently had knee surgery (Tuesday, December 14th), and discovered that his season is over. I know he's going through a tough time dealing with the reality of the situation, but I also know that he'll come back stronger than ever. Best wishes for a speedy recovery buddy, and we're all pulling for ya big guy!

Haircut Time

The crazy works of Clay Lewis.

Classic Shoe

Chuck Taylor's baby.

Wal-Mart Adventures

Big boy. Little rascal.

Yep.

Supplement day in 1317

Practice

Just do it.

Tough Guy

"Cause this is ladies night... Oh what a night... Oh sophisticated mama!"

Two More Weeks

Two more weekends on the IR remaining... It's been tough to sit, watch, and not play. It's made me realize how much I miss the game.

I'm excited to get back out there to practice tomorrow. The team is on the upswing and that's awesome. The boys finished off Fayetteville with two real solid victories on the road this weekend and it looks like things are coming together. I'm looking forward to getting back with them.

Sometimes it's good to take time away from something to get that fire back...

The View

Tough to Watch.

Joke

What a joke. True story is... it's all a joke. You want to see a different attitude from me and the crap that I write on here? Well, get ready, because the attitude that I have had in the past few months is bullshit. It's over. Life is what you make it. Forget the rules and the guidelines. Forget the fake. Forget the bullshit. You do what you have to do and you do it because you want to do it. I don't disagree with anything I have said in my past blogs, but I do disagree with my past approach. Most people are a joke. You take care of yourself and you do what you need to benefit yourself. As a member of a hockey team you have a job, and part of your job is being held accountable and helping out the team. I feel like I lost that emotion for the team this season because I have been so caught up in a lot of mindless bullshit. It's over. I'm getting past it. You can't change what has happened to you in the past, but you can affect what direction you're headed in the future. Time to sack up and move on.

Halloween 2010 & Hockey

This year, for the first time in a long time, I had the opportunity to dress up and celebrate halloween and all of it's festivities, and I took full advantage. I literally can't remember my last halloween costume, or the last time I had off from hockey to be able to go out and enjoy it. Anyways, I went as Pauly D and we all had a great time. We ended up at City Bar which got a little crazy, but it was a good group and we made the most of it. Any time we make it out alive without any bar fights is a good night. Not that we ever get in any bar fights...

Hockey right now is... frustrating. I'm really not too sure what's going on with me. We won our last game, which is a step in the right direction, but personally I have no idea what I'm doing. Something is off. I don't know if it's mental or physical. It might be a combination of both. The skates I've been wearing since day one of this season are not my skates, they are too small, and they just feel off. Anybody who knows the smallest thing about hockey knows that you need to be comfortable in your skates, and right now I'm not. Also, my brain seems to be a little messed up or something too. I'm not thinking right out there, and it's noticeable. I'm trying to dissect myself and figure out what it is that's making me screwed up, but I can't pinpoint any specific thing. I know that I am entirely way too stressed out. That's a fact. I'm struggling financially in a huge way, and that is weighing on my mind every single day. My comfortability level is at zero right now. I wake up miserable on most days. After practice I come back to my apartment and I even find myself questioning my life choices. I chose to come back to Louisiana because I was hoping to save some money, what with the free apartment, free meals, and genuine lack of large expenses. Unfortunately, that's not happening. I'm nervous about finishing up my undergrad degree, I'm nervous about my bank account, and I'm nervous about where I'm going with my life. I'm twenty-six years old, and what happens if I play here all season and leave at the end of the year with no money? I'll turn twenty-seven over the summer, and what will I really have accomplished for myself? Sometimes it feels like continuing to play is just a way of putting off real life. I was hoping to avoid that this season. I was hoping to somehow connect hockey to my future, and use it to benefit me in my years post-hockey. Right now, that's not happening. I think that's what's causing the majority of my stress, and as a result it's making me severely unhappy. When I'm unhappy, it's difficult to play the game and think clearly. I feel like I'm not only hurting myself, but my teammates and coaches who depend on me. I'm not sure what I'm going to do here. I do know that I need to do something soon, or else I won't be able to continue playing the game. Something needs to give.

Lafayette, Louisiana

Well, it took me long enough, between the travel, the auto repair, and the lack of internet in my apartment, but the blog is back baby! I'll keep it brief regarding the new chapter in Lafayette, Louisiana. Here's a quick rundown... We're back in the same apartment complex as last year, a nice place with a nice price (free-99). Hockey is coming together slowly but surely. My good buddy, Nevin Hamilton, was just released by the club yesterday and I dropped him at the airport this afternoon. Scott Darling is here in Louisiana, a young lad that I've known for a few years and I now have the displeasure of waking up every morning for practice. Tobias Carlsson and Dean Moore are my other roommates. A couple of beauties. Life is a little slow right now. We just got done with the preseason, and we're gearing up for the start of the regular season, which is this Friday in Biloxi, Mississippi (Saturday's game is in Pensacola, Florida). Everybody is waiting for the season to begin, and trying to find things to fill up our days until everything gets going. I'm starting a part-time job tomorrow because I can't take all of the down time. There's only so much time you can spend either in bed, the gym, at the casino, or by the pool.

Anyways, I was in a bit of an altercation last weekend in Pensacola during our preseason game. Some goon who I didn't know cross-checked me in the side of the head, so I jabbed him really hard in the balls with the blade of my stick. After that he charged me, and I dropped my gloves, got his helmet off, and got in a couple of decent shots. Then he started to land a couple of solid bombs and I ended up with a few stitches from the bout. I didn't know who it was until Sicard told me it was the other team's fighter. Oh well... It is what it is.

I'll try to keep the blogs a little more frequent, and a little more light-hearted and interesting in the coming weeks. I'm still grinding it out in so many ways, but hopefully my plans for my life, my finances, my education, and my future start coming together soon. If all goes to plan then there should be no complaints... But when does it ever really all go to plan?

October.

This is what perfection looks like.

You Me At Six - 12 - Fireworks (Lyrics)

Awesome.

So, here we go... I was making my way from Evansville, Indiana to Lafayette, Louisiana. I cruised along the highways for about six hours, with maybe four hours of travel left ahead of me. The gas tank started to get a little low, so I decided to get off the highway, fuel up, and grab something to eat. As I pulled in to the gas station there was a loud crash, and suddenly the vehicle wouldn't move. I assumed that I must have hit something pulling in to the gas station, but when I got out, there wasn't anything there. So some local kid with yellow teeth and tobacco spit on his shirt walked up to me, shook my hand (which I'm still trying to scrub clean), and proceeded to check the vehicle. He tells me how there is a bolt that should be holding that tire in place, and how it makes absolutely no sense that the bolt is nowhere to be found. OK, I think, well... whatever.

A few moments after this guy crawled out from under my car and crawled back under whatever rock he was living under, a police officer showed up. This guy was legitimately Carl Winslow, the guy from "Family Matters." So Carl looks at me, and I look at him, and he asks me what's wrong. Now, I'm no mechanic, but if the tire is separated from the vehicle, I think it's fair to say that I can tell you what's wrong. So I proceed to tell numb-nuts what the deal is, and I decide to call 'AAA' to fill them in on my predicament. 'AAA' asks me the name of the town I'm in, so I look at Carl and ask him the name of the town and how to spell it. I'll be damned if officer buttplug has no idea how to spell the name of the town. Seriously. So, I walk over and read the name of the town off the side of his car, "Oh yeah, it's right there on the side of my car," is what he says to me. Oh, really? Really? Anyways, 'AAA' agrees to send the tow truck to help me out. Now, I don't consider myself to be racist or prejudiced to black people, but I do get a little nervous when I'm the only white person, I'm in a town I don't know, and there are about fifty people hovered around me. I don't care if they're white, black, brown, yellow, or green, I'm going to be a little itchy. A few of them start eyeing me, and staring at some of my jewelry. Call me crazy, but I don't like when people stare at me. So I sat inside this hole-in-the-wall gas station, and I stared right back at them. Fun stuff.

I sat in the gas station for almost an hour and waited for the tow truck. Eventually the guy pulls in and he's the biggest redneck I think I've ever seen. Big red truck, dirty ass trucker cap, grey hairs poking out from under it, and a collective sum of five teeth in his skull. I'm going to call this guy Farmer Brown for the rest of the story. So, Farmer Brown looks at the vehicle and goes, "You got a problem." Yeah. That's what he said. Seriously. I look inside his clueless eyes and I say, "Uhh... no shit, but what do we do about it?" FB has no idea what to do, other than that to tow it, and he eventually suggests a Jeep dealership up the road in Laurel, Mississippi. I had to share a fifteen minute drive with this guy, which was a great time. Anyways, he starts talking, "In thirty years of towing cars and working on cars, I've never seen that happen." Interesting. "So what do you think it was? Did that bolt just pop out when I was driving?" He looks over at me and he says, "You don't got any enemies, do ya?" Right away I'm thinking Old Man River is crazy, but I decide to see where he's going with it. "None that I know of anyway," I said. "Well, those things don't just pop off, and even if the nut was missing from the bolt, there's so much pressure down there from driving that it wouldn't just pop out like that. You're lucky you weren't on the highway going seventy, eighty miles-an-hour, because you would be down in them trees, and son, you would be dead." Awesome. Farmer Brown thinks somebody tried to sabotage me. Then he goes on about how if somebody removed the bolt that I would still probably be able to drive the six hours that I had done without something happening, and there's no telling when it would have popped off, etc.

After my life lesson from FB, and dropping off my vehicle (let me remind you that it is packed to the ceiling with my life) at the dealership, he decided to hit me up with a $60 bill for the towing. Terrific. So I pay the $60, quickly followed by another $55 to spend the night in a Super 8 in beautiful Laurel, Mississippi.

This morning, I went to the dealership, and learned that the part I need has to be overnighted, because I'm in the middle of East Bumhole, and they can't seem to find it anywhere. The guy at the dealership proceeded to tell me what a shitty town this is, and how much he wants to leave, and how badly he feels for me being stuck here, etc. All the while, I just want to fix the damn thing as soon as possible, and get my ass back on the road. Well, it's about 10:30 in the morning, and I have no idea what the rest of the day has in store for me. Looks like another $55 is due to the Super 8.

To top it all off, I got a phone call yesterday, from my mother, to tell me that my cat, Sandis, had suffered a stroke, and is gone. My parents returned home late Monday night to find him curled up in the corner, unable to move his body, only his eyes. They rushed him to a late-night veterinary clinic, but they said there wasn't much they could do for him. They gave him an IV, and tried to revive him, but my parents eventually decided that they didn't want him to be a vegetable. So they hung out with him for the last twenty minutes, and they talked to him, and held him, and eventually the doctor put the injection into the IV, and Sandis went to sleep for the last time. I barely got to see him over the last year, and I only spent a brief part of June with him this summer. He was my buddy, and was really more of a dog than a cat. He would come to you when you called him, jump up on the bed, play, fight, and do all of it. He hated other cats and even though he was a baby inside the house, he could more than hold his own in a scrap. Which he did on more than one occasion. He was my buddy, and now he's gone.

It's been a difficult past twenty-four hours, an even more difficult past four months, and all I want is for everything to slow down. One step at a time, I guess.

Goodbye Evansville

So long Evansville. You will always hold a big piece of my heart. That's not going to change.

Catholic Memorial

I went to Catholic school almost my entire life, from a very young age in Medford, Mass., to middle school in Reading, Mass., to high school in West Roxbury, Mass., and eventually graduating from Albany, New York. In total I actually attended five high schools in my day, Catholic Memorial (Mass.), Reading High (Mass.), Lawrence Academy (Mass.), Fossil Ridge High (Texas), and Catholic Central (New York). No, my old man was not in the military. I was a hockey junkie, and went wherever the game took me from the time I was thirteen to today even.

This post isn't about my hockey journey, or about all of the schools I attended, it's about one place, and one place only. Catholic Memorial High School. The school itself is located in West Roxbury, Massachusetts. There are no female students. It's an all-male school, with uniforms (dress shirt and tie), the majority of the students are Irish-Catholic, and many of the guys came from South Boston, Charlestown, and Dorchester. For those of you unfamiliar with the Boston area, I'm not going to try to explain those towns to you. You wouldn't understand it anyway. The school was loaded with thick Boston accents, wiseasses, punks, tough guys, wimpy kids, and athletes. Some of the guys were a little bit of everything. The teachers were no different than the students. If you were a female teacher then you had to watch yourself constantly. I'm not goofing either. Some of those ladies got it tough, and not just from the students.

Anyways, we all prided ourselves on being original. Even if you weren't an inner city kid, you tended to act like you were (my brother took that part of it to heart for sure). Everybody in the place thought they were a wiseass, and if you weren't then you quickly learned to become one. It was out of necessity. You had to take care of yourself because people were always coming after you with some kind of bullshit. The hockey players always got a lot of respect, mostly because we were one of the most highly touted high school hockey programs in the country. "CM" won the Massachusetts state championship yearly (at least they did before I got there, and during my time in high school), and was ranked nationally with the top Division 1 high school programs, year after year. We ran the school basically.

This school used to see some really bizarre shit. One time everybody came out of homeroom after the bell and we saw that somebody had just taken a dump in the middle of the hallway. Hilarious. Guys used to draw penises on the shirt of the kid sitting in front of them in class, just because they could. Then this donkey would get up and have about 20 ding-a-lings scribbled on the back of his nice white button-down. We had one teacher who happened to be blessed with a massive chest, well, guys used to open all the windows in her classroom during the winter just to watch her nipples harden up. Then everybody would start throwing out "turkey's done" and we would keep track of how many we could get out before she closed up the windows. Comedy.

After we won the state tournament my Junior year, we all went out and got completely bamboozled (obviously). We weren't supposed to get "allowances" for winning the tournament, but we did any way. We all walked in to school the next day, three or four hours late, and smelling like the inside of a brewery. That might have been the day we dissected frogs in biology and two of my teammates were taking bets to eat the insides. The yellow intestines shit smelled awful, I remember. They did it any way. Or maybe it was the day we were supposed to dissect chicken fetuses, but instead we all took trips to the bathrooms with the eggs and smashed them all over the walls. It was an interesting lecture when the teacher went to the bathroom and found about fifty dead fetuses plastered all over the place. I don't know. I don't remember. Part of my problem is that I've seen so much weird crap in my day, between high school to now, that I can hardly remember any of the good stuff. I guess I'll just have to keep on writing until I remember...

Nashville Predators

Preds game with Billy Ray and Stray cat.

Smashville, Tennessee

Tootsie's in Nashville with Mom, Dad, and a Stray cat.

Fight For Success

"You have to remind yourself that failure isn't about lack of skill. It's about passion. Those who fail don't reach greatness, because they're not willing to wait for it."- Georges St-Pierre

For those of you who don't know... this is it. This is literally what it's all about, in all aspects of life. No matter what you want in this world, you have to wait for it. Period. Skills really will only get you so far, no matter how skilled you may be. Everybody fails. It's a part of life. The question is, how much failure can you take before you can say that you have got yourself to where you truly want to be? A wise man once told me, "Success is getting up one more time than you fall down." Sure, it's one hell of a cliche. Personally, I hate cliches. I think they're bullshit. People throw them around and use them as crutches, but they never really embrace their meaning. However, it doesn't mean that they can't be true. I've failed in so many aspects of my life that it's a miracle I still have motivation sometimes. True, that sounds a bit dramatic, but I'm twenty-six years of age, and what have I accomplished that honestly sets me apart from others in this world? Nothing monumental. Nothing life changing. Who knows, maybe I never will. One thing I do know for sure, more now than ever, is that I will still be standing. No matter what obstacle, no matter what opponent, nobody or no thing is too great. It's all about standing there toe-to-toe with your life, and saying, "F*** you, I'm taking what's mine." That's the bottomline. Take what you will from it, but I encourage you to take a very close look at yourself, your life's direction, and where you want to be. Now, be prepared to fail, and be prepared to wait for success. Wait. Like your life depends on it. Because, the truth is... it does.

Karing 4 Keegan

This is my little buddy, Keegan Chupp. Keegan is battling some unimaginable health issues, and is very much in need of our help. He was born six-weeks premature, due to his mother's pre-eclampsia, and was hospitalized in the NICU for two-weeks after his birth. Upon his arrival into this world, it was discovered that Keegan had two extra digits, one on each hand, and one extra toe. He was also found to have suffered a stroke in utero, and to have an overgrowth syndrome referred to as "Simpson-Golobi-Behmel Syndrome."

At eight-months old, Keegan still continued to battle serious health issues and challenges. He had a tumor removed from his brain, and battled through six-months of hospitalization while being administered chemo-therapy. The doctor's gave him only a fifty-percent chance of survival. His mother, Beth Chupp, lost her job on Keegan's first day of chemo-therapy. Even still, Keegan and his family continued to battle, and eventually the tumor appeared to dissipate.

Most recently, as of late July, another tumor was discovered on Keegan's brain. Initially it was feared to be the same tumor. Thankfully (if that is even a word that can be used regarding the situation), it turned out to be a new tumor, thus not a recurring version of the original, which is vital.

At the moment, Keegan has completed his fourth-round of chemo-therapy, and is happily living with his family in Evansville, Indiana. They have all been through so much together, and their journey will continue forward each day until they accomplish their team goal of defeating this difficult opponent.

In closing, I ask that all of my friends, family, and blog followers take their time to say a prayer for Keegan and his family. If you wish to make a donation then please visit their website, http://karingforkeegan.blogspot.com/, and find it in your hearts to give generously.

Mullet? Mullet.

Business in the front. Party in the back.

The Good Ol' Days

Early morning discovery. Back in the day at 15-16 years old. This is what happens when you mouth off to a 6'5" monster pushing 250 bills. Beauty of it is the guy turned out to be my future roommate and brother, Matt Nickerson. Guy beats people up for a living. Hey, at least I'm still smiling, right?

Kanye West -- "Monster"

"I'm a motha' f*****' monstahhhhh..."

Xavier

This is Xavier. He's the newly appointed "neighborhood dog" at my apartment. Apparently his scumbag, joke of an owner doesn't want him anymore. He barks all day and all night. It's awesome. Really. The only dog I dislike more than him is the one I live with that freely pisses and shits all over the place. I guess the silver lining is that he's had all of his shots, and he's free. Yep. Free dog. What a world we live in. Any takers?

Drunk Post #1

Sun, September 19, 2010, 3:52am...

This is the first official, random post of my blog. First, I want to take the opportunity to apologize to my friends and followers who have committed themselves to reading, and following my blog (for the record, I hate the word "blog," and I have no idea where the word came from, why it exists, or what it officially means) but... My initial post was to explain to my close friends as to why I came to Evansville, and as to why I'm still in Evansville. That's really the reason for it. I got a bit carried away (which will happen to me), but it won't be the norm. I can promise you that. I'm not nearly as profound, knowledgeable, or entertaining as I may have come across in my initial posting. I wish it were the case, and maybe I will improve with time, but prepare yourself for smaller and less impact-full posts on a more regular basis.

With that being said, tonight was an enjoyable night. Since I've been back in Evansville, I haven't had many "enjoyable" nights. I don't say it like it's a bad thing, but the past summer months (July 1st to September 1st - which I have ALWAYS considered to be the summer months, especially as a hockey player) have not been what they once were for me. Again, I don't say that like it's a bad thing. Right now, I am literally 8 shots of soco-lime, plus 5 vodka-water's deep (my toleration for alcohol has ALWAYS been high - call it the Irish in me - and I have always been able to speak and write formidably, despite the consumption of alcohol), and I can literally tell you that I am capable of forming my own thoughts and translating them into words for everybody to read. I say that, and now I have to back my shit up, so bare with me...

The thing is, the past 3 months have NOT gone the way I thought that they would go. I came back to Evansville for more than one reason, that much is true. I'm borderline upset with myself to openly admit that at least part of my reasoning for returning to Evansville was because of my feelings for a girl. I wish I could deny it, to anybody, but to be realistic... I would just be denying it to myself. The truth is that I was emotionally wrapped up in a situation, and I was having difficulty dealing with the ramifications of my actions. It's true, it's honest, and it's stupid of me to try to sugarcoat it. Part of the reason I came back here was because I was in love. End of story. Anybody who is close to me, or knows me and my past history, knows that I have been VERY sheepish when it comes to relationships. The reality is that I have difficulty trusting people. I try to say that I trust everybody, until they give me a reason not to trust them, but that's me throwing out a cliche. I really have difficulty trusting anybody. I only let a select few into my real world, and I'm very guarded with who I am as a person. I don't mean to offend anybody, because I love all of those close to me, but aside from my parents, my brother, Pando, Hutch, Vickie, Farrell, and really only a few others, I keep my thoughts and feelings close to me. Sure I may dispel my thoughts to you in some way, but I guarantee that I'm not putting my trust in you and what you have to say as much as I would if it were coming from one of those persons. Brett Riley, Abby Keeping, Jamie Thomas and my roommate, Jed Johnsen, have also turned out to be people close to my emotions, as this summer will undoubtedly attest to, but they will have to appreciate the fact that they still aren't as close to my heart as my family and friends. It's the way of the world.

As a hockey player you deal with this "way of the world" even more than most. You experience a season, or 8 months out of a year, with a close-knit group of friends, brothers if you will, and then you move on with your lives. It's bittersweet in so many ways because you make friends for life, but then you leave each other and you never 100% know if you will ever see one another again. It's the way it goes. It's how it's done, at every level, right on up to the National Hockey League. Sometimes those "relationships" last a lifetime, and other times they fade away. It's a harsh concept to understand, and many people can't fathom what it means, but it is how it goes, and it never ends. I can honestly tell you that I have made friends that I THOUGHT I would keep forever, and after the summer months they disappear, never to be heard from again. Sounds ridiculous right? It's stupid really, but it's the way it goes. For those of you in Evansville, you think I will ever see Ryan Ford again? Maybe. Maybe some day 2-3 years down the road once he gets done with school out in Canada. What does that mean exactly? It means that Fordy and I established a friendship that lasted the season. Hell, I was one of the first persons he called after his incident at Casino Aztar that caused him to get in shit for days upon days. I was even one of the few guys who appreciated his thong that he wore around the locker room after our championship. What does that mean for our friendship? It means jack shit. I hate to say it, but I have no idea when we'll talk again, and the bizarre thing about that is that it's OK. Shit, not only is it OK, but he and I completely understand why it is the way that it is... It is that way because that's the way that it's done, and it may be unfortunate, but it's the truth. The sad thing is that, as a hockey player, bits of your heart tend to get left in various places. I can honestly say that a small piece of my heart was left in Groton, Massachusetts (Lawrence Academy - prep school), and Lowell, Massachusetts (UMass-Lowell), and those experiences changed my life. Unfortunately for me, the biggest piece of my heart will be left in Evansville, Indiana. No matter what transpires in my future, that much is true.

Many people may have difficulty with being 100% honest with others, and especially themselves, but I don't. I don't care if it is 4:30 in the morning, and I'm pumped full of a Saturday night's liquid courage, I am going to be honest with you. Evansville will always hold the biggest piece of my heart. I experienced a lot of firsts for myself upon arriving in this city. It's hard to believe that a Boston boy could really find out who he is in the mid-west, but it's what happened. This city changed me, for the better, and although I try to give credit to the city, it's really due to the people, and more importantly, due to a single person. She is, was, and always will be, the greatest person I ever know, and no matter what I experience in my future, that won't change.

Anyways, before I get even more sidetracked, tonight was a good night. I had fun with Riley, Abby, and Jed, and we made the night worthwhile for ourselves. I'm glad that I've had the opportunity to grow closer to the three of them throughout the summer months. They are all good people, with good intentions, no matter what may have transpired in their pasts. I wish them all the best. As for me, Ri Ra's (for my Boston boys, it's an Irish bar, so you know it's up to snuff), and Scores (the local strip club with no nudity, yeah, seriously, there is no full nudity... ) provided me with what I needed for tonight. It's not much of a story, but the foursome who went out tonight definitely discussed much about life, it's journey, and where we're all headed. I hope the things that I have experienced recently are leading me towards the life that I'm meant to live. I put my faith in God every single day that every thing happens for a reason, and that whatever is meant to be will be, but it still remains to be seen.

In closing, I hope that post #2 was not a complete letdown from post #1. In the future, please don't expect the blogs to come as quickly as night-after-night, and please don't expect them to be as detailed as the first two. I'm sure a lot of tonight's blog is due to the alcohol, and I hope that I remained coherent enough for you to be able to understand what I'm trying to explain (which I still don't know what it is exactly - not exactly anyways). I guess the bottom-line is... If you love somebody, then show them every day. It doesn't matter whether it's the love of a family member, the love of a close friend, or the love of a significant other. The people you care about will almost always reciprocate with their feelings. Don't be afraid to show you care, and don't be afraid to show your vulnerability. Maybe that's just the 8 blasts of soco-lime finally catching up with me, and maybe it's a crap load of bullshit, but it's the truth. Don't be afraid to care, and don't be afraid of love. End of story. Good night, God bless, and always remember to tip your bartender. Amen.

Evansville, Indiana

As of today, I'm still living in Evansville, Indiana. For my friends back in Boston, all I can really say is, "Shit happens, you roll with the punches, and you make your own way in this world." Yeah, I just threw a whole bunch of cliches together and made it into my own little quote, and maybe they don't mesh, but the beauty of it is I'm on the internet and I can basically get away with whatever the hell I want. Anyways, I sit here at the ripe old age of 26 years old, and I've realized one thing over the recent summer months. Everybody learns about life and their self personally at a different pace. I learned recently that I don't know shit. True story. I actually don't know shit about life. Or, at least I didn't. I always thought I had everything all figured out. I would play hockey until I decided I couldn't do it anymore, and in the summer months I would manage to finish up my education, thus preparing me for "life after hockey." I've learned that "life after hockey" is a bullshit excuse that all of us who play the game have managed to use to procrastinate our lives, and in essence it actually hinders us from moving forward and actually LIVING A LIFE. The movie Blow, which has actually turned into one of the greatest films for inspirational quotes, says, "Life passes most people by while they're making grand plans for it," and I'm sorry to say that after all my years, I think I've been one of those people. It's weird to suddenly realize it. To wake up one day and discover that every thing you thought was important, and every thing that you thought mattered to you was really what was holding you back from living your life.

For me, I don't regret hockey. Never have. Never will. The sport has given me so much and taught me so much over the years that I can't help but be grateful. I've had life experiences that many people could only dream about. I've had so many ridiculous incidents happen in my life since the time I turned 16 years old that I honestly can not remember at least half of them. Maybe more. I've seen things on the ice that would shock you. I've seen things off the ice that I can promise you would shock you even more. A lot of people don't understand the lifestyle, and the concept that goes in to playing the sport. I wish I could try to explain it, but I really don't see how I could ever do it justice. It's best that I just leave it alone, and let you know right now that whatever experience you may have had with a hockey player, or whatever experience you may think you have had with a hockey player, isn't going to help you to understand the lifestyle better than any other random person. It's truly a one-of-a-kind sport, and that is what makes the players, the teams, and the sport itself so freakin' phenomenal.

Well, with all of that being said, I will say that hockey has held me back in some ways. Sure it helped me to receive an education to some extent (which I was too damn stupid to hang on to, and so here I sit at 26 STILL trying to finish my college degree, which is horse shit and I don't suggest anybody else ever doing what I did), it helped me to experience some of the stranger sides of life, I've been able to enjoy a game and play for a very long time, and I've had an identity ever since I started playing (hockey is a sport that you can identify yourself with, and it's a source of pride for many who play the game). The thing is though, there is so much more to life than hockey. I've always been very closed-minded regarding a lot of things in life, whether it be relationships, tattoos, other sports, or something as stupid as clothing. I always thought that I knew better about everything, and that's arrogant, it's stupid, and it makes me feel like a boob to even admit it. I don't know why I was that way, maybe it was because of where I grew up and how I was raised, or maybe it was just because sometimes I'm too smart for my own good. Who the hell knows? Who the hell cares? It's not me anymore. I learned that life is too short to be closed-minded. Again, that's sort of a cliche as well, but it's the damn truth. Life is too short, so why waste it being concerned with useless bullshit? Trust me, ALL of it is useless bullshit.

So this summer I moved away from home in Boston, Mass., and returned to Evansville, Indiana. Everybody in the world thought I was insane. My parents thought my head was so messed up and full of shit that I had decided to settle for a life of mediocrity. My friends thought I was a dumbass for returning to a town that not many people even know about. Nobody could understand why I would leave a city that is internationally known, for a city that a lot of people in the United States couldn't even locate on a map. I don't say that to be disrespectful to Evansville, because obviously I chose to come here, but let's face it, it's not like this city is a hotspot. What was my reason for going back to Evansville? That was the question that everybody had for me, and my answer was simple. I wanted to get away from everything that I knew. I wanted to start fresh, and I wanted to find my way in the world. I didn't want the help from my parents (God love em) allowing me to live at home for free, I didn't want the same old summer job where I coasted by and made good money for doing nothing but bullshitting 24/7, and I didn't want the same life that I once had. I'm not saying my life back home was bad, that was NEVER the case, but I wanted to try something different. I wanted to 100% be on my own. I wanted to FORCE myself to have to do for myself. I wanted to see what it was like to find my own apartment, and then have to grind it out to find a job that would be lucrative enough to allow me to afford that apartment and enough money to live my life. I wanted to know what it felt like to be entirely dependent on myself, and nobody else. For once in my life, I WANTED to do it, and I NEEDED to do it.

For those people out there who may be entirely confused as to how I could be 26 years old and still not have encountered those situations before in my life, I'll do my best to explain. I left home when I was 17 (to play hockey, which is a common theme with my life) and attended prep school. I lived in a dorm, received all of my food from the cafe, and brought my laundry home to Mama Dags almost every weekend. When I was 18, I left home for Keller, Texas (Texas Tornado). I lived with a host family (an older couple who couldn't have been nicer to me and my brother, Matt Nickerson. I say brother because that's what we were, and we formed a friendship that still exists to this day, even though the psychopath lives overseas in Finland and beats the living shit out of euros all day to make a living), and they paid for my food and did my laundry. When I was 19, I went to Troy, New York (Capital District Selects). I ended up graduating from a Catholic high school (paid for by the two greatest people I could have had as parents), I would receive money from my parents for groceries, and a teammates' mother would do my laundry. When I was 20, I went to Lowell, Massachusetts (University of Massachusetts-Lowell). I spent 2 years battling at UML and just trying to make a positive impact on the hockey team. For whatever reason, whether it was that my head got sidetracked, my coach didn't think I was good enough, or whatever it may have been, things just didn't come together for me at UML. Again, I was blessed to be pampered by mommy and daddy (see the recurring theme?) throughout those 2 years. I don't want to say I took it for granted, but... I took it for granted. You see, a lot of people don't realize this but my story isn't a wild card. This recurring theme of being helped along through life, is a recurring theme for EVERY hockey player. Not just a few. There are some exceptions to the rule, but those are few and far between. The bottomline is that almost all of us have been given "assistance" with our lives. For me, it sort of unknowingly created a monster. Something I never realized, or on some subconscious level I somehow refused to admit it to myself. Anyways, after my 2 years at UML I was given a tryout with the Providence Bruins in the AHL (after my patchy years at UML it was a shock to me - and probably a lot of other people as well). For those who aren't educated in the ways of the hockey world, the AHL is the closest minor league affiliate to the NHL. It is widely considered to be the 2nd best league in the world. To make a long story short, I was one of the 1st players cut from camp after our 1st preseason game. Shit happens, and it wasn't like I expected to make the team with future Boston Bruins players like David Krejci (who, for the record, is as smooth as baby shit) on the roster. After getting cut I had myself one hell of a whirlwind season, playing in Lubbock, Texas; Tulsa, Oklahoma; Pensacola, Florida (for 1 game, la-dee-freakin-da); and Trenton, New Jersey. That year... was... crazy. I went all over creation because of the game, and it was great. I made good money, had free apartments (and not shit-holes, I mean legitimate places to call home), and just "lived the life." It was what I had always wanted to do, or so I thought.

The next year turned out to be a huge write-off for me. I had hernia surgery to repair two abdominal hernias just prior to the start of the pro season. There was no real chance that I could be 100% healthy going into a training camp, and I didn't want to spend another season drifting from place-to-place. Some buddies from Lubbock set me up with Dalhousie University in Canada. It seemed like a good place. I liked it enough during my time there. The guys I met were some real beauties, and genuine good guys. It was a good change from what I was used to for sure. The coach was a toolbag and I got sick of his ass real quick. I only made it through a little more than half of the season before I packed up shop and went back to Boston. I blamed it on financial issues, which was true but there was a lot more to it than that.

So I went home, back to the D'Agostino household, back to life with mom, dad, and baby bro Nicholas (who by the way may be even crazier than I am). Summer rolled along, and it was a great time. I was 25 years old, living for free with la famiglia, making good summer cash, hitting up the Boston bars on Thursday nights, and driving to Cape Cod every weekend. Monday mornings at "work" (a hockey school where I shot pucks all day - yeah, seriously, that was all I did, and I guarantee I made more money per hour doing that than you would even believe, which is stupid, but true) I would be so hungover from spending Sunday boozing until 5am with my buddy Pando that I would literally not be able to stand on my skates. Seriously. I looked like Bambi out there, and I thought it was hilarious. I would walk in to the locker room at 7am stinking like a bottle of Captain Morgan's, wearing my beach clothes and sunglasses. Half the time I wouldn't even lace up my skates all the way, or tape my shinpads. It was a joke, but life was good.

The fall came and I went to camp with the Toledo Walleye in the ECHL. I was back in pro hockey, and I was ready to give it another go. Toledo didn't work out. I knew it wasn't going to work out. They had dual affiliates with the Detroit Red Wings and the Chicago Blackhawks (yeah, the team who just won the Stanley Cup), and there was no way they were gonna take me. I had a better chance of catching Ryan Huggett with an 8-ball (yep...) than I did of making that team. So I went with the old motto of, "It is what it is," or "It was what it was," or some shit like that. Toledo didn't bother me, but what really chapped my ass was getting cut from the Huntsville Havoc in the SPHL. I'm not going to say a whole lot about it because it's not worth it, but the shit that happened there really pissed me off. It turned out to be one of the best things that ever happened to me. I ended up in Evansville, Indiana.

"Sweet," I thought. I've got a group of buddies in the SPHL that I should be playing with, but instead I'm stuck here in Hickville, USA where the sheep have to hide from the drunk farmers (yeah it's an insult, but you have to remember I'm describing my initial feelings and thoughts regarding Evansville, not my current feelings and thoughts). When I saw Ellis Park where the majority of the Icemen players were living, I said, "To hell with this, there is no way I'm living in this shit hole." I wish I was joking, but that's the truth. That was 100% my reaction, and I'm not sugarcoating it. That place was a dump, and the organization should be ashamed that they forced their players to live there. FACT. Anyways, I ended up moving into a house with Ryan Strayer, Mario Passarelli, Dustin Majewski, and Justin Neis. I knew Mario briefly from the summer "work," but he and I never talked much. To be honest, most of the guys who worked at the camp thought Mario, Brett Riley, and Ryan Huggett were kind of a joke. Mario and Riley turned out to be alright guys, but Huggett was, is, and always will be... a joke. My brother once told me that Huggy's breath was worse than monkey farts from the movie Outbreak. I laughed so hard I thought I was gonna die. So Mario and I already knew each other, and Strayer turned out to be an absolute gem. I wish I could just try to describe this guy to you, but I wouldn't do it justice. Stray Cat, you know you're an original, and God bless you man. You and I will be buddies for life, as evidenced by the fact that you lived with my parents for almost the entire summer, even though I wasn't there. That shit may seem weird to most people, including my parents (who thought it was some shit straight out of left field), but you have to know Strayer to appreciate it. The house turned out to be a great thing, for all of us (all of us except Cindy the landlord - good luck with that shed out back), even though we had to pay to live there (again, thanks a lot Icemen organization). My first night out in town turned out to be a memory that I won't soon forget. At the end of the night I buzzed my head into a mohawk simply out of boredom (anybody who knows me knows that I like to mix it up, I hate the same old boring stuff), and I met a girl who changed my life (which I now realize she changed it for ther better, and so for that reason I owe her a genuine thank you), but that story is something else altogether.

The year rolled on, and just like any other year in a person's life, there were good stages, and there were bad stages. I don't want to sound like a butt-pirate, but life is kind of like the tour de france (seriously, that's the analogy I'm using), and there are good stages, and bad ones. My year moved along pretty well, and in February I went to Louisiana to play. I loved it. The city. The team. The coach. The owners. The fans. All of it. The first two weekends I'm there, the Saints win the Super Bowl, and then Mardi Gras. Holy shit. A couple more life experiences that I definitely wouldn't have had without hockey. It was a great time. Our team finished out the year and missed the playoffs, but we pretty much knew that was going to happen anyways. They had started out awful at the beginning of the season and it was just too much ground to make up. When we finished up, I decided to go back to Evansville. We won the league championship. It was fun. It was a good experience for all of us, and I'll always remember it as a positive time in my life. The only negative thing was that when the season ended, my brain shut off. I went back in to dependent-mode. The mode that I had ALWAYS been guilty of falling back into as soon as hockey wasn't there. The biggest problem was that I was no longer depending on Mr. and Mrs. Dags, I was depending on a sweet girl who had done nothing short of everything for me, but I was too stupid to realize it. To this day, I still don't know entirely what I was thinking, or why I behaved the way I did. I regret all of it, big time. Still, I'm glad that it happened. If I hadn't gone into a total mind-f*** state of thinking then who knows what would be going on right now. To make a long story short, getting my ass dumped by the first legitimate girl in my life was a wake up call. A wake up call that I desperately, DESPERATELY, needed.

I learned that life really is all about making your own way, and you don't wait for things to come to you. "If you want something, then go out and get it," is a quote from Donovan McNabb, and that useless, injury plagued donkey was dead on with it. It's true. You can't wait on anything because all you will ever be doing is waiting. That is why I chose to return to Evansville, Indiana, and that is why I am still here. I'm tired of making excuses for myself. I don't want to be dependent any longer. I don't want to fall in to that hockey rut where it's considered OK to be in control of your life 7-8 months out of the year. I want to be in control of my life every single day, and I realize that may sound like some stupid bullshit, but it's the truth. I was tired of having my parents to provide me with a place to live, screw that, I can manage having to pay rent. I was tired of having an easy ass job that paid me well and taught me nothing about life, screw that, give me 40-50 hours a week of minimum wage, make me appreciate what it means to have to earn my money. I was tired of boozing away every single weekend, screw that, if I want to do things with my life then I have to grow up some time. I guess what it came down to was that I was just tired of all of the bullshit. Enough was enough as far as I was concerned, and that's why I did what I did, and why I've done what I've done over the past 3 months.

I don't know if this was a good way to start my blog, but it's the truth about me and the point where I am in my life right now. I'm trying to live my life to prove to myself that I'm capable of taking care of myself. No more dependency on hockey, family, or safe jobs. I'm doing what I can for myself to make my own way in the world, and it sounds queer as hell but I really am learning a lot about myself. There are a lot of things in this world that I never would have given any thought or consideration, and I would have just dismissed them for no reason. Not anymore. I'm open to new concepts, and new challenges, and I'm interested to see in which direction my life is headed. Right now things are looking pretty open-ended with a lot of potential, and I have to admit... I love it. Let's get this shit started. Welcome to my old life, my new life, and everything else in between. Welcome to Pauly D's blog, baby.