Tuesday, June 23, 2009

The Day Mr Aikens Saved My Life

It has to have been at least 3 years now.

But Dan Aikens saved my life.
Or at least that's how I remember it.

I will never understand how memory works. How often it lies, how often it can become distorted, how often details change and disappear within the shoddy framework of the brain.

But as far as I remember the story it begins at one of my first ice hockey games. Probably after playing the legendary 'Ron Tracy' and the Lawnquenchers. Could have been the Raiders Alum team. Not too sure, definitely one of my first 3 ice hockey games ever as a member of Men's League C at UD on the team known around the Tri State area -- The Drunken Clams.

It's end of junior year of college, I can barely ice skate, I'm just out looking to be a team player and 'Clam' it up. One 'Clam's it up by scoring shorthanded, skating up from on defense, or by getting ridiculous unnecessary penalties. Because of my skill set, I chose the latter.

Men's League pushing and shoving after the whistles, Men's League trash talk at the faceoff circle, even Men's League hacking and slashing are all part of the game. It is Men's League. But in the offensive zone with the puck pinned agaisnt the boards with my skate I got whalloped in the back of the head. No whistle. Again to the back of the head. No whistle, again, with the stick this time, my helmet falls off. No whistle. I turn to see how far the referee must have stuck the whistle up his ass to not be blowing this play dead with my helmet on the ice. Again to the back of my bare head now. I go down hard. As I get back up in, actually, alot of pain and unbewildered reckless 'I'm-going-to-punch-someone-in-the-face' fury the whistle finally blows.

The dude behind me was huge. He had to be 6' 5. And thick. I didn't give a fuck at that point. I'm swingin at this dude's head and his teammates and my teammates are all converging and someone is between us and my arms are being held and I'm still boiling with rage.

"Fuck your mother!" I yell into his face. Probably not the best thing to scream at some guy I don't know. But then I up the ante'. I do the stupidest thing I've ever done in my life: I hock back in my throat and I start to spit right into his face.

I say start because I don't know if I actually fully spit. I think I sort of regained control and knew not to spit in some huge guy's face. I'm not an idiot, right? But then again, my arms were held and I just needed to do something to this guy to piss him off, something. But maybe I don't remember because he reacted before I could even spit--

To this day it's the quickest I've ever seen human hands move. They were in gloves right in front of my face about head-high. They were definitely in his gloves. But less than a fraction of a second they were at his sides and the gloves were gone. And less than a fraction of a second after that they were arcing around behind him and over his head. And then no time passed at all and his fists were extended right into my face and head. Over. And over. And over.

I count at least 4 punches before even 1 second has gone by. And this giant of a man, with a beard growing on his beard, who I've never seen before in my entire life, is swinging these solid meathooks into my face and teaching me that 20-year-old punks who spit at grown men will get what they deserve.

He was going to kill me, and there wasn't any pain, or remorse, or even any urge to fight back. It was some sort of judgement from God happening. All I could do was take it.

And I'm telling you-- I remember the rage in his eyes and the beard growing on this dude's beard. Then just the smooth circular flowing motion-- it was all one move-- like it was yesterday. The gloves came off, the arms pulled back, and the fists were in my face before anyone on that ice could blink. And I think I was too stunned to even feel any of it until afterward. I was ready for death.

But something saved me. Some-one.

As I was going down, my left winger took action. #23 was a blur of motion and I didn't see him come to my rescue but it was later described as:

"He just fuckin flew dude."
"All the sudden Dan was in the air and on that dude's back!"
"Fuckin' Aikens flying through the air"
"I don't even know, it all happened so fast, first it was him pummeling you, then it was him pummeling Dan. It was awesome!"

Apparently Dan Aikens is part shark. When he smells blood, when the scrums break out on the ice, he is driven into a 'Flying Frenzy'. He skated as fast as he could and leapt into the air onto this dude's back. What normally would have toppled an average man did no such thing. It didn't even faze this 'man among men'. He reached behind him, and again, without breaking motion, pulled Dan to the ice in front of him (now in front of me). And he began pummeling Dan like it was me. Like he never stopped swinging those rock hard meat tenderizers. It was kind of weird to see. I got up and some other guy grabbed me and we both just looked over at Dan on the ice taking those viscious hits.

They eventually broke it up. The referee wedging himself in there and the big gallute finally agreeing that 'enough was enough' and it's time to let off. Looking back, maybe he didn't even know it was 2 people he was pounding on. Maybe he was so angry, and so fast, and so unnerved by the Flying Aikens attack that he really thought he put about 20 solid punches right into one skinny 20 year-old kid's face.


I was introduced to a tough-guy badass from that team months later. Many months. They said Duhaddaway was the guy who laid into me and that he's one tough son o' a gun. And I'm not doubting Duhaddaway's toughness or his badass-ery but he's shorter than me. And has a pretty regular beard. And he doesn't recall the story too well / at all.

I distinctly remember looking up at this guy. And I distinctly remember that beard. The face?--not so much. I think I was too busy spitting in his or getting punched in mine to really get a good read. I don't know. All I know is that was one fucking lesson to learn. Don't fuck with a guy unless you're willing to get fucked back.

Maybe I would have died. Maybe he would have stopped. Maybe it was Dahaddaway. Maybe this is all crazy blown out of proportion. Maybe it took place in the defensive zone. Maybe I was on the bench and it never happened. I don't know.

Because memory is funny like that. Some of the biggest memories in our lives are of the smallest events and they maybe didn't even happen in the order or even the way we remember them. They just are.

And that's what this was. It just was. And I'll always remember that gloves-off to full-punching in under a second happening so fast. I've still never seen anything like it. And that beard he was growing on his beard. I never saw him again (to my knowledge) and I never need to again. The Bearded Windmill Mauler could have retired that very day.

That day I learned my fucking Men's League lesson and I gained one of my best buds. And we became BFF (if you catch my meaning) and partners in Clams Hockey crime. I was groomed into the Goon role I was born to (not) be. The brothers of bash and booze.

So whether it happened or not shouldn't really matter. What matters, is that I got fucking rocked.....and kept Men's League C-ing. All the way to the Championship.

Wednesday, June 17, 2009



1. (n.) The future Philadelphia Flyers captain who blasts anyone in his way, via bruising body checks, fists of fury, or delivers blazing shots and sick nasty deke moves.

2. (v.) To violently blast someone in hockey, possibly breaking their face with sheer awesomeness.

3. (adj.) The quality of awesomeness, all-being, and unstoppable power, drive and determination that will stop at nothing to win and destroy the enemy.
Richards is Cannon, and the Philadelphia Flyers are Goon Squad Central. They will cannon fools in the face this year.

Richards is Cannon, and the Philadelphia Flyers are Goon Squad Central. They will cannon fools in the face this year.

richards canon cannon mikey cannonism
by Molten Funk Dec 14, 2007 share this

Canadan sends it to me in an instant message and I'm laughin at it, everyone's havin a good time, and I'm thinkin: "Man, apparently I'm not the only asshole on the internet posting this kind of crazy stuff."


Apparently I am. And apparently I posted it in Dec 2007. Look, I have trouble remembering what Tawainese hooker I banged this morning, so you wouldn't expect me to remember something I posted over a year and a half ago but I would. Trust me, I would. My writings are just one of those things. Sort of like 'instinct'.

Go ahead, type in 'Molten Funk' into google. Boom. It's definitely me. Who else is prancing around screaming about 'Cannon' and using a tag name like Molten Funk (ahem)? Weird thing is.... I don't recognize it at all.

Was I sleepy? Possibly. Was I drunk-ish? Probably. WAS it me? Definitely.

I couldn't have been blackout drunk-- look at that spelling, those punctuation marks, that 'pizazz'. Definitely a sound mind. An attractive mind. A funny mind. A damn cool mind that I want to hang out with on the weekends.

Oh well, who knows. Maybe I sleep-define. Sort of like sleep-walk but instead I.... ahh forget it. You kids these days.

It's a mystery of God. We'll just have to let it be. And we'll just have to keep our eyes peeled for more cases of genius as exemplified by Nick Capozzi across the great expanse of the internet. For all we know there could be hundreds, if not tens of 20's of great literary masterpieces I posted somewhere that can make for the greater good of mankind.

Or eventually help get me loaded.

PS - I have no idea why this is in italics but I can't get it off. Consider this, 'fancy' blog night.

Tuesday, June 16, 2009

Ron Hextall

I've decided I'll make this exact post over and over, again and again, because the world needs to see this. So if you miss it today-- don't worry, check back in a month and I'll post it again. If I haven't already.

You can't ask yourself "Who" Ron Hextall is. One can only ask 'What" a Ron Hextall is.
And this video is the closest thing to summing up his career.
It is the closest you can get to 'defining' a Hextall the way Hexxy 'defined' Philadelphia.

It's the passion. It's the rage. It's the underdog. It's the throwing everything you got at them (including your waffle board). It's taking no prisoners. It's sticking up for your teammates. It's flashing the leather. It's stirring the pot. It's rising to the occasion. It's about living over the edge. It's about being the first goalie to score an actual goal. It's about changing the way the game is played today. It's about hard work and a blue collar. It's about challenging everyone. And everything. It's not backing down. Not even to the Mighty Oilers.

It's heart.

I watch this video once a week and every time I still get chills. I still get that smile on my face when he's chasing Penguins Bobby Brown.

He was my first ever favorite athlete and my first ever sport jersey. I still wear #27 with pride. And I'm pretty sure once I put it on I can do anything.
To anyone.
Who skates off-sides into my zone.
After elbowing my teammate and injuring him from the playoffs.



Monday, June 15, 2009

NHL Teams to Hate

It's really tough to cheer for teams in the NHL now. I realized deep in my Flyers psyche I hate most of these teams to the core. There are players here I hate, players there I like, and hate them or love them, I HAVE to watch playoff hockey to live. It makes for a sticky situation when you don't know who to hate more than the other. I even need to watch the teams I hate.

It's a disorder, and I can't help it. I live it, I breathe it, I hate it, I love it. I follow it home. I collect newspaper clippings of it. I watch it from my car window. I read about it. I look at it undressing through binoculars. I dig through it's trash. Healthy relationship stuff. We're in love.

If only she would return my letters written in my blood.

Anyhow, how's a true-and-true fan supposed to root for a Penguins v Red Wings Stanley Cup Finals? Two years running!?

What if the Devils are playing the Bruins?
Who do I cheer in a Habs v Maple Leafs battle?
When do I cheer if the Islanders are playing the Senators?

Have no fear, I'm going to make a list of all 30 teams in order of Hate. And this would take a normal person 2 minutes tops. But like I said, I have the sickness. I need to take into account rivalries w my team, rivalries w other teams I like or hate more, ancient hockey lore from the 30's, individual player transactions and roster moves, AHL farm team affiliations, the last time they won the Cup, their record last year, whether or not they smoked us one time really bad, past playoff battles, whether or not they have an ex-coach or player in the mix, what kind of fan-base they have, what the inside of their arena looks like, the majority of the nationalities on the team, wind resistance, traffic patterns, average precipitation per year, arson history, etc.

And the weird thing is, I think if I made a list in order of teams I Love, it wouldn't just be this same list backwards. So yea, here goes.


1. Pittsburgh Penguins
2. Detroit Red Wings
3. New Jersey Devils
4. Montreal Canadiens
5. Minnesota Wild
6. Toronto Maple Leafs
7. Buffalo Sabres
8. Ottawa Senators
9. Washington Capitals
10. Boston Bruins
11. New York Rangers
12. Florida Panthers
13. Chicago Blackhawks
14. LA Kings
15. Tampa Bay Lightning
16. New York Islanders
17. Atlanta Thrashers
18. Columbus Blue Jackets
19. St Louis Blues
20. Pheonix Coyotes
21. Colorado Avalanche
22. Edmonton Oilers
23. Vancouver Canucks
24. Nashville Predators
25. Calgary Flames
26. San Jose Sharks
27. Carolina Hurricanes
28. Dallas Stars
29. Anaheim Ducks
30. Philadelphia Flyers

So there you have it. Teams I hate, in order of pure, raw, unbridled hatred. Actually somewhere after the first 10 it just becomes "ehh, I don't like them" and somewhere around 27 it becomes "I have a man-crush on that team". Actually, I wanna do teams I like now without looking at my above list and see if it is indeed different.


1. Philadelphia Flyers
2. Anaheim Ducks
3. Dallas Stars
4. San Jose Sharks
5. Carolina Hurricanes
6. Calgary Flames
7. Nashville Predators
8. Vancouver Canucks
9. Colorado Avalanche
10. Edmonton Oilers
11. St. Louis Blues
12. Pheonix Coyotes
13. Chicago Blackhawks
14. Boston Bruins
15. LA Kings
16. Columbus Blue Jackets
17. Ottawa Senators
18. Washington Capitals
19. Atlanta Thrashers
20. New York Rangers
21. New York Islanders
22. Buffalo Sabres
23. Tampa Bay Lightning
24. Florida Panthers
25. Toronto Maple Leafs
26. Montreal Canadiens
27. Minnesota Wild
28. New Jersey Devils
29. Pittsburgh Penguins
30. Detroit Red Wings

I just checked the two lists agaisnt each other. I can't even explain it. This defies sceince. I'm at a loss. I almost want to call NASA. Trust me, the results were accurate. None of this was doctored or altered in any way. Apparently you can HATE a team number 1 and still LIKE them 29th. Apparently I have secret love for the Bruins that makes me HATE them 10th and then LIKE them 14th. I don't know. Notice the disparity to certain West Coast teams though. All very interesting. And yes, I have an uber-crush on the Ducks after this years playoffs. And that uber-hunk Bobby Ryan (Cherry Hill's own!)

So this is my bible. And it will not change one iota. It is written in my Flyers code, and while other Flyers fans may agree or disagree, this is where I'm at. And this is where I stand. Well, at least until free agency July 1.

Wednesday, June 10, 2009

We Got Ourselves a Violent one

Say hello to the Flyers new goaltender -- Raymond J. Emery.

A few +'s
--He's black.
--NHL record of 71 - 40
--Went to Stanley Cup Finals w Ottowa in '07
--He's young and athletic (I guess I already said 'black')
--We can finally say 'our goalie can beat up your goalie' again
--He beat up Marty Biron (and fought Peters) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rSMuzYxukrc
--He gets DUI's and probably does lots of coke
--He's insane
--He's signed on for one year at $1.5 Mil
--Now we can almost afford a top-notch defenseman

A few -'s
--He's black
--He had a great record with a good team
--He gets DUI's and probably does lots of coke
--He's insane
--He signed for one year
--He has more speeding tickets than I have herpes sores (zero, i swear!)
--He spent all of last year in back-alley Russia
--That picture has him standing next to Jeff Carter. I hope he didn't touch Emery. I hate Jeff Carter.

So, by process of The Commutative Property we can determine the hard facts. I'm sure this is how scientists do it. So now, after doubling all the negatives and cancelling out the similars we are... left... with....

The facts
--Went to Stanley Cup Finals w Ottowa in '07
--He's young and athletic
--We can finally say 'our goalie can beat up your goalie' again
--He beat up Marty Biron (and fought Peters) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rSMuzYxukrc
--He's getting $1.5 Mil
--Now we can almost afford a top-notch defenseman
--He spent all of last year in back-alley Russia
--He (probably) made physical contact w Jeff Carter

Looks like we got ourselves a conundrum wrapped in a riddle all oiled up in mystery baby. And it's black. Please don't become friends w Jeff Carter Ray, please. Time will tell whether this will be a huge bust or whether the Flyers are geniuses.

He'll either defect and ruin the team and we will have burned Marty Biron wrongly----
or we'll have gotten a goalie out to prove himself for crazy crazy cheap and spent the extra money on an elite defenseman and be ready to kick some major NHL ass next year!

We'll see how this mad man shakes out. But I smell 'parade'.

Monday, June 8, 2009

Back from L-Vega.... with a Vengence!

Yep, I'm back from the old L-Vega (that's what we regulars call it) and I've got newly found 'tude.


Hence the non-blogging. Plus, I'm pretty sure they haven't heard of the internet in all of Nevada. Now, by law I'm only allowed to share so much about Las Vegas. What happens in Vegas.... you know. Everyone has to sign a waiver forfeiting their life if they tell to much. Right off the plane. No jokes. But I'll just cover the basics.

We'll start with my first image of Vegas--

Now who's joking?

Apparently Vegas doesn't apply to the 'we fuck around' theory. They really don't. It's like Boom! --Check out some auto's. It's not like you turn to your friend later and you're like "I wanna join an LA gang, let's bust some caps tonight. Now what was the name of that firearms store again?" Oh wait, how about The Gun Store. It's only written on every billboard and riding on top of every taxi. Psycho killer? Want revenge? Missing 'something'?
--The Gun Store. Hell, it even says 'Try One'. How could I resist officer?
Grand Theft Auto ain't got jack on this place. In fact, I'm pretty sure you can raise a family in that game and my raised family would NOT be allowed to play "Real Life Las Vegas" the video game.

Well surely Vegas has things other than guns, right? You bet your ass.

Roulette. Roulette is pretty much crack-cocaine in L-Vega. Anyone who tells you about Blackjack, or slot machines, or Craps, or horse racing, or No-holds barred oragami contests is full of crap. There's only one game to really play-- and that's the Wicked Wheel.

As a winner and a real connoisseur of fine arts I picked up on this one right away. The sound of the ball, the spin of the wheel, and the names of the various Flyers gets intoxicating. It gets into the blood and it doesn't come out (trust me--I even tried Spray N Wash). I put $5 on Mike Knuble more times than I've laughed at Mitch Hedberg jokes (oh God, a regular banana later, Mitch! LoL). That's right-- the only way a roulette number works is if you can call it by it's Flyers Jersey wearing equivalent. Here's how the average roulette table conversation goes when me and Meghan step up to the plate.

Meg: $10 on Umberger!
Me: $5 half bet on Hextall and Kapanen
Casino: Place your bets, please.
Me: Dude, put that on Bobby Clarke for me!
Some Guy: Huh?
Meg: $5 on Jayson Werth!
Me: 16! YOU IDIOT PUT IT ON 16! Bobby Clarke!
Meg: NO! I'm moving my $5 to Corner-bet Jeff Carter and Mike Richards!
Casino: No more bets.
Me: NO! Just $5 more on Kent Manderville! NO! Knubs! KNUBBSS!!!
Meg: $5 more on Umbergs!
Casino: No more BETS..... [ ] ...32.
Me: --Fuck.

It's vicious and yes, Phillies and Eagles numbers slip in, but mostly for the hard Flyers numbers. And if I've learned one thing from constantly gambling it's just this.
---Don't ever forget Mike Knuble. Do not forget Knubs.

So celebrities, high-rise pricey nightclubs, and high-roller dudes w buxom bossomed beauties dangling off of each arm?

Feast your eyes on this rack.

Ok, so technically I don't think I saw even one celebrity. And technically I didn't see any true ballers with a hot blonde on each arm. And technically I only saw like 2 bouncers the whole time. But I did go to Club Ghost which is pretty fancy and oft times celebrity visited.

Yes, that's Meghan dangling 52ish stories above Las Vegas with nothing but reflective plexiglass saving her from a greusome demise. And you can't see it but this cool club had a section of floor made of that same plexiglass that you could stand on and see 52 stories straight down. Kinda cool-kinda don't wanna stand there and drink. Heights are gay. And I kept looking for Mike Richards (who was rumored to actually be in L Vega!) but I never found him. We'll meet one day and our hearts will melt together and we'll go drunk bowling together and laugh at comedy central comedians and get a labrador or some other big dog and name it Hexy (after Hextall) and we'll be best buds forever and ever.

In the meantime though, I totally flattered the girl in this picture. I can't even remember for sure but I got her drunk enough that night I totally got to second base those big bags of sand.

Moving on we realize there are no open container laws and every venue sells alcohol. What could possibly stop you now?!

This guy.
This guy and about 40 others just like him (yes, all Mexicans in Girls Direct to You shirts look the same to me). They appear around every corner in L-Vega and oddly enough, want to hand you pornography. They want to hand you some kind of collector's edition card of some hot naked chick touching herself inappropriately with "Direct to you in 20 minutes!" on every card. Sells itself right? I hope so, because they can't talk.

They swarm in their over-sized shirts and flick their cards at you, reach out their arms, and make clicking and hissing noises to get your attention and get you to take a card. But no talking. Must be illegal or something. So instead of awkwardly ignoring these guys all up in your grill here are a few gems I employed under heavy inebriation.

--Nope, already got that one.
--Sorry dude, I'm Mormon.
--Nope--got that one, do you have any other--nope nope, sorry.
--Do you have this one in blonde?
--Is there a Guys Direct to You?
--If it's not there in 20 minutes is it free like Domino's?
--Sorry, my wife says that's cheating.
--Do you have boys?
--Is there a discount if I get like 5 girls at once?
--She's ugly.
--I'm blind. (look him in the eye)
--He said he's a better card-giver-outter than you. (then point)
--I'd love to dude--but my wife here might catch me. (jerk head)
--Does this one have any references?

Etc. The best part is they aren't allowed to say anything back to you at all. But that doesn't make it easy. You gotta be quick on your feet. They travel in packs of like 10. But boy oh boy was it annoying. All the hassle. All the jokes. All the drunk I was.

Man I miss those guys.

And that's pretty much L-Vega. Or all of it I'm legally able to tell you about. So I'll just leave you with one last picture. One I'm still scratching my head about. Among all the truly strange people, birds (that fear no man--they walk right up to you and have even been known to fly into a Meghan's head for no reason), and sights this was a true WTF for me.

Maybe some ancient Mer-horse or Horse-maid. Maybe early Atlantian gamblers used to race underwater horses. I don't know. Just--whatever.

Seriously Vegas-- like, WTF?