Showing posts with label Humpty Dumpty. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Humpty Dumpty. Show all posts

Sunday, May 12, 2013

Charles Bradley: Pucks, Pets and CAN-AM Camaraderie, Part I

May 11, 2013
Saturday morning
West Concord, MA

The AMHL Photographer and I sit at our usual table at Dunkin’ Donuts, discussing an upcoming doctor appointment to address my Humpty Dumpty Groin.

She notices a familiar face entering the place, and I look left to watch Charles Bradley, an AMHLer, a veterinarian and one fine Canadian, approach. Wearing a solid bold blue short-sleeved shirt and smiling, he extends his right hand to meet mine.

Half of his left thumbnail is black and blue. Looks like a hockey injury to me. Charlie raises his hands, like a begging beagle, to reenact his awkward attempt to block a shot during a 3–1 loss on Tuesday morning. He laughs at himself.

Despite his Avalanche losing to the Leafs and his bruised lunula, Charlie seems happy, like the same fellow I got to know ten years ago, when he shared his hockey (and donut) story with me.

I asked him on that Tuesday morning in March, 2003, “Given your preference, Tim Hortons or Dunkin’ Donuts?”

Just then someone opened the fire escape door, not because of an emergency but because the door was closer to his car. This triggered a fire alarm bell.

“Tim Hortons,” Charlie said.

Tim Hortons, I say, OK.

“Definitely.”

I had a feeling, but there was a pause

“Because of the bell,” he says.

I switch from donuts to hockey and learn that Charlie was born and raised in Montreal (pronounced MUN–tree–all) and started playing hockey when he was four or five years old. 

“Our grade school was in Loyola Park, and we had four hockey rinks and one skating rink right behind us. The City maintained it.” Charlie said. “And in those days (1960s), we didn’t have really artificial ice, except for the (Verdun Auditorium) and Montreal Forum. Well, we played hockey every day; we played because the rinks were maintained by the City.”

These were outdoor rinks?

Charlie said, “Outdoor ice, yeah. And the guys would come out, the municipal workers would come out and flood every night. They were illuminated, and we could play all the time unless there was a thaw. It was great. That’s where we learned our skills.”

As we chat after his Tuesday morning game, comedian and AMHL mainstay Chris Howell interrupts us. “I just want to say that Charles Bradley is probably the biggest liar I’ve ever met.”

“Thanks a lot, Donut Boy,” Charlie replied, enjoying the friendly exchange.

After Donut Boy exited, I asked Bradley if he had aspirations of playing junior hockey.

Loyola High School, he said. "Pretty high-level hockey.”

The Jesuit-run school, created for English-speaking Catholics in the Côte-Des-Neiges—Notre-Dame-De-Grâce neighborhood of Montreal, resides on Rue Sherbrooke and is contained by Concordia University, a few blocks west of Parc Loyola.

Charlie wore the school’s maroon and white sweater.

“We did tournaments, and we were usually the champions or near the top in the Montreal league,” he said as the Zamboni did its thing around the Valley Sports rink. “And we had our rink, so that helped a lot. We skated every day. We skated probably about seven to ten hours a week. It was good for skills as well.”

After high school, though, hockey took a back seat to professional studies. He graduated from The University of Guelph Ontario Veterinary College and then worked at dozens of practices in the next almost twenty years, travelling from Ontario to New Hampshire and Massachusetts.

He found his way back to hockey, though. In 2000 or 2001, Charlie says that after learning of the AMHL at a Valley Sports Stick Time session on a Friday afternoon, he registered to play.

“I was really surprised at the level of hockey,” he said. “This is a nice league because, the difference to me, other than the time, is that everyone plays hockey for the fun of it. They don’t take it too seriously. That was a real put-off for me when guys were getting really really serious, competitive, and angry at each other, smashing each other and holding grudges. We don’t see that in this league. And the idea of rotating the teams through is really good. Having the time after for the CAM-uh-rah-duh-rie and fellowship, that makes it really good.”

But financial struggles—tough to earn find stability in a veterinary market where clinic ownership can change hands— took him away from his passions: taking care of cats and dogs and playing hockey. He dabbled in local home renovation, but that endeavor never took off. He and his family decided to move to Ontario in 2009.

Upon learning of the move across the 49th Parallel, AMHLers expressed their respect for Charlie by email.

“On behalf of all the AMHL officials, we would like to extend our best wishes to Charlie and his family as they go back to the mother country. Bradley was a great competitor and statesman from Canada and will be missed,” wrote Referee Peter Bagley.

Terry Loebs: “I will remember Charles Bradley as the most accomplished backchecking defenseman in AMHL history, and the all-time leader in evoking the same question ("Is that guy playing 'D' or forward?") among AMHL newbies. Good luck, Charles (eh?)”

Mike Schneider wrote, “Nicest guy off the ice. On the ice? Tenacious, quick, strong. A beast on defense. The kind of guy you fear going towards or fear may be on your heels. If you beat Charles, you know you played your best.”


Now, Bradley is back in business and back in the game. At the Dunkin’ Donuts in West Concord, he’s his same old amiable self as he sits at the table next to my wife and me. Caring to the core about pets and humans alike, Charles Bradley listens to my wife describe my ongoing injury saga and makes a suggestion or two from his own experience as a hockey player and animal doctor. (You’ve probably seen the bumper sticker, “Be kind to animals. Hug a hockey player.” Right?)

Stop by Domino Veterinary Hospital (DVH), Charlie says, I’ll give you a brochure for the doctor that fixed my wrist.

He stands up to get in line for his coffee as my wife and I prepare to leave. 

Sunday, February 28, 2010

Doozies, Don’ts, and Donuts

The 2010 Olympic Games in Vancouver—and Canada itself—have owned the international spotlight, so I’ve been spying on our northerly neighbor and posting my observations—from Eh to Zed—about this Olympiad at Canadianspy.blogspot.com.

Back here in Boston, I haven’t lost sight of our Bruins. While many citizens of Bruins Nation were clamoring for Ilya Kovalchuk, I anointed myself to special advisor status and posted my plea for patience—don’t sell the farm—at Hockeybarn.com.

From the Olympics and the NHL to the AMHL …A stick salute to Mike “the Eagle” Chase. February 9th marked the one-year anniversary of our AMHL friend’s death. Mikey has surely graduated from our dimly-lit arena to the bright lights of heaven, where you can play hockey whenever you want and nobody nabs the last Boston Kreme.

Happy 60th birthday to Dunkin’ Donuts. To celebrate the accomplishment, Dunkin’ Donuts has resurrected its Donut Contest. Last year’s winning entry, “Coffee for Your Toffee”, will be succeeded by…well, maybe this is the year for the Sour Cream Sunrise. Rather thin pin my hopes to one donut entry, I’m diversifying my donut portfolio and will soon divulge the names of the half dozen doozies I’m developing. Deadline for throwing my donuts into the ring is March 8th, so stay tuned for details.

For those of you who’ve followed the Humpty Dumpty (Sports) Hernia saga, I have an update: Sports hernias don’t appear on MRIs. This I learned from Dr. Brian Busconi, a former Harvard hockey player and a pioneer in diagnosing and treating what he referred to as injuries more commonly found in “mature athletes” like me. Surgery (not yet sure if it will be a deep dive or laparoscopy) is in my near future, but I hope to return to AMHL ice this summer.

Meanwhile, our little donut league is going strong. “Mighty Mike” Edwards has returned from knee surgery, and his Leafs are 6–2. On Wednesdays, Port Huron’s pride and joy, Mike Seeley—who was last seen pushing pedals in Portugal—has returned to the AMHL; the nimble defenseman took a turn in nets and earned a shutout (or so it was recorded at AMHL.com, but Seeley says by e-mail, “Someone thumbed a key when entering stats...I ain't never been between da pipes.”

Not ready for nets to not ready for the AMHL…These bears are probably not ready for the AMHL, but you don’t want to miss this grizzly spectacle.

And now back to the Olympics… I tossed my first few stones. That’s right, I curled for the first time. It was online, of course, (Bostonians who want the real deal: Visit Broomstones.com) but I still got to use a broom. I started off strong, but in the end (I only played one), I lost 0–3.

Finally, I know some readers are wondering who I’m rooting for in today’s gold medal hockey game. I can’t tell you because I don’t know. Not yet. More on that later.

Sunday, August 02, 2009

The Hockey Gods are (Still) Crazy: Out of Season

Thursday, July 30

“I lost out. I wasn’t playing to win…” - “Out of Season”, REO Speedwagon

I’m not playing to win. I’m not even playing. And for the first time in ten years—that’s about thirty hockey seasons for me—I won’t be drafted by an AMHL team. So out of season.

I don’t know what I did to displease the deities, but Humpty Dumpty (Sports) Hernia has flummoxed me and confounded a superior physical therapist. At times during these past eleven months I’ve felt like the cracks in HDH were sealing but then, sure as Sher-Wood, other fissures would form and leave me bitter and even more baffled.

This week has been the epitome of extremes, and HDH feels no better than it did last September. I’ve been grieving the loss of ice time and competition, so of course denial, sadness, anger, and pleading with the hockey gods have drifted in and out of my psyche. These thoughts and feelings have often lingered for too long, and acceptance of the situation has been, until tonight, fleeting.

It’s Thursday night, and I’m home alone, sort of. While my wife and a friend are at dinner, I’m enjoying quality time with my iPod and the supreme hockey beings, the ones whom, back in April, I suggested were crazy.

Well, I was right. They are crazy. Good crazy. You see, they’ve taken control of what’s shuffling through the playlist, which at the moment is REO Speedwagon’s “Out of Season”.

“I’m so out of season. You let me go and you gave me no reason…”

But instead of stewing about why the skating spirits have benched me or when HDH will be healed, I’m singing and smiling. Finally, I can find humor in lyrics that would have, until tonight, likely served as a stinging reminder about the games and seasons I’ve missed; I’m advancing through the adversity that a few days ago would have me hopping (on the one good leg) mad. How I’ve dealt with this difficulty has gone from laughable to laugh-able.

With this sharper clarity, I divine that the hockey gods are on their timetable, not mine. Perhaps they want me to prepare for the inevitable reality of being an ex-hockey player, eternally out of season.

Tuesday, July 07, 2009

Oohs and Aahs: Fireworks, Golf, Hockey (and Donuts)

Image courtesy of BostonTX at flickr.com
Ooh…aah.

Bostonians at the Esplanade on Saturday night must have been delighted with the pyrotechnics display and musical performances.

I didn’t attend the Independence Day extravaganza (saw Neil Diamond last summer—so good, so good at Fenway) and won’t be playing in AMHLer Dana Salvo’s annual golf event (Humpty Dumpty (Sports) Hernia won’t cooperate). But because summer is when fireworks, golf, hockey (and donuts) commingle, I’ve been thinking about a Thursday morning four years ago.

After an early morning hockey game, a half dozen or so AMHLers left Valley Sports Arena. With leftover donut holes, we drove west to the Woods of Westminster.

Chris “Donut Boy” Howell, Doug “Wight, Not Weight” and I warmed up by teeing off on Powdered Cake Munchkins.

Whoosh…pfft. Ooh…aah.

We watched the donut holes disintegrate, the white powder flashing and then quickly dissipating. A Weeping Willow (pictured above) over a green esplanade.

The real golf balls? I launched a few duds into the trees. But I fired off a few good shots, too. On the last hole, I wound up for my last drive, the grand finale.

Whoosh…thwap.

Like a rocket, the ball shot off the tee.

Ooh…aah.

Straight and nearly true, the shot wowed the crowd.

Woppita woppita woppita.

The club’s head, however, had struck the ball, dislodged itself from the shaft and made a feeble attempt to chase the ball.

I wondered if Howell would be upset (I don’t have my own clubs and was too cheap to rent them, so I borrowed whatever I needed from Donut Boy’s golf bag.)

Wight and Howell were howling with laughter though. Then Donut Boy told me he didn’t use that club anyway.

To this day, the dislocated club’s head still rolls around the bed of Howell’s pickup truck; Donut Boy uses the former Munchkin-whacker as a makeshift GasBuddy, wedging the wood in the pump’s handle.

Ooh…aah…the spectacular memories will live on…at the gas station, on the links, and at the rink.