Alright, folks, buckle up because you won’t believe what happened to your favorite Crazy Hockey Dad last weekend. Now, I’ve been around the rink a few times, but this one really takes the biscuit. Picture this: an event filled with hockey legends, celebrities, and me, Hank, trying to promote my pride and joy—Crazy Hockey Dad stick wax. I mean, what could possibly go wrong, right?
The night started off as smooth as a freshly Zambonied ice rink. I was rubbing elbows with some of the biggest names in the game, all while dropping subtle (okay, maybe not so subtle) hints about the best damn stick wax in the business. “Hey, you ever light the lamp with a shot so slick, the goalie’s still looking for his jockstrap? Yeah, that’s Bar Down Butter, my friend!”
Everything was going great until the after-party. The lights were low, the music was loud, and I was feeling like a king in my element, preaching the gospel of stick wax to anyone who would listen. And then it happened—I found myself in a heated debate with none other than a rockstar. Let’s call him The Wailer because, well, that’s what he does best.
Now, I didn’t peg this guy as a hockey fan, let alone someone who’d have a strong opinion about stick wax. But there we were, nose to nose, arguing over the merits of my wax versus...wait for it...duct tape. Yeah, you heard me right. This guy was convinced that duct tape was the answer to all of life’s problems, including getting that perfect puck control.
“Listen, pal,” I said, trying to keep my cool while imagining throwing him into the boards, “duct tape might be good for holding your guitar together, but if you want to dangle, snipe, and celly like a champ, you need the real deal. You need Crazy Hockey Dad wax!”
But The Wailer wasn’t having it. He leaned in, eyes wild, and said, “You ever try duct tape? It’s got grip, it’s got texture—it’s rock ’n’ roll, man!”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Rock ’n’ roll? This is hockey, bud! We’re talking finesse, control, the art of the toe drag. You think Gretzky used duct tape? No way. He’d be all over ‘Dangle, Snipe & Celly’ if he were still playing!”
Things escalated quickly. Before I knew it, we were chest to chest, and I was this close to dropping the gloves—okay, maybe not literally, but you get the idea. Thankfully, cooler heads prevailed. A few of the hockey guys stepped in, and we agreed to settle things the old-fashioned way: a shot-for-shot contest, to be decided next time we hit the rink.
As the night wound down, I couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all. Here I was, a middle-aged dad, almost getting into a scrap with a rockstar over stick wax. But hey, that’s the life of a Crazy Hockey Dad—always ready to drop the mitts for what you believe in, especially if it’s something as crucial as the perfect puck feel.
So, here’s the moral of the story, kids: in hockey, as in life, you’ve got to stick to your guns (or in this case, your wax). And who knows? Maybe one day, The Wailer will see the light and swap out his duct tape for some proper hockey wax. But until then, I’ll be here, spreading the word one bar down beauty at a time.
Catch you on the next shift
Hank