On Frozen Blog

Go ahead and make fun of me — I had difficulty sleeping last night, tossing and turning while my semi-conscious thoughts were heavy with hockey prospect storylines. Normal men this summer have been rushed into deep repose each evening with associations of imprisoned Paris Hilton, counting shower come-ons in her confinement.†I on the other hand have my late evening mind, last night especially,†preoccupied this July with thoughts of young†Nova Scotians†and Finns tossing medicine balls to one another†and playing summer shinny.
Last night, why couldn’t my subconscious release me from its mental Herbies, and broker a grand compromise for more and better sleep — say Paris penning letters from the pen outfitted in a new Caps’ sweater? [Not-so-Subsconscious reply, at 2:47 a.m.: "Because the new sweaters are back-ordered through September."]
The script for this sleep distress was authored early Tuesday.†In the morning a chum transported me,†with his reminiscence of a roadtrip past,†to a faraway Frozenville. By the†close of business yesterday OFB colleague Gustafsson was instant messaging me from Kettler Capitals, filling me in on all of the logistics for camp coverage by new and old media.
The Caps, though, bear considerable culpability for my restlessness. First, they bloated this July’s Rookie Camp roster with unrivaled prospect riches from around the globe, virtually doubling the size of the typical July camp. Next they scheduled happy hour scrimmages for four consecutive sweltering summer nights this week. What could be more puckhead friendly? A veritable Woodstock, indoors, for the ice-addicted. ††††
Not content with this already agitating agenda, management this week dispatched GMGM to the radio airwaves (Doc Walker’s WTEM radio show) to promise not All Star game congeniality on the ice during the scrimmages but rather something closer to a Charlestown Chiefs’ intrasquad intifada.
3:23 a.m.: Joe Finley, puttin on the foil,†and†pummeling some anonymous free agent to a pulp?†A non-smoker, I nonetheless bolted upright in bed and reached for an imagined pack of unfiltered Marlboros I imagined were stationed on my nightstand.
Consider the thick scroll of honors accompanying these young guns onto the Kettler ice this week: “The next Forsberg” . . . “First team All WCHA” . . .†reigning Most Valuable Player, Quebec Major Junior Hockey League . . .†oh, and†the Q’s reigning leading scorer . . . Second Team All WCHA . . . recent captain of an NCAA national champion . . . Mr. 99-mph slapshot [Not-so-Subsonscious clarifier, 3:50 a.m.: "99.4 miles per hour"]†. . . †the second-leading scorer in the USHL from last season . . . and Big Knuckles Finley.
I’m supposed to just pull up the covers Tuesday evening and pretend this to be an ordinary†mid-summer Wednesday in sports Washington?
If you see me out at Kettler this afternoon, I’ll be the guy with bags under his eyes, welcoming any and all†offers for energy drinks. †