Features > The Great Bright North?
(From left) The author, Jerry, Flint, and Randy
The Great Bright North?- Part 3 of 3
by Chris Bilder, Generals Staff Writer
Eugene, OR- Ahhh, back the familiar smells, and sounds, of hockey. It’s Tryout Camp! Standing in the lobby of the Dempsey-Anderson Ice Arena, which I fondly remember it as the Patrick Dempsey Ice Arena; I felt a certain nervous excitement. Butterflies had filled my stomach since the night before, and I knew they wouldn’t go away until that first skate hit the ice. There are multiple points in every sports franchise’s season, especially in Junior hockey, when you know that you could be on the cusp of greatness, or when you could be setting yourself up for failure. This was one of those moments. Well…kind of. We couldn’t have really been setting ourselves up for failure. We had 10 Alaskans on our team last year, and our sources said there was an abundant supply still ripe for the picking. This still was a feeling your only experience a few times during a season. One you stay up all night just thinking about the possibilities, with every possible scenario running through your head as if it is on some endless DVD. The only other times you feel it are the first day of practice, Opening Night, the first game of the first round of playoffs, and the last game of the finals. The first time those feelings hit you during the year is different, however. The first time sets the tone for the entire season. If this camp when right, it could set us on a crash course to win the Silver Cup. Winning Nationals would, in turn, make us the place to play in Junior B hockey for years to com. On the other hand, a bad camp could send us spiraling into the depths of mediocrity, which could lead to no fans. No fans would mean no new interest in hockey. No new interest in hockey could lead to the end of hockey in Eugene! Sorry, about that. I got a little excited. Anyways, I had no reason to believe this camp would mean the end of hockey in Eugene.
As I walked through the double doors leading into the arena I took a deep breath. Not because I was worried, but because a sheet of freshly cut ice is one of the best smells on the planet. Which is quite odd considering that it is often coupled with one of the worst smells on the planet…sweaty, smelly, moldy hockey gear. I guess its just one of those things that makes our sport unique.
I made my way over to the bleachers with the scouting sheet in hand. When I sat down I earnestly studied the names, numbers, ages, and locations of each player. That is when I began to realize that my last hope on this trip was finally starting to materialize. We had players from all over Alaska. There were skaters from Anchorage, Fairbanks, Homer, Copper Center, Palmer, Healey, Soldotna, Kenai, and Eagle River. There truly were hockey rinks all over the state of Alaska. In Anchorage alone there were twice as many rinks as there are in the state of Oregon.
At that moment the first player stepped onto the ice, his newly sharpened blades gliding across the ice with ease. The rest of the day almost seems surreal to me now. I remember thinking this is the first step toward Opening Night in September, and that some of the players out there would be suited up in Generals uniforms. They would be as nervously excited as I am now. I remember looking over at Coach Freeland as he guided the players before him. I tried studying him as he studied the players. He was one of the best in determining talent and drive. Sometimes I didn’t know why he picked up the players he did, and why he would sit players on any given night, but it always seemed to work out. I know this is hard to believe, but nobody thought the team would go as far as they did. The Generals were written off as the typical expansion franchise. We were supposed to be bottom dwellers, but Bobby and Chris made the team into contenders. When they started the season 9-0 you could almost hear the jaws of 10 other teams around the league dropping. The first team to be completely stunned was the Fort Vancouver Pioneers. They were supposed to go undefeated in the NOR PAC, but Bobby, Chris, and the boys put an end to that the first night of the season. Then they did it again the very next night. There was obviously something special about Coach Freeland. I’m very sure it can’t be explained in words. As I watched him study the players I didn’t know this would be the last time I saw him on the bench. I only knew him from the year we both spent with the Generals, but I think if he had to choose where he would spend his last day on the bench it would be in the same place where he fell in love with the game. That place was Alaska.
The next couple of days were kind of a blur. Bobby had been in and out of the hospital for tests, Barry Wolf of the Langley Chiefs had been running the camp, and we flew Coach Hartly up from Portland for the last day. From the outside I think everything seemed normal, but it was hectic behind the scenes. In the end we were able to see some great hockey players including Trent McKee and Justin Adams, both of whom are now with the Generals. We were also able to see how some of our returners were progressing throughout the summer. Tyler MacMillan had gained a ton of foot speed, and Justin Kern had gained a lot of stamina.
There were some lighter moments the last few days, however. On our last night in Alaska we were able to visit one of the most historic sights in all of Anchorage. A place that can described in only three words…the Bird House. Randy MacMillan and Kevin Kern decided that they wanted to give Coach Hartly, Coach Wolff, Flint, and me one more special treat before we made our way back into the lower 48, and one more special night is exactly what we got.
We arrived at Chilkoot Charlie’s at around 7:00. The Bird House seemed perfectly normal excluding the hundreds of undergarments stapled to every square inch of the place, the bar that was tilted at a 30° angle, and the sawdust that covered the floor. Other than that it seemed pretty normal. The bartender seemed very jovial, and was chatting with the five or six people at the bar. The six of us took up one side of the bar, all at the 30° angle. The bartender came up and took our orders, and asked us if we’d ever been to the Bird House before. Randy, Kevin, and Barry all replied yes, but Flint, Chris, and I informed him that we hadn’t. Without skipping a beat he welcomed us, and assured us that we would have a great time. He told us about a special tradition at the Bird House involving blowing a horn by the window to call a ptarmigan. The bartender said that if the ptarmigan lands on the windowsill after you blow the horn it gives you good luck. Being in need of good luck I decided to be the first to blow the horn. That turned out to be not such a great idea. I kind of figured this out when I put the horn to my lips and everybody around me started smiling, except for Flint and Chris. That was my first clue. My second clue was the fact that the end of the horn was pointing straight back at my face. I knew something bad was going to happen, but I went for it anyways. I took a fairly large breath, and blew with all my might. Before I was even done blowing the horn, I was completely covered with flour. I just smiled and brushed myself off. The bartender apologized with a smile and gave me a sticker that read “I Blew It!” with a logo of the Bird House.
After about a half and hour or so, when Flint had left to use the restroom, Randy showed be a button on the bar. He told me to push it, and assured me that nothing bad would happen. I was a little wary, but being the trusting, or if you look at it another way, stupid, person that I am I decided to give it a whirl. As soon as I pushed the button a siren went off behind the bar. There was a siren that went off in my head simultaneously. I had made another questionable decision. The bartender gave me two choices. Buy the bar a round of drinks, or eat a pickle. I am poor, and I like pickles, so I made the decision to take the later. Little did I know it was a “special” pickle. This particular pickle had been soaked in hot mustard for what could have been years. I didn’t know. The bartender pulled the pickle jar out of a hidden cabinet on our side of the bar. Once again, I just decided to go for it. It wasn’t hot in the sense I thought it would be. It didn’t burn my tongue or my lips. It was the kind of hot that cleared your sinuses for your lifetime, and made your eyes well from ten feet away. Even though everybody was cheering me on to eat the entire thing in one bite, I used my better judgment this time. I took my time, taking small bite by small bite. I almost lost it a couple of times, but I was able to get the entire pickle down. At the moment of my last swallow cheers roared from around the bar. I knew why they were cheering, and it was definitely deserved, but that would be the last prank pulled on me that night. Now it was time for my turn.
A couple minutes later Flint walked into the room. Randy, Kevin, Barry, Chris, and I looked at each other simultaneously. It was his turn now. Randy, once again, was the designated get the sucker to push the button guy. Flint did it with the a little more wariness than I, but he reluctantly pushed. He was also given the choice, and chose the pickle. He credited his race to loving hot things and assured us it wouldn’t be a problem. He took the tiniest of tiny bites and immediately began coughing. It wasn’t your normal coughing either. It was the kind of coughing where breathing actually comes second. The kind of coughing where your face turns purple and you hunch over in agony. It was basically the scene in Dumb and Dumber where Harry and Lloyd put hot peppers on the “Gas Man’s” burger. The burst of laughter was uproarious until, just like in the movie, Flint stopped breathing. It was only for a second, but flashbacks of Dumb and Dumber came into my head, and I didn’t want to play Lloyd and have to give him forced mouth to mouth. Flint was finally able to spit out the sliver of pickle he had in his mouth, and promptly blamed his reaction on asthma. He was able to laugh it off, and so were we. The rest of the night was dedicated to getting other unsuspecting newcomers to try all the things we did. Which, by the way, was no where near as successful as the pranks were with us.
The next day we arrived at the airport 30 minutes before our plane was supposed to take off. Flint assured us we would make the plane, but that plan was halted quickly by the lady at the front desk. Luckily for us there were planes flying to Seattle every hour. That gave me some extra time to grab a quick bite to eat, and think about everything I’d learned over the course of my stay in Alaska. I learned the following: it is the land of the midnight sun; people drive actual automobiles; they actually live in houses; polar bears were not actually a popular sight; snow globes, key chains that looked like Alaska license plates, and screen printed t-shirts were the flavor of Alaska; fishing is a staple; and pranks are a must for all newcomers. In the end Alaska was not at all like I expected, but I will be back. I will be back soon.