School and Streaking

Hello everyone,


            This has proven to be one of the more peculiar weeks of my time here.   I returned to Milwaukie High School this past Wednesday and, not surprisingly; don’t remember anyone from last year.  Things are looking up however.  All my classes have one or more teammate, so it won’t be as tough as last year to get comfortable in school.  Like last year, I feel almost the illusion of celebrity when the teacher confronts me with the question of “you’re one of the hawks right.”  I can almost feel the eyes of the class room silently size us up.  This unfortunately goes along with the stereotype of being pieces of meat that have no brain function.  All I can do is wait in respectful silence till the opportunity arises where I can pounce on a question to smash these pre-conceived judgments.  As usual my class load offers about as much difficulty as playing Guitar Hero on easy.  One class in particular has the potential to go down as the easiest class I’ve taken in recent memory. 


Accounting, a giant class squeezed so tightly into a classroom the teacher even went as far to refer to it as Sardine 101.  Mr. Nott, the accounting teacher, is also in the running for being one of the most hilarious teachers in recent memory.  Our first class was basically just an hour and a half talking about what accountants do and different financial aspects of business, blah, blah, blah.  We played a small game that, for anyone who’s been to a Peters’ family gathering, was similar to Pit.  This is where I met Albert, a large Samoan senior with a hearty laugh and a wide smile.  He and I were paired to play this game together.  While I desperately resisted the urge to laugh every time I imagined him saying “hey hey hey!” the game proved to be pretty fun.  We later learned that we had absolutely butchered the rules of the game and what we were playing was not even remotely close to the right way.


On the business side of things, we headed into Tri-City Friday morning to attend the Red Lion Exhibition Tourney at the Americans’ home rink.  The trek to Tri managed to be an adventure in itself.  Our unofficial eating stop for all trips to Tri-City is this small Italian restaurant called Romuls.  Over the past year and a bit, I’ve started to like the place more and more for one reason, Romul.  Romul, the owner and main chef at his own store has a big heart for his customers.  Not once have we stopped for spaghetti and meatballs where he hasn’t come out to welcome and serve us.  He also does a great job for bolstering the stereotypical Italian-American because of his consistent style and fashion.  I’ve never seen Romul wearing anything besides a flashy Ferrari track suit, usually accented by his large gold necklace.  His hair hasn’t changed since the first time we ate there: slicked back dark gray hair.  He probably uses his mothers recipe for tomato sauce solely for the opportunity to pull out the line “just like momma used to make” for anyone who will listen.  However, this stop at Romuls’ would be like no other.


To put things into perspective, the weather Friday was hotter than sin.  So when we got back onto the bus after an hour of eating, the feeling was similar to jumping into a hot shower.  Not only cause of the heat, but also the fact that everyone was soaking wet in a matter of minutes after getting in.  A sensation that normally lasts about five minutes into the trip, by which time we would already be rumbling down the road.  So you can imagine the feeling we all got when the motor started, sputtered, and died, multiple times.  I still haven’t heard of what the initial problem was, but I’m thinking the heat had a factor.  For some reason the engine failure caused the heat to steadily increase until players started filing out of the bus to fight over the shade.  Thankfully, a kind business man quickly beckoned us into his road side (air conditioned) store.  The difference was euphoric!  Most of us piled into an empty back room, hidden from the sun.  We had noticeably taken on cold-blooded traits.  But what had become of our game?  Tri-city was still a good two hour drive, and our game started in less than four hours.  I watched the minutes tick away on the wall as I did some quick calculations.  If we wanted to make it to the game by two hours before we have to leave…half an hour ago.  The results shocked me.  Nowhere in memory had this kind of situation come about.  I overheard a conversation between my equipment manager and our head coach where the statement “the closest replacement bus is over three hours away.”  Unless the events coordinator at the Toyota Center wanted an 11:00 pm game we were hooped.  We managed to pull a play right out of the bantam AAA books.  Gags, our equipment manager, quickly ordered two fifteen seaters and a u-haul trailer.  Within forty five minutes we were back on the road.  What happened in the game became even more astonishing.  We got up 6 – 1 in the first period of the game and went on to win in decisive fashion.

We played Lethbridge the next day and rendered the same result.  Our team is showing so extremely positive signs going into the first games of the season.

That’s all for now,


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One Response to School and Streaking

  1. W & E Peters says:

    Always enjoy reading the blog. Great games !
    Keep it up! (your studies as well)

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