My Dad has been a goalie for most of his life. Practically every weekend in the winter during my childhood I would go out to the rink and catch a game. My favourite hockey memory ever was when my Uncle, who usually played on the same teams as my Dad, dropped the gloves and started hammering some goon. It became a free-for-all, with both teams jumping in for a piece. During the carnage I looked over to the crease to check on my Dad and I caught him leaning against his net, watching the whole thing with a bemused look on his face. Not long after the other goalie skated on over, they exchanged pleasantries, and both began giving colour commentary on the carnage playing out before them.
Yeah, my Dad’s alright.
long live hulkamania…
I’m the original Hulkamaniac.
I only met the elder Wintle a few times, but when I did he would always stare me down with steely eyed disapproval. I would walk on the door ask if Steve was there – I would get the stare down for an uncomfortable amount of time then he would say`”yes.” You know when you are walking on Wintle ground.
All Wintles are said to posess the eyes of the basilisk.
I’m pretty sure when we came back from almost killing ourselves in the Propane Beast (the time on the highway when the brakes wouldn’t work), he laughed and said something like, “Oh, did that happen again?”