A little while past two years ago, in 2014, I was on the bench 'coaching' during a championship run in one of the lower divisions of a men's league hockey tournament, the Chatter Cup. New friends were made that weekend, one of which being a man named Chris Huff. Huff was arguably the best player on our team, even when the poolside in between games got the best of him.
In what I believe was our third game, we matched up against a team that we knew would give us a run for our money. This team had one person, in particular, that was far-and-away the best player we had seen. He had some luscious lettuce coming out the back, gloves, stick, and helmet that looked like they were factory-new, and silky smooth hands that would have lost our goalie's jockstrap in the netting (sorry Jules) .. If it weren't for Huff.
"You don't even deserve to be in this division."
"You have great hair."
"You're the best player I've seen."
Twenty-two year old or so T.J. Oshie impressionist was thrown off of his game by Huff's kind words. We went on to win the game, with Oshie v2.0 being shut down.
It got me thinking, though. Everything that Huff said, was true for the tournament.
Flash forward to early 2016, a year-and-a-half after the remarkable run. We weren't able to participate in the 2015 tournament as a family wedding was scheduled on the same weekend, so the legendary Swenson Granite team was scratched. Sadness.
My second half of my freshman year of college was almost underway, when I had remembered a teammate's words at the end of a family hockey game on Thanksgiving. "You've been promoted to skater from coach for The Chatter Cup." I knew then, that in 8 months, I would be on the ice, and would have to make an impact immediately.
Huff's considerate chirping inspired me. I had to have the best hair at this tournament. Everyone knows, that if you have better hair, you're automatically a better player, and I needed all of the help that I could get.
Several ideas went through my head as to what my new 'do could possibly be. January to the final weekend of July was approximately an eight month growing season until I had to harvest the crop. By March, my father had joined with me to try and have the best hair in the tournament, and by far the best father-son hair combo. If you haven't guessed it by now, wait for it, we went for:
Mullets.
Oh yes. You've read that correctly. The mullet was making a comeback.
The idea was kept close between a few people, and gradually we opened up to the public in late-June. Still, no other teammates knew of the madness.
The days were fast approaching for the tournament, and so were the days until I could finally stop brushing my hair every single moment of my life. Needless to say, my mother was unhappy with the idea of the mullet, as she had to sleep next to my father's gross mop of hair that doesn't know "Touch of Gray for Men."
Wednesday, July 27th, 2016, two days before the Chatter Cup - My father and I were en route to our scheduled appointment at Whispy Ends in Gorham, Maine, to have our hair cut by a close family friend. She was in awe that we wanted to go through with cutting our hair into mullets and said she "hadn't had so much fun with a haircut in years," and that "this is the first mullet I've done in years."
Baby, we were making a comeback.
The laughter was uncontrollable as we described our plot, showed what we wanted done, and talked about Huff's kind words to T. J. I went with a tribute mullet. The top of my head and the back are to the legendary Zigmund Palffy of the mid 90's New York Islanders, and the sides are dedicated to Patty Kane. I'm not really sure what my dad did, as he also had the letters "S" and "G" shaved into his head for Swenson Granite, our sponsor.
It was fresh.
We made a trip to the bar, where my coworkers couldn't stop making fun of me. In fact, as I'm writing this over a week later, they still haven't stopped making fun of me, especially considering the fact that I decided to keep the 'do.
When game day rolled around, game one of what would end up being a horrible tournament, we lost 6-3. However, a priceless moment came as we rolled into my uncle's house to tent out, meeting smiles, laughter, and endless head shakes at the look of my dad and I. It was all the more funny with my dad missing a tooth after biting into a slice of pizza earlier in the day, and myself wearing Bermudas and a "Hey Ukraine, Crimea River" t-shirt with a picture of Vladimir Putin.
The one, the only, the legend, Mr. Chris Huff was able to capture us in all of our glory upon our arrival.
As it turns out, better hair does not make you a better hockey player. However, it gains respect and softer chirps. Our team finished with a -15 goal differential, and an 0-3 record for the weekend.
Rest assured though:
The mullet is making a comeback.
And boy, I now love hair gel.
