On The Sly

A year ago, when On the Sly was less than one month old, I mentioned that I have never been good at keeping a "New Year's Resolution." So, many years ago, I threw out any notion of making resolutions, and I prefer to make wishes for myself, my friends and for the world in general.

In no particular order, therefore, here are my wishes for 2007. I wish that:

Mayor Donny K and his councilors find a way to fairly cut taxes, and Donny enjoys his first year as mayor.

Nice people like Mike Mannix, Bob Garrow, Bob Goetz, "The Old Timer," Edmund Richard and my Mom live to be 100.

More high school athletes realize what lucky people they are to even be wearing a school uniform and stop grumbling about their coach. It will never be any better than your days of playing high school sports!

I get to play one more high school baseball game, and I get to watch Goose play one more high school football game (Go, #40!)

The JonBenet Ramsey case gets solved.

CNN and Fox News hire female news reporters who look like my seventh grade math teacher rather than a Miss USA contestant.

We get a huge snowstorm in January, trapping me in the house for days with a certain someone!

The football Giants fire coach Tom Coughlin and replace him with Tom Landry or Vince Lombardi.

Randy Johnson wins 20 games, no matter who he pitches for, and retires in style.

The Boston Red Sox buy a pennant like the New York Yankees have done so many times.

Roger Maris gets elected to the Baseball Hall of Fame, because in 1961 he hit 61 REAL home runs! He beat Babe Ruth fair and square!

We play an entire baseball season without any announcer saying the names Palmeiro, McGwire and Sosa.

Eric Gagne, a great pitcher and class big leaguer, gets a little nice guy luck and has a great year for the Texas Rangers.

WIRY's Ducky Drake wins a national collegiate broadcasters award as one of the best announcers ever to call a college hockey game.

My friend Bryan Benway, who will become the most prominent sports personality ever to emerge from Jay, New York, gets the job of his dreams.

Grace and Jim at Meron's create a special "two-seater" for the best seat in the house.

I buy a $2 scratch-off lottery ticket and win $1000.

The careers of Britney Spears and Paris Hilton and Barry Bonds somehow quietly fade away.

Television's Nancy Grace and Judge Judy tone down their attitude a notch.

A truck goes out of control on Saratoga Court and accidentally drops off three cords of wood in my backyard.

Gas prices drop to and stay at $2 a gallon.

Skip and Bruce come back safely from Myrtle Beach.

I wake up on my birthday and find a bag on my front steps containing all the money I've spent in my lifetime on women's jewelry.

My special friends who helped me through the last few years continue to realize how much I value their friendship.

These wishes seem pretty reasonable to me. Let's see what 2007 has to offer. Bring it on!

HAPPY NEW YEAR FROM FOXY AT ON THE SLY!

Posted by Foxy Gagnon at 7:19 AM | Permalink | Comments (15)

Well, I didn't think it would happen, but it finally did. Why any female would want to hookup, hang out or date a 58-year-old guy with a fourth-grade girl's ponytail is beyond me, but it happened.

Recently a friend and I drove to Montreal, in the same car, mind you, and had a great meal at Bar-B-Barn, one of my all-time favorite restaurants, no matter what the country. On the way back I asked her if this was a date.

After reviewing the modern-day definitions from one of my previous blogs, we agreed that this was a date. We had an agreed-upon day, agreed-upon time and an agreed-upon vehicle to use to get to our agreed-upon destination. Even kids in Missouri call that a date -- believe me, I have researched this! And even women in their forties in Georgia, even ones that I haven't seen in years but who read this blog anyway, call that a date.

It's true. As much I have enjoyed hanging out with some friends over the past few years, I know none of the occasions were dates, even when I took a certain someone to lunch a few times.

And, according to my much-younger friends at my favorite local pub, I've never even come close to hooking up in the past few years.

And the last thing I really thought I'd do is go on a date. But the Bar-B-Barn evening was apparantly a date. Now what do I do? Can you go from dating to hanging out? I mean, if you are dating are you always dating? Are my hookup days over before they ever started because I've been on a date?

This world sure is confusing. Many people don't even have to worry about this subject. But, believe me, once you've dated, it really makes you think. Thank goodness there are readers from California to Texas to Georgia to the Carolinas to Ohio and Canada and several points in between who might be able to keep me straight on this topic.

I'm not going to lose any sleep over it. I'm just going to take each day as it arrives. Maybe today will be a hookup day and maybe the next day will be a hangout day. You just never know -- when you're 58 and you wake up with a smile on your face! Is it a hookup, a hangout or date? Hey, at my age, I'll take any of those three choices and be mighty happy!

Posted by Foxy Gagnon at 9:48 PM | Permalink | Comments (13)

I'd give anything to relive Christmas 1981. That year Erik was just three years old, and with every Christmas gift he opened he shouted, "Just what I only wanted!" His mother and I couldn't stop laughing at how happy he was.

And later in the day that year he gathered with his cousins Erin and Forrest and Jessie and they romped around Grandma and Grandpa's house enjoying the attention and the fun. My parents' house was noisy in those days and the overflow crowd had to eat at tray tables in the living room.

Christmas 2006 was so much different. Don't get me wrong. It was fun and the food was great. But where were the kids? Erik and his cousins are all adults, busy with their work schedules and lives. Thank goodness at least Raeanna, Erin's daughter, was there. All of eighteen months old she doesn't really understand the fun of Christmas yet, but she served as a reminder of years gone by. And of how quickly the years pass.

The day at Mom's was not without its laughs, and, as usual, there was plenty to talk about. As we discussed the predicted storm due to hit our area, Gene reminded us of the days when we'd put chains on the back tires of our cars. That was followed by the days of studs on our tires to help with traction in the winter. I guess both chains and studs on tires are against the law now.

Someone gave Mom a fruitcake! For some reason this Christmas I was thinking about fruitcake and thinking that I hadn't eaten a piece of fruitcake since 1986. I tried a piece and I was happy to see that the taste of fruitcakes hasn't improved since '86. I haven't been missing anything through the years. As Theresa so eloquently put it, "You just had to be reminded why you haven't eaten it in so long."

I found out some odd facts known by few. Such as Gene puts coffee on his morning cereal. Yes, that's right. He follows a strict regimen of water into the cereal bowl, heat in the microwave, add the cereal, add a little cream and then your coffee. It occurred to him some time ago that since he was drinking a cup of coffee with his cereal each day, he could just toss it all in together.

And Theresa told me that some people brush their teeth in the shower. She doesn't and I don't, but she insists some people do. No one in the Gagnon family would admit to it.

Of course, the food outdid the conversation. Mom cooked a great eighteen-pound turkey, and prepared the potatoes and the stuffing. Not bad for an 85-year-old! Darlene cooked the turnips, and she and Bertha, her mother-in-law, brought pies. I cooked the ham.

The best part of any Gagnon family meal, to me, is Goose's cabbage salad. He fixed a great batch this year and I was able to sneak out with the meager leftovers. I think when Goose retires he could be hired by local restaurants to prepare cabbage salad. I can see it now: big containers in stores and delis with the words "Goose's Finest Cabbage Salad."

Even with all the fun and chatter I realized at the end of the day that Christmas in our family isn't the same without kids. Not that I'm rushing anything, but Goose is a grandpa -- I am trying to get Raeanna to call him "Pepe." And in a few years Raeanna will be at the age Erik was back in '81. My sister is a grandmother, but Forrest lives in Florida and works constantly. I'm still waiting to reach that grandparent level, and I hope Erik and Sarah continue to take their time.

But the Gagnon family definitely needs some kids to run around, make messes and scream for joy when opening presents. Maybe in a few years. That would be "just what I only wanted." I hope I'm still around to enjoy it.

Posted by Foxy Gagnon at 12:26 AM | Permalink | Comments (5)

'Twas the day before Christmas and all through Foxy's Den
He kept thinking of blog topics again and again.
Comments kept arriving, so many to read -
I guess we all agree athletes today have too much greed.

Lily, his cat, was snug on his bed
While Foxy wished for a pretty girl, all dressed in red.
Lily was snoozing, Foxy's Den was so still
He thought back to Mom & Dad and those days on Fox Hill.

When out on the lawn he heard such a noise
Maybe it was Santa with a bagful of toys.
Foxy ran to the window and took a quick peek -
It was friends from his past, like Ray Lalonde and Z, the Big Greek.

They rang his doorbell and quickly rushed in -
"Pour us a cold one," said Z with a grin.
All the guys were there drinking rum and egg nog,
With stories of old to use on the blog.

Tony, Jerry, Maynard, Sam and McTigue -
These are friends who were always major league.
A little guy showed up dressed in his parka -
It was my old friend T, saying, "Absarka."

This Christmas let's remember family and each friend -
That's what's important from beginning to end.
The ones who have passed and those still here.
They are part of our life, that much is clear.

Then much to the wonderment of all
Into the room came Santa, bouncing in like a ball.
His bag was full of memories - they're important too.
You can never replace them and you know that's true.

Holding the Press-Republican dated the 25th of December
Santa said, "There is something I want you all to remember."
"Ho, ho, ho," he laughed and winked his right eye -
"Don't ever stop reading Foxy's blog, On the Sly."

Merry Christmas to all -- from Foxy

Posted by Foxy Gagnon at 12:58 AM | Permalink | Comments (11)

I had a few sports role models as I was growing up. Locally, my hero was Lefty Tessier. He was about ten years older than I, so I was about eight years old when he graduated from high school and moved on to college baseball and then the professional ranks. He wasn't a big guy, yet he had huge athletic talent. More importantly, he was a nice guy. He would talk to us little guys at OLVA before his basketball games and he probably knew how much we looked up to him.

Then I had my baseball card heroes -- guys like Duke Snider and Jackie Robinson. They made headlines for hitting home runs, not hitting other players. They stole bases, not cars. I know in those days the media coverage wasn't as intense as it is today, but, still, they played their games and went home and ate a ham sandwich.

They were great role models and avoided controversy. They were people that we as kids dreamed we would want to be.

But a lot has changed. Maybe I've become too cynical in my old age. Maybe I've seen too many altercations on the field of play, and I just am sick and tired of it all. It just seems there are too many pro athletes who can't resist showboating, taunting and, in too many cases, fighting.

Thanks to my brother, I've been a Giants' football fan since I was a kid. I cheered for Alex Webster and Y.A. Tittle and Rosey Grier and Sam Huff. But now I find it increasingly difficult to cheer for guys like Michael Strahan and Tiki Barber and Plaxico Burris and Jeremy Shockey. More and more, week by week, the Giants seem like a team of big egos out of control. Strahan only talks to reporters on certain days. Barber mouths off about his coach. Shockey complains if the quarterback doesn't look his way. Burris gets charged with another unsportsmanlike penalty.

The Giants, and maybe it's Coach Tom Coughlin's fault, are a team out of control. It's obvious there is no discipline, and football, of all sports, takes a lot of discipline for success. How many games in a row have Big Blue had unsportsmanlike penalities? And they usually occur at inopportune times, costing the team field position or stalling a drive.

But the Giants' players aren't the only culprits. If you were watching last week's Giants-Eagles game you saw Philadelphia quarterback Jeff Garcia spike the ball at a Giants' player. It cost the Eagles the opportunity for a field goal in a close game. It very likely could have cost the Eagles' the victory.

And then the NFL has "Mr. Wonderful" himself, Terrell Owens. I just can't think of a player in the old days who had an ego like this guy. He spits in an opposing player's face, brags about it after the game and gets a slap on the wrist from the league. It's just too bad that the league can't say, "Sorry! We don't want our players acting like that. You can't play this year. In fact, you have forfeited your rights as a professional athlete."

Heck, give me his jersey. I'll suit up for the Cowboys. I run his pass patterns. I might not catch as many passes, but I can guarantee you that I'll be a better role model than Terrell Owens.

Does anyone even want to talk about the NBA? This professional sport is hurting -- also with big egos out of control. My NBA heroes were guys like Bob Cousy, Oscar Robertson, Jerry West, Wilt Chamberlain. But today we have the league's leading scorer, Carmelo Anthony, tossing a cheap shot at an opponent and then running to half court like a little kid.

I'm sure amid the rubble of spoiled athletes and big egos there are some great roles models. I guess they are just harder to find these days. Or, maybe being a role model doesn't matter to pro athletes. Not as long as they can get their name in the headlines and collect their overblown paycheck.

Where are the modern-day Steve Garveys and Orel Hershisers?

Posted by Foxy Gagnon at 6:49 AM | Permalink | Comments (19)

The editorial in Sunday's Press-Republican was a thoughtful gesture by the editorial staff and the response it brought was immediate. Early Sunday morning a new reader joined the On the Sly group with a comment. And then my telephone started ringing, and e-mails from friends started piling in.

One of the phone calls I received was from my fourth grade teacher, Mrs. Blanche Young. She wanted to congratulate me on the blog's success, even though she doesn't have a computer and had just read what a "blog" is.

We talked for about fifteen minutes about our teaching careers and about how much we are enjoying retirement. Mrs. Young has always been one of my all-time favorite teachers. I suppose one of the reasons I chose teaching as a career is because of the positive influence that teachers had on me as I was growing up.

I attended Monty Street School for grades kindergarten through fourth. The principal was Mr. Fred Kirk. My kindergarten teacher was Miss Holland. I remember that she smiled often and was very pretty. We took naps on our little mats in kindergarten. Sometimes I'd pretend I was sleeping and watch what Miss Holland was doing while we rested. She usually kept busy fixing her bulletin board or shuffling papers.

My first grade teacher was Mrs. Plumley. It might have been Miss Plumley. Either way she was sterner and made sure that we all did our work properly. When she did laugh, which wasn't that often, it was a big hearty laugh, a real good one, and we would all laugh along. It seemed funny to see her laugh.

For second grade my teacher was Mrs. Fran Bleau. Oh, she was great! She gave us stars for sitting up straight and easy things like that. She was a fun teacher and it seemed like each year I was learning more. I think it would be around second grade that I started to really like school a lot.

My third grade teacher changed her name. She started the year as Miss Mullen and she was young and pretty. I know I was only in third grade, but she was very pretty. I paid close attention to everything she said. I made sure I got good grades for her. After our Christmas break she told us that she had a new name. She was now married, and her name was Mrs. Trotter. No matter the name, she was still very pretty.

And then I was in Mrs. Young's fourth grade class. She gave many compliments to students who were working well, and she didn't let students disrupt class at all. She knew how to handle some of the rowdy boys and talkative girls. She was an outstanding teacher and finally retired in 1985 after over forty years of teaching.

The following year my family helped me make a big decision. I left public school and entered Our Lady of Victory Academy for fifth grade. Instead of the school being almost in my backyard, my new school was at the end of Johnson Avenue, still just a short walk away.

My fifth grade teacher was Sister Mary Constance. It was my first time having a nun as a regualr classroom teacher, although I had attended catechism classes for a few years. I made lots of new friends at OLVA and tried to work hard to get good grades like my classmates Doug Durocher, Sue Rennell, Linda Torrance and Gary Hebert.

As I continued at OLVA, teachers like Sister Mary Bernadette and Mr. John Flynn made a profound impression on me. As I started thinking in terms of a lifelong career, I tossed out the ideas of lawyer and priest, and focused on the idea of being an English teacher.

I'm sure it's the impression that teachers like Mrs. Young had on me that led me to a career in education. I've always felt young, and maybe it was because I spent so much time with teenagers during the school day. Mrs. Young is now a youthful 89 years young and still enjoying life to the fullest. Still calling former students to congratulate them on an accomplishment.

I guess I owe a big thanks to all my former teachers for being role models. I patterned my teaching style after bits and pieces of all of them. I wonder if there are any young English teachers out there now who use bits and pieces of Foxy's style that they observed while sitting in my classroom.

Posted by Foxy Gagnon at 10:27 PM | Permalink | Comments (14)

I never thought I'd even care about this topic. But life moves on, people change and recently I found myself discussing "the dating game" with a group of friends. I don't mean the Chuck Woolery-hosted old tv show "The Dating Game." I mean, the meaning of the word "date" in the year 2006.

You can be the judge. Recently a longtime female friend and I ran into each other at a local tavern. We talked about our marital status, or lack thereof, and we agreed that sometimes it's difficult or uncomfortable to attend events alone. For example, when a single person is invited to a wedding reception it is certain that most of the seating arrangements will be by couples.

Or it's not so much fun to go out to eat at a restaurant and ask for "a table for one, please." So, we tend to order take out or make the most of those great Banquet or Swanson Frozen Dinners that in reality look nothing like the picture on the cardboard container they come in.

Anyway, recently I called this female friend and asked if she wanted to meet me for drinks and conversation at our favorite pub. She agreed. As we talked that evening, surrounded by patrons younger than we are, the topic of dating came up. I asked her if she thought that we were on a date right at that moment.

After all, I had not picked her up at her house. But it was pre-arranged and the time of meeting was pre-arranged as well. And we did sit next to each other for the entire evening. Were we on a date?

We brought some of the younger crowd into the discussion. A young lady who hails from Saranac said, "A date doesn't really exist anymore. It's hookups ... downtown."

She added that today's hookups "involve alcoholic beverages and meeting in a bar."

I found this hard to believe. In high school and college we met girls and went on dates. Like to the movies, or to a concert or out to dinner. We called it a date if we picked the girl up at her house and drove to Lake Placid for walking and talking and window shopping. We went on dates, and other people would say that Foxy and she are dating.

It all seemed pretty clear back then. But I guess the word "date" has lost its meaning. Some of my younger friends have called me on the phone and asked if they can come over to my house and "hang out." That's a new term too.

Back in the 1960s "hanging out" meant that your shirt was untucked or even something worse was wrong. Now "hanging out" seems to mean sitting around talking, watching television, playing video games and listening to music. I've been "hanging out" a lot lately.

It's all just very confusing. And the "40-ish and over" crowd always feels a need to label things. We need to know if it's a date or not a date. We just need to know.

The college guy from Moriah, though, was very clear when I asked him if he ever "dates." He looked at me and said, "Well, that depends. I need to know -- how far did I get?"

If that's the current meaning of "date," and if "hookups" involve alcohol and bars, just put me down for "hanging out." Maybe I'll be "hanging out" next week with someone.

Posted by Foxy Gagnon at 2:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (16)

I like to think that I keep up with the times pretty well. After all, I spent my career with thirteen-year-olds at Stafford Middle School, so I kept up with the latest trends through my 35 years of teaching. I mean, I've seen girls wearing tee-shirts of the Bay City Rollers and Micheal Jackson and the New Kids on the Block and the Back Street Boys and Nirvana, not to mention, in more recent years, Eminem and Snoop Dog and 50 Cent.

I watched basketball players wear short-short bottoms and tight-fitting jerseys all the way through the current baggy look. And walking down the school hallway I've watched those blue jeans get bigger and baggier, with wide enough pockets to hold a loose-leaf binder. I've taught boys with hair to their shoulders, the buzz-cut look, Afros and mullets.

And even though I'm approaching sixty years old I don't just buy Elvis Presley and Chubby Checker cds. My cd collection even has Kid Rock and Jack Johnson and Ludacris and Akon. I like to think I am keeping up with the times.

But the other day when I went clothes shopping I saw something that shocked me. I figured I'd bring a certain someone on a little shopping spree around town as a Christmas gift. So this certain someone brought me to some stores that I've never been in, like Rue 21 and Rave.

Much to my surprise, hanging there on one of the racks, in perfect view for shoppers to see as we entered the store, was a pair of jeans with a big hole in the right knee. Not only that -- both thigh areas on these so-called "new pair of jeans" were worn almost to the frayed state. I asked my certain someone if this is for real. She laughed. It was the kind of laugh that meant I was too old to understand.

I walked over to check the price. The tag was clear: $50. I called my certain someone over to look closer. I showed her the hole in the knee, the worn thighs, and the $50 price tag. She laughed that laugh again.

I thought I had been doing a pretty good job of keeping up with this younger crowd. And I guess I am! Because I have three pairs of jeans on my bedroom floor almost like this pair selling for $50. And the back pockets are all frayed as well from where I carry my wallet.

I'm no dummy! I didn't realize I'm sitting on a fortune right there on my bedroom floor. My jeans are going up for sale on eBay tomorrow. Three pairs of jeans, well-worn, holes in the knees, worn thighs and back pocket fraying to boot! Three pairs for $100. They will make a great Christmas present for some 21-year-old.

Posted by Foxy Gagnon at 11:58 AM | Permalink | Comments (7)

Saturday was the official first anniversary of my "On the Sly" blog. During the past year I've written 152 blogs or one every 2.4 days. When I was asked by the Press-Republican's editorial staff to give this a try, I have to admit I had never even read a blog, and I told them so. They were not really sure where this blog idea would go, but they were hoping that it would draw more attention and more hits to the pressrepublican.com website.

They told me to just kind of wing it, and we would see what happens. So, I winged it, telling stories about my travels through my years in the North Country and sometimes wondering for a day or two what the next topic would be. It was Bob Grady who suggested the "On the Sly" title. And I want to thank Bob Parks, the newspaper's publisher, and the editorial staff who tossed the blog ball my way. It's been a fun year with people stopping me in the post office, the bank, a restaurant, a sports event or a friendly tavern to tell me they'd read my blog.

What really makes a blog successful is the commentary which might follow, and my friends have not let me down. From coast to coast readers have commented on one entry or another, and the comments in one year total over 1100. Special thanks to the regulars, who know who they are, and I hope they'll stick with "On the Sly" for another year.

But this blog is really about some things I've been thinking about lately. At the risk of sounding like Andy Rooney, here goes:

I watched a football game yesterday and Youngstown State was playing. They are the Penguins. Isn't that an odd name for a college football team? Would you really want to be a penguin?

How come pepperoni is the only meat that doesn't have to be refrigerated? Or is it not really meat at all? If it isn't, please don't tell me what it is!

On January 1, we will officially have our first mayor named "Donnie" or is "Donny"? Sounds youthful. I mean, we didn't call our previous mayors Johnny Ianelli or Frankie Steltzer or Danny Stewart. Our new mayor prefers to be called "Donny" and that's fine with me. I wonder if the media will use that name or opt for the more formal Don or Donald.

Who in the world thought of combining jalapenos and clams and creating jalapeno clam dip? Do we really need more flavors of dips?

Used to be guys would stand up and hitch up their pants so they wouldn't fall off. Yesterday at a basketball game I saw a young guy stand up and push his pants down so that his boxers were showing more. Do we really need to know the color and design of his boxers?

Have you seen the salaries that some of these mediocre major league players are getting for a year of baseball? For example the Chicago Cubs are handing out $10 million a year for Ted Lilly, who most casual baseball fans have never heard of. He has never the led the league in anything, but was tenth in the American League last year for home runs given up, and he was sixth in most losses.

I live happily on my retirement check and sales from eBay (okay, and a nice monthly stipend from the Press-Republican), but what would I do if I made $10 million a year? That's almost $200,000 a week! Oh my, there would be one whale of a party at my house if I received even one of those checks!

I guess I just don't know what I'm missing!

Posted by Foxy Gagnon at 12:03 PM | Permalink | Comments (24)

As I write this there are snow flurries dancing around in the cold December air. Some might call it pretty, but not me. I'm not fooled by this early December snowflake show. I know that snow flurries lead to snowfall, which leads to snowstorm, which leads to a lot of trouble. In my book the word "snow" rhymes with "headache."

I've never been a fan of snow, not even when I was a kid. Back in the Fifies and Sixties, if I wasn't playing basketball I could be found in my bedroom reading a book, or organizing my baseball cards, or writing to baseball players for their autograph.

There were a few times I did venture out and try to soak myself up with the North Country tradition of ice skating or snow sledding. For a few days when I was about twelve I gave ice skating a try. There was a skating rink behind Our Lady of Victory church. It seemed like a great place to meet girls. I was okay until I ended up on the end of a group whip and got tossed across the ice, over the embankment of snow surrounding the rink, through the parking lot and into a snowbank at the church.

I hobbled home with ice and snow down my shirt and in a few other places I don't really care to mention. The following summer my Mom sold my skates at her yard sale for $2.

And there was the time I was asked to go sledding at Fox Hill. You would think a Fox Hill kid would love that place. Not me! But I was in eighth grade at the time and this cute seventh grade girl asked me to go sledding with her on a Saturday. A cold Saturday. A freezing Saturday. I bundled up as best I could, hoping her cute smile would warm me, and imaging sitting by the fireplace with her later sipping hot chocolate and cuddling to keep warm.

Unfortunately, it didn't work out that way. After a few trips down Fox Hill I had lost a glove and was freezing. I decided to heck with the cute smile and hot chocolate. I told her I was going home and she started talking with some other guy in my class. She probably wishes I had stayed, because now I have a valuable baseball card collection and thousands of players' autographs.

Anyway, I did give Fox Hill sledding one more try. This was when my son Erik was ten and I was 40. I figured it would be my fatherly duties to take him sledding. So we both bundled up. I joined him on this huge sled I'd bought him for Christmas. Down we went. By this time someone had made these ridiculous speed bumps on the hill. We survived the first one, laughing all the while. But on the second bump, Erik went one way, I went the other way and the empty sled raced to the bottom without us. I paid Erik $5 to call it a day and watch basketball on tv instead.

So don't talk to me about the North Country winters and all the fun it provides. I gave it my tries, as you can see. All the snow means to me is a shovel or a snowblower and an aching back and a headache.

When is someone going to invent a snow melter? Seems like there should be a big blanket or tarp that you can plug in and melt the snow away in your driveway. No shoveling, no snowblowing, no pushing, no cold snow blowing in your face. Just spread this blanket over the foot of snow and an hour later the snow is gone!

We can send people to the moon, but we can't melt snow? What are our priorities? I just looked outside and the flakes are dancing a little faster, and there seems to be more of them. I think a snowfall is a distinct possibility. I can guarantee you I'll have a headache in another hour!

Posted by Foxy Gagnon at 2:36 PM | Permalink | Comments (12)

The Cardinals hockey season is in full swing and crowds still flock to the Stafford Ice Arena to cheer on Bob Emery's team. Emery has been there almost twenty years, and it's difficult to imagine anyone else coaching our beloved Cards.

I just have never had much time to follow Cardinals hockey, mostly because of my busy schedule of videotaping high school basketball and other sports and my love of having Saturday nights to stoke up the fireplace and enjoy a relaxing evening at home.

But back in 1991 and 1992 things were different. That's when my mother decided to rent the upstairs of her home to college students. That's when Goose and I interviewed these two young men from Quebec, who were members of the Cardinals hockey team. Their names were Martin Couture and Martin Beliveau. They both spoke English. I guess you would call it "broken English" with a heavy French accent.

Goose and I laid down the law, while our Mom smiled at the two handsome rascals. No going in her refrigerator, no cooking in the kitchen, no girls visiting late at night, no making noise when you come in late. Oh, we had a grand list of rules. Meanwhile, the boys nodded politely at each rule.

Following the hour-long interview, we let the boys escape back to Quebec while Goose and Mom and I talked about whether these would be the right two boys to live upstairs, sleep in our old bedrooms and call Johnson Avenue their fall, winter and spring home.

Since our Mom had lived part of her youth in Lacolle, Quebec, and since she could speak French, Couture and Beliveau had a big plus in their favor. And they did seem like polite young men. Plus, we were sure that having to deal with Foxy and Goose if anything went wrong put the fear of the Lord right in them. The three of us agreed that the two boys could live at Vi's house.

The day they moved in was memorable. That was the day we saw their friendly personalities emerge. These two quiet guys we had interviewed a few weeks earlier were now loud (well, Couture was!) and funny and Mom was laughing like she hadn't laughed in years.

Since they were both named Martin, they soon became to be known as "Jack" Couture and "Bill" Beliveau. And they quickly became a part of the Gagnon family. They also quickly forgot the rules about the refrigerator, no cooking in the kitchen and being quiet. But what was funny is that none of us seemed to care. They were both nice guys and we liked how they felt right at home at Vi's house.

Before long they were teaching Goose certain French words that could only be used in a hockey locker room. But that never stopped Goose from shouting them out at a party, much to the delight of the boys from Quebec.

Before long they were coming in late at night, maybe two or three in the morning, and less than quietly passing by Vi's bedroom, loudly whispering, "Vi-o, are you sleeping?" Not anymore! "We are hungry, Vi-o! Do you have some eggs?" they would ask. And within a minute there was seventy-year-old Vi, feeling just like she did when Foxy and Goose lived there back in the old days. And there was Vi, cooking the boys breakfast while they laughed about the great time they had downtown, maybe even over at Hector's Fourth Ward, sampling some of his famous "Hector-Ade."

It didn't take long for us to see the profound effect Jack and Bill were having on our Mom. They made her feel young again, and their presence brought a new life to 48 Johnson Avenue.

Rules? What rules? They had their run of the place and for the next two years it was not uncommon for guys like Simon Bibeau, Steve "Moe" LaMay and Jean-Francoise Gingras to hang out at Vi's, no matter what the time of day or night.

Needless to say, the Gagnons became huge Cardinals hockey fans and we often attended the games to cheer for Jack and Bill, who were both starters. It was the days when "Barney," Craig Barnett, was the Cardinals' goalie. He was the best in the conference. It was the heyday of Plattsburgh State hockey.

The reason I have been mentioning all this is that last Friday night both Jack and Bill visited Mom. It's been fifteen years since they lived at Vi's place. They have kept in touch with her through the years. Mom even attended Jack's wedding almost ten years ago. There is no doubt that Mom inherited two sons long after Goose and I had moved out.

Goose and I made sure we spent some time with them last Friday, remembering the hockey days and laughing about the interview rules and how none of them ever got followed. For Mom, those two years were a special time. She loves Jack and Bill, and we know they love her back.

And you know what? They haven't changed. They are 38 years old now but still look like a couple of college boys. They both still skate in a men's league. Jack, who has two boys, works for a communications company and Bill, who will soon be a daddy for the first time, is a golf pro at a country club.

They even stopped by the Fourth Ward last Friday, but couldn't buy a beer because they only had Canadian money. If Hector had been there they would have received free beers, no doubt. The boys looked for their name plates on the wall, but couldn't find them. I'm sure they are up there someplace.

Couture and Beliveau were a perfect fit for a French family name like Gagnon. The boys visited with Vi for hours last Friday, and they even ordered a pizza like the old days. If anyone is ever looking for a way to liven up a place, just invite these two guys to your party. The party doesn't start till Couture and Beliveau skate in!

Posted by Foxy Gagnon at 8:25 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

The impromptu gathering of Flynns and bloggers at Meron's on Friday night was a huge success. As predicted it was a "Who's Who of Clinton County." The pouring rain and high winds tried to throw a damper on the party, but you're talking about long-time North Country people who sneer in the face of Mother Nature.

Goose and I did arrive about 45 minutes later than expected, because of an extra-long wait for a taxi. I guess on rainy Fridays that fall on the first of the month there's a need for more cabs in Plattsburgh. Nevertheless, we arrived to a roomful of celebrities and dignitaries. There were postal workers, attorneys, business owners, college profs and doctors. There were golfing enthusiasts of all shapes and sizes, and I even found a mayor. There was a long list of Plattsburgh's retired citizenry and, of course, many bloggers, in what may be the country's first bloggers convention.

Indeed, the Old-Timer was there, and more than a few party-goers asked if the Old-Timer had arrived yet. I merely said yes, refusing to reveal his true identity. The Carver worked the room, proving his sense of humor is not limited to the written word. I guess Rubble was in the crowd, but, I have to admit, that identity remains a mystery for me. Even Bullet showed up, but, with his usual speed and grace, he was there and gone in a hurry.

Bullet did stay long enough to discuss with me some of the protocol and rules of the blogging industry. Since blogging is a relatively new genre no one has really set down the rules of the game. Even when I was approached by the Press-Republican editorial staff last November about being the newspaper's first blogger, no one was certain exactly what we were all looking or hoping for.

The "On the Sly" blog has sort of emerged as I blindly felt my way through the process. With the encouragement of guys like Bob Parks and Bob Grady, and with the support of fellow bloggers who jump in to assist me, "On the Sly" has become a daily read for people, not just in the North Country, but around the United States as well.

When it comes to comments, I have the final say and I have the right to edit comments, if need be. For example, if someone writes in the comment, "Foxy, you are such an idiot!" I can edit that. I don't want that at "On the Sly." So, I can change it to "Goose, you are such an idiot!"

But what Bullet suggests is an "Official Blogging Rules of the World" handbook. Ah, that gives me something to work on in the winter months ahead. I'm sure my colleagues can toss in their ideas when I start work on that manual.

Meron's, one of Plattsburgh's longest running dispenser of spirits, was the perfect place for all of us to meet. I never realized, though, that some bar seats were better than others. Not until last night when Jimmy Carr paid $100 for the best seat in the house. And I found out why! This guy has become one smart cookie since he moved up on Fox Hill!

I hope next year I'm still around to have another shindig like last night. And, with plenty of advance notice, we might get people joining us from Reno and Texas and the mid-West and Canada.

The quote of the night belonged to, who else, the Old-Timer. He has bailed me out more than once by filling in the weak spots in my memory bank or filling me in on the days before I was born. When he saw me he smiled and said, "Foxy, we can't cover tonight everything that you don't know!"

He's right! That's why we have to keep "On the Sly" going for one more year!

Posted by Foxy Gagnon at 6:41 AM | Permalink | Comments (24)