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Blog Entries posted by DennisDubay

  1. DennisDubay
    she shifted silently
    on top of the seat
    she’d sauntered so
    elegantly towards
    earlier in the evening
    as empty as that bottle
    of beer in front of her
    she knew she’d find
    a sucker to which
    she’d empty the next
    bottle or two from.
    as the cigarette dangled
    between her fingers, just
    inches from her face,
    she laughed a coy laugh,
    not really even hearing his words,
    just watching his eyes as he
    panned down her profile with
    the attention of a little boy
    seeing his first breast, his
    first thigh, his first love,
    his first drink, his first.
    she wondered aloud to anyone
    that would pay attention, or
    sober enough to still have their
    faculties to give two *****
    about a stranger carrying on
    about whatever she was talking about.
    sometimes it was about music, and how it
    made her feel like a kid again, dancing
    in the rain, wet from the water, cold
    from the wind.
    sometimes it was about her dad, who left
    when she was just a child to be with his
    mistress, his whore, that ****er.
    sometimes it was about nothing, sometimes
    about something, sometimes it was about
    everything, sometimes it was just sometimes.
    Eventually she conned a beer or two from some
    innocent boy looking for his hand to be held
    in the darkness of a cruel world, a crowded
    room, a smoky bar.
    and she’d saunter off,
    not so elegantly anymore,
    as evening turned to over,
    and she was emptier then ever before.
  2. DennisDubay
    This thread got me to thinking:
    And in an effort not to clog that thread with my ****, I thought I'd put down my thoughts here ... enjoy?
    I'm 32 years old. I live hard, drink hard, and won't be around for another 10 years. I'm not gonna waste anyone's money by going to the hospital and prolong my life.
    In those 32 years of life, I've been to the hospital once. I wrecked my car when I was 16. Rolled it eight times. As the car sat upside down Guns N Roses blared on the speakers ...
    You know where you are?
    You're in the jungle baby.
    You're gonna die!
    I don't think the we're suppose to live this long. Back in the day people were married by 16 and dead by forty. They didn't shove pills and medicine that made you **** yourself at the mall ... wait, they didn't have malls either.
    We're pushing our bodies to last too long. We're afraid to die.
    But do you know where you are?
    You're in the jungle baby.
    You're gonna die!
    So go fight amongst yourselves. Have fun living to 75-80 popping pills and surviving. I'd rather live today.
  3. DennisDubay
    by me
    @ 9:19 pm
    she brings me my steak
    that was ordered a while ago
    she has a smile that aggravates me
    places the plate on the table
    in front of me
    she leaves no silverware
    no napkins
    no spices
    just a dusting of salt
    that has sat
    inside the shaker
    for a who knows how long
    there is a television in the background
    with Travolta playing foil to Newton John
    while I try to figure out how to cut this beef.
    An old man sits behind me
    cuz I can feel him squirm under the
    pressure of his wife's questions
    about how the rice tasted
    is it flaky enough?
    to salty?
    the starch to thick, sticking to your plate?
    I feel bad for him.
    But at least he has a ****ing fork.
  4. DennisDubay
    They say with age you become more sentimental and at 32 I may agree. Though my tooth isn't that long and my hair just spotted gray I find myself more emotional about the things I love. Things like my dog crawling up the stairs ... slower every time but fighting the pain so he can get to our room for snuggle time. Yeah, I snuggle with my dog. Get over it, manly men who think that's weak.
    I love waking up to the sound of my Dad's alarm clock going off at 4;30 am, cuz at 63 years old he STILL works harder than you. And yeah, I still live with my Dad. He's my best friend and financially, we need each other so get over it, trust fund sally.
    And I cry during sporting events. There, I said it. I cried when Dallas Drake lifted the Stanley cup for the first time - balled like a damn baby. And I'm OK with that. There's a quote that I love about history not being done with us. I forget who wrote it or said it or read it or thought it. But it stirs something inside of me. And that's all that matters. History is never done with us. We can run from it. We can try to hide from it. Eventually it catches us.
    And in those moments it does with us what it always did. It effects us.
    Same as sports. It effects us. While trying to ease myself off the Hockey High I felt last night watching the Wings dismantle the Penguins on the ice 5-0, I started surfing Youtube for the best moments of Hockeytown. I found this video. And It might the combination of a long night of drinking, worrying if our team was falling apart or that damn sentimental bug that I have ... this video brought the tears out:

    I don't know what I'd do without The Detroit RedWingsTigersPistonsAndyesTheLions. They are the fabric of my life. They have always been there. I was sitting here after watching that video above and had a chat-to-chat with myself. I don't think I've ever invested this much of my life on one season - as I have with this cup run. Now, don't get me wrong. I've been hollering at the TV screen for the past 12 years for the Red Wings ... Even longer for the Tigers.
    But for some reason this is my "special" season. Is it because it's the end - or the beginning? Is it because I haven't missed ONE game all year? Is it because as I grow older and less active I'm now vicariously living the dreams I know have slipped through my fingers? Is it because of the economy - and the escapism of sports? Is it because of ... I don't know.
    Before game five started I told myself it is just a game. No big deal. We've had a nice run. We'll be back. It's just a game.
    But it's not.
    It's life.
  5. DennisDubay
    It’s not the large things that send a man to the madhouse. Death he’s ready for ........
    Smoldering deep inside my soul I fight to contain a semblence of discretion. I don't want to be that fan. You know the fan I'm talking about. The blind fan that sees nothing positive going on, only chaos around him. I don't want to be the fan that complains loudly to whoever will listen that the officiating has been ripe of dog ****. I don't want to wish Gary Bettman harm in the way of a prison raping.
    But I can't help it. We've gone to far now to let this slip away. We've come too close to let Bettman and his sick man-love for Sidney Crosby steal Stanley. We've endured to much of Eddie Olczyk bitterly rampage on and on every night about the Wings and their constant interfering. And don't get me started on Pierre McGuire. I'll bust this keyboard in half.
    I was asked Friday morning as I arrived at work why was I in such a bad mood - it's your last day before vacation and it's only 8 am.
    I grabbed the fool by the neck and he could see in my eyes that the previous nights debacle had me on a two-hour toss and turning journey in my bed wondering how our riches had turned into a pigs head laughing at me while my body ached from the damage 16 beers will do.
    That game was more then an *** kicking from the Penguins to the Wings. It was the undying death knell to my liver.
    The co-worker shook off my choke hold long enough to give me a bit of advice.
    "Man, it's just a new series now. Tied up. They still have to win two more games. It ain't over".
    So why does it feel like it is? Is this where we resort to finding out what our resolve really is? Is this where we find our place in history - are we the haves or the has beens?
    Is this where we find out what exactly INTESTINAL FORTITUDE means? Is this where we find out if Pavel Datsyuk is a hero or just another talented player in the history of the Detroit Red Wings?
    And is this where we find out the fans from THOSE fans. You know the ones I'm talking about. The ones who start to buy Ovie and Crosby jerseys during the off season.
    Nothing comes easy for champions. Champions earn the accolades. The way I look at it ... This thing ain't over yet. We're just on the corner of Tried & Tested.
  6. DennisDubay
    As long as I can remember I've always been a fan of Detroit sports. Growing up in the upper regions of Michigan - Whittemore Prescott to be exact - there was little else to do then to emulate your favorite sports hero.
    Mine growing up was Lance Parrish. I'd stand in the rock covered driveway of our trailer on Cranberry Lake Road and destroy aluminum bat after aluminum bat. I'd never use my Lance Parrish "signed" Louisville slugger for RBL.
    The really cool thing about my drive way baseball escapades was the fact that across the street was an empty field that went unused by the farmer down the road. He had it fenced off and weeds had begun to tangle up inside the fence - creating a mini version of Wrigley Field.
    It was a simpler time then. I could be out there for hours of unsupervised fun (Mind you, I wasn't as my Mom was inside watching the whole time).
    Years and years went by as I climbed the HR leader rankings ... having to go back further and further as I got better and better. At some point it became to easy and I switched to the left side of the plate.
    Now let me stop for a second. Let me explain to you something vital in this story. Growing up, we were always poor. My Dad was a hard worker but he quit school when he was young because my G-pa deemed it pointless to go to school when there was bills to pay. That, and as a youth, my dad was a **** up.
    So we paid they price for his juvenile tendencies. So growing up we went with out a lot of the finer things other kids had.
    But I always got a new baseball glove and bat. Every year. Didn't matter if Dad was laid off or working a job as a cook to make ends meet. I always got my glove. And that's all I ever really needed.
    It became apparent however in the fourth grade as we reconvened from another summer vacation filled with staying up late and sleeping in that my growth spurt was just that ... a spurt. Everyone else toward over me.
    I was the runt of the liter and frankly my RBL elite skills were not applicable in league sports with actual kids playing. I tried my best but I knew deep down inside I'd retire the greatest RBL player of all-time - but a third string right-fielder for W-P little league.
    That's when I really started to follow sports. I couldn't play them so I craved to learn more about them. I read Fran Tarkenton autobiographies, Jim McMahon autobiographies.
    I found a treasure chest of old Tiger yearbooks that my Grandma allowed me to live with for a summer.
    Sports become an escape for me ... for the tragedies and tribulations of a poor boy from Michigan who watched his Dad bury his father and his daughter.
    In 1987 my Dad lost his second daughter to a car accident. That will never be forgotten. We think about it everyday. Still do. Always will.
    But Frank Tanana and the Detroit Tigers erased that pain for a brief moment on my Mom's birthday, October 4th.
    I can still remember the slow dribbler to Tanana. It seemed like the grass was a mile high, as slow as that ball rolled to Frank.
    I can remember Garth Iorg scattering towards first. Tanana throwing the ball underhand, I believe to Darrell Evans.
    And then I remember numbness. I remember crying. I remember jumping around like I'd won the lottery - that the world was at peace and complete calmness. All at the same time.
    It'd be 10 years before I felt that again when The Wings won their first cup in 42 years. By that time I was away from home for the first time living in hell. But that's for another story.
    Just know that the only thing that kept me sane in that year of 97 is this:
    The phone calls between my Dad and me; talking about the Wings. For the few hours a night I was able to watch Detroit play, all the hell that was going around me dissapeared. I was home again. I was with my friends. I was safe.
    I was only seven in 1984 - but I remember it. But that 1997 season for the Wings will always be my most precious sports memory. I just wish I had been home for it.
    The Wings have become the DYNASTY since then - and the Tigers have bounced back from a black hole decade I'd rather not speak of.
    So, that leaves us to now. To the present. We can look back all we want on everything we've ever done - good or bad.
    But we are where we are now. New's on the tube tells me that GM will file for bankruptcy on Monday. Detroit ... hell, Michigan is in financial ruin.
    But our teams keep plugging away. They say they are shutting Detroit down.
    Someone better tell my heroes, cuz they sure don't seem scared.
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