Minor league hockey team destroys hotel

I followed a couple of K.B. alumni when they hit those Texas leagues. The boys have great stories from down there.

 

And trust me, if you could pull those stories together, it'd make a great mag article. Hell, there may be a book idea there.

And I bet you're a promotable author. No sarcasm intended.

 

Bill Guerin got traded to Jamestown?

 

Grand Funk Railroad is going to sue for copywright infringement.

 

Except no one on that team is gonna land Sweet Sweet Connie.

 

You're probably right. But they might stay up all night with Freddie King.

I've got to tell you ... poker's his thang.

 

A few of the Canadian posters talked about the obscure bottom of the barrel leagues in the United States, and I wonder how some of the players from up North feel about playing for these organizations?
There aren't too many players getting promoted from these low-wrung leagues into the AHL, ECHL or beyond. I guess they love playing the game and/or refuse to let go of their dream or something?

 

Lots of these rinks where these teams play are shanties, too. Maybe room for a few hundred in bleacher-style seats, forget about real seats, with a PA that doesn't work and a scoreboard with lights missing all over the place.

Reminds me of some semi-pro football leagues.

 

This is why you shouldn't drink Busch.

 

Zamboni Rodeo is a great book about a year following a team in the Central Hockey League.

I know some guys playing in that league and the UHaul but those are guys who left junior with no options at the AHL or ECHL levels and no interest in playing Canadian university hockey.

I have never heard of the Mid Atlantic League.

 

Rookies.

Here's your pro at hotel room destruction. I'm thinking the marquee got changed rather quickly that day...



"many of Moon's most outrageous antics have occurred away from the public eye. Possibly the most famous of these occurred during the band's first American tour in 1967. They had been traveling around the country, opening shows for, believe it or not, Herman's Hermits, and it just so happened that their entourage arrived in the unsuspecting town of Flint, Michigan on the day of Keith's 21st birthday. [editor: actually his 20th birthday-so that he would be able to drink for the rest of the tour he reasoned!]. Such an auspicious occasion of course, could not be overlooked by the touring party, and an impromptu party was planned at the band's hotel. By ten o'clock in the morning, both bands and their road crews had gathered around the Holiday Inn swimming pool and were heartily consuming the various bottles of booze that had been given to Keith as presents. As morning turned to afternoon more guests arrived bearing gifts, mostly of the alcoholic variety, and as the sun began to set, the party became a true celebration of insanity. Fully dressed individuals began to jump into the nearby pool, and as seemingly dozens of bottles of various beverages were dumped into the pool's cool waters, Flint, Michigan found itself the home of the world's largest martini.


As the day's festivities reached their culmination, a huge cake, a gift from Premier drum company, was wheeled out for Keith's inspection. Even though he was barely able to walk following his day-long carousing, he summoned up all of his remaining strength and picked up the entire cake and dumped its five layers on a unsuspecting ensemble who were sitting together in a drunken stupor. The incident seemed to give everyone a "second wind," and suddenly huge gobs of cake were being hurled from every imaginable corner of the besieged hotel. The main dining room became a war zone, and the lobby soon resembled a confectioner's nightmare. Somehow during these festivities Moon had managed to lose all of his clothes, and as he pranced around bare-assed, the police finally arrived to break up the party. Instead of waiting to be arrested for being the catalyst of this even, Moon, ever the quick thinker, dashed out into the night and jumped into a Lincoln Continental limousine parked in the hotel driveway. As he released the handbrake, he suddenly realized that the car was rolling backwards, and that he didn't have the keys to start the engine. In his drunken state he failed to realize that he could step on the footbrake and halt the car's backward progression, so he patiently sat and waited as the car crashed through the swimming pool's protective fence, and rolled into the water.

As the car rapidly began to sink in the pool's deep and, it looked like the short, glorious career or Keith Moon was about to reach an untimely conclusion. Somehow, even in his state of insensible stupor, his instincts for survival prevailed, and as the car was about to totally submerge, he took a gulp of air, pushed the car door open and swam valiantly to the pool's edge. As he emerged from his "swim" he was greeted by a police sergeant brandishing his gun. Deciding that valor was still the better part of discretion, Keith again attempted to run from justice, but this time he was felled by a well placed piece of cake frosting on which he slipped, falling forward and knocking out his front tooth. After finally being apprehended, he was forced to spend the remainder of the evening in the police jail. Upon being released the following morning, the sergeant presented him with a bill from the hotel for damages totaling $24,000, as well as offering a stern warning never to return to Flint. Keith could only offer a gap-toothed smile and think about his next birthday party."

 

One more Keith Moon hotel room story; my personal favorite:

"An equally infamous hotel-room escapade found Keith providing a well-intentioned "inn-keeper" with the ultimate definition of "noise" versus "music". Legend tells that Moon was quietly standing in the lobby of a mid-western American hotel, with his portable cassette player blasting out some of the Who's latest work. After a few minutes of this sound onslaught, the normally crowded lobby had become practically deserted. It was at this point that the hotel manager emphatically asked Keith to turn the "noise" down to a respectable level. In disdain for one not attuned to his musical tastes, Moon kept right on playing his tape at ear-splitting levels. This prompted another plea from the manger, again begging that the "noise" be turned off. This dialogue continued unabated for the next few minutes until the hotel representative warned that if Keith did not turn the machine off at once he would be forced to summon the police. At these ominous words Moon mad an agreement with the manager. He said that he would go back to his room if the official would accompany him. While this request seemed somewhat strange, it was quickly agreed upon, and the two journeyed up to Keith's ninth floor abode. Upon reaching his room, Moon signaled that the man should wait a moment outside the door while Keith went inside. After about two minutes Moon reemerged, followed closely by a loud dynamite explosion emanating from his bathroom. As smoke began to fill the hallway, Moon turned to the horrified manager and calmly explained, "That my friend is noise. This on the other hand," as he again turned on his cassette player, "is the Who.""