Part II. The Birth of Hockey: A Groundbreaking World History
It’s time to set the record straight about hockey players and teeth. I seriously can’t believe what they fail to teach kids in school these days.
If you know anything about Greek mythology, you know that around 2000 BCE, Cadmus—credited for the original alphabet—erected (not a casual choice of the word) the city of Thebes. You know, where Oepidus later had a little hanky panky with his mama (the earliest known Cougar), and Dionysus got some ladies so pickled and riled up that they mistook Pentheus (Pen as the Greek root for Peeping, and Tom being the modern derivative of Theus) for a cow and tore him to shreds. (Why the drunk women would tear a leering bovine to shreds is off topic, but I’m sure most women have felt a similar urge.) The earliest cult images of Dionysus show him in procession with his followers, bearded satyrs with erect penises, and he and the satyrs each carry a Thrysus.
What you might not know is that the Thyrsus was long thought to be a giant fennel staff of symbolic significance (symbolizing, what else?, an erect penis), but when Heinrich Schliemann excavated Troy in 1873, the Thrysus was definitively proven (after centuries of unsubstantiated speculation) to be the Original Hockey Stick. As if bearded satyrs with erect penises would be carrying anything else. Thrysus and Thrust have of course now become interchangeable in romance novels.
Cadmus, you see, slew a dragon in his spare time (thankfully after he got to zeta, or we would now be up a creek without a z; our postal system would slow down even further, if that’s possible, without zip codes, and we could no longer ski without the ability to zigzag).
Cadmus then sowed the dragon’s teeth in the ground, whence sprang a race of fierce hockey players (field hockey, of course, this being ancient Greece, where the men needed to be naked in order to display their erect penises, which would be too cold and shriveled were ice to be involved, and no one wants their cult image to feature a wee little winkie).
Cadmus tossed the first hockey puck (made of charred bone, since rubber was not yet invented and the ancient Greeks loved to burn this and that, like Troy and Atlanta) into their midst, and in what is now considered by historians to be the first hockey game, this crowd of newly-hatched warriors immediately beat each other to death until only five remained. Thus, a hockey team has ever after been formed of five men on the ice at a time (if you don’t count the goalie, which no one does, because the goalie is actually a flopping halibut under all that padding and gear, which is why he is constantly having to squirt water on himself).
And thus, for the next four millennia, hockey players have continued to have a thing about teeth.
Think about it. Hockey players love to knock each other’s teeth out. But where do the teeth go??
Expansion teams, that’s where. For 4,000 years now, hockey players have been planting their knocked-out teeth in order to grow more hockey players. Where did you think they came from? Canada?
Yet there were only six teams in the National Hockey League until 1967, and now there are thirty teams.
Now, if it took approximately 3,967 years to go from one team to six teams, then what explains the exponential increase in hockey players from 1967 to the present day?
With the 1960s came the the widespread use of U.S. water fluoridation. Fluoride in our water led to the sprouted warriors keeping more of their teeth from rotting out. The healthy teeth could then be knocked out and planted in order to generate the next burgeoning crop of hockey players. This also explains why hockey hasn’t flourished in China, where each player can plant only one tooth. (The black market for hockey teeth in China is a blight upon the sport but is beyond the scope of this article.)
Fertilizer has also contributed to expansion teams in unlikely places such as Ohio. More of the planted teeth sprout now with applications of Roundup, which promotes rapid growth of hockey players yet prohibits germination of runts who must later join equestrian teams littered with inbred members of the Royal Family. New homes needed to be found for the increase in healthy hockey players, and since nothing else is going on in Ohio, this seemed like a good place to send the latest harvest.
The sad fact about all of this germination and expansion is that Seattle—the first U.S. team to win the Stanley Cup, back in 1917—still lacks a hockey team. Even our junior league team moved down to Kent. Apparently this happened a couple of years ago when I wasn’t looking, which I discovered when I tried to buy tickets for me and my kid. No such luck.
So I am personally bringing the N.H.L. to Seattle. Maybe I’ll bring the Stanley Cup back to Seattle, too. And I’m for sure wiping the recent disgusting lockout off the map. That’s the power of fiction. If I don’t like reality, I can make something up.
So I dug up an old story I wrote during my hockey heyday. I’ve always been fond of the story and its central characters, but it was too long to be a short story and too short to be a novel. I’ve been revising it for a few months now and having a lot of fun with it.
It’s a comedy romance. Perhaps it will include the New Groundbreaking History of Hockey, with an additional section on how Grecian Dirt Hockey migrated to the North American Continent and became ice hockey, also necessitating a shift from wine to beer.
I promise to use thrust at least once.
The Erotica Writer’s Husband & Other Stories by Jennifer D. Munro
Kindle Edition at Amazon
12.5 humorous stories about sex and the sexes. These sensual yet comic stories offer a fresh take on literary erotic fiction, as if Anaïs Nin and Erma Bombeck met at the library to spin tales of laughter and the libido. Collected from the pages of Best American Erotica, Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica, Best Women’s Erotica, Best of Literary Mama, Clean Sheets, Zyzzyva, and others.