Norwegians are not any good at hockey. It is a myth that people from colder climates excel at sports involving ice or the like. We have some great skiers, but really what we do best is soccer.
Anyway, down here in Rio, word got out that I was Norwegian, and I was asked if I could coach the youth hockey team in their next game against Argentina. My initial reaction was a "no", but when I saw some of the mothers of some of the kids, I changed my tune. These women were hot trophy wives, which made sense, considering one would have to be fairly well off to be able to afford hockey equipment, and it was a custom that rich trophy wives slept with the coaches of their kids' sports teams.
I found my old speed skating skates from out of one of my travelling trunks, sent Abdul Karim out to find me a hockey stick, and I went to work. The only person I knew who knew anything about the sport was my Boston friend. He grew up in Northern New England, and one could probably make a team just out the best players from that region, and it would kill Norway (you got Jeremy Roenick and Tony Amonte to name two). He gave me some advice, but he spoke in a discourse that made little sense to me. I have no idea what a "blue line" is, or why I'd need a "strong shooter to anchor the point on the power play". I decided to wing it.
We had to forfeit after we fell behind 20 goals in the first period. One of the kids told me after that I should've called for a "line change", because the kids I started stayed on the ice for ten minutes, and apparently that's way too long.
Even worse, my coaching performance was so bad, none of the hot wives wanted to sleep with me. I had totally banked on that, and I spent the trip back from Buenos Aires with a bad case of blue balls.
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