| Aspen Ruggerfest, September 2009
By: Marc Kennedy
Photos: Vomits at
Aspen Ruggerfest
The Traveling Party to the Aspen Ruggerfest included: Steve
Kirsh, Dan Marz, Bernie Cantorna, Matt Oakes, Jon Moyer, Aubrey
Fish, Big Dave Kruse, Scott Tooly Storlid, Rick Stoughton
and Joe Pagiara, all of whom played with Massey Maulers, NZ
, over 45s and some picked up matches with other sides who
were short; Tim Probst and myself played for Boulder Old Boys
over 50s. Dan Marz and Marc Becker played a few matches with
Boulder over 35s as well. Terry Godfrey picked up some over
55s matches along with Don Becker. Most of us were at the
Aspen Chalet at one end of the pitch, while Tooly, Don and
Joe had a nice condo with a hot tub overlooking one of the
try zones.
Wee Bob Jafferis had to cancel due to the failing health
of his father in law who passed last week. Our condolences
to Bob and Marcia.
Greg Zukowski canceled because he couldn’t figure out a way
to fly free to Denver because his regular carrier, Cheapo
Airways, doesn’t fly there directly. He thought he had a free
connection through Minneapolis, Vladivostock and Iceland,
but he could only get as close as Des Moines. He then offered
to cook to pay his way through steerage. He should be rounding
the Cape of Good Hope by Christmas…Someone suggested he pry
open his wallet and try to harness the power of the moths
that fly out of it.
Match results:
Massey admittedly bit off little more than they should have
by entering both the over 45s and over 35s. But in the end
they acquitted themselves well, winning the over 45s on Sunday,
35-0 over Virginia. After the training session Wednesday morning,
Tooly was selected to the Massey 1st 15. Fishy, Kirsh, Jon
Moyer all scored while playing with Massey or one of several
teams who were short ; at one point it seemed Jon was playing
on both sides at the same time. He just couldn’t slow down
after the Iron Man. Big Dave, Stoughts and Joe Pags also donned
other jerseys for a runaround. Bernie Cantorna also picked
up a match, well part of one, with another side. See the article
below for details.
By the way, the Boulder over 50s, with Probst and your humble
reporter, won the division on Sunday, beating Virginia 16-5
after losing to them 3-0 on a drop goal on Thursday. We had
some help from Milwaukee Old Boys including Steve Gramling
and Mike and Joe Landry.
One of the high lights of the tour was the wedding and reception
for Jenny and Greg from Massey who decided at about 1 am one
night to get married while they were in Aspen. Steve Kirsh
missed most of the festivities because he had to leave on
Friday. Why, you ask?:
a) A client required some emergency ingots from the foundry.
b) Megan Fox needed a date.
c) He’s actually Batman.
d) He was attending an Iowa-Arizona football game.
a—No. Everyone knows in emergencies people go to Steve’s
brother.
b—No. No one has ever actually seen Kirshy on a date.
c—No. The Old Boys already have a Batman and he’s in New
York.
d—Yes, Steve actually left Aspen for Iowa City…that’s where
everyone should go to celebrate their 50th birthday…
Bernie’s Achilles Heel is his Waterloo (or is it vice versa?)
The tough break award on this trip goes to Bernie Cantorna,
who was scheduled to play with the Massey over 45s. Sensing
that playing time may be hard to come by, Bernie played with
a North Carolina team, Brothers for Life. Bernie’s tenure
was short-lived when he crumpled to the ground yelling “who
kicked me!” The answer: no one. The injury was self-inflicted;
or rather, his Achilles felt that after many years of abuse
it was time to split from the heel and down went Bernie.
A few hours and a few million choice curse words later,
Bernie was in an Aspen Hospital surgical suite that evening.
It’s uncertain whether they gave him a general anesthetic
for the operation or to curtail the stream of expletives.
In any event, both were successful and they released a strategically
sedated Bernie to await a ride back to the chalet. Of course,
we were obliviously soaking and drinking in the hot tub, convinced
that the world-renown sports med docs there wouldn’t just
dump ole Bernie into the street after yanking his tendon down
from his butt and tie, staple or glue it back to where it
sort of belongs.
But as usual we were wrong. After a desperate phone call,
Fishy and I fetched Bernie at the clinic and on the way back
picked up his meds and the most reasonably expensive bottle
of wine available (how convenient that they sold liquor at
a pharmacy!) then returned to the chalet and set up camp in
our room with Bernie and his foot propped up on the big bed.
“I need food,” Bernie murmured in a dull tone, similar to
Jack Nicholson post lobotomy in Cuckoo’s Nest.
“OK, what kind?” I asked.
“Thai…I want Thai food.”
“Hmmm, the closest Thai restaurant’s in Bangkok, sorry dude.”
“I want Thai food…” Bernie murmured again. Feel free to interject
the swear word of your choice liberally whenever Bernie talks.
“So, what about pizza?” said Fish, “I’m freakin’ starvin.’
All I had today was a banana and a cookie.”
“Picture me screaming at the top of my lungs,” Bernie said
softly. “Thai food…”
“I dunno, what about Chinese?” asked Tim Probst thumbing
through the phone book. “Lots of Chinese here.”
“Whatever,” said Fish, “just get it now. All I had today
was some Raisenettes and a piece of gum. Get the Governor
Pork and some egg rolls. And some wontons. And chicken fried
rice. Now, whatta you guys want?”
While we ate Chinese, we tried to keep up Bernie’s spirits.
“Hey how about a movie?” I said. “ This is a really good one.
If by good I mean bad.”
On the TV screen streamed hundreds of futuristic combat troops,
all buff in form-fitting uniforms, especially the female recruits
who showered with the men. Yes, it’s an art film.
“What the hell is this?” Tim Probst asked.
“Starship Troopers!” I said.
“For the love of God,” Bernie moaned between mouthfuls of
wine and fried rice, “can we please watch something else?
Anything. Food channel. Shopping channel. Test pattern...”
He tried grabbing the remote but could only reach so far.
Plus his pain-killer addled aim was so off he missed by three
feet; it looked like he was swatting at a fly in slow motion.
“Sorry, I’m afraid the mere fact that this movie exists brings
into question whether there actually is a god. Don’t worry.
It gets better; or worse. Whatever.”
“Who’s that?” Fish asked.
“Denise Richards. She’s an astronaut of the future.”
“Ooh. Fishy like-ee…”
Thirty seconds later, Fish said, “Geez, Kennedy, she’s not
a very good actress.”
“No shit,” said Probst.
“Just concentrate on the jumpsuit and the lips,” I said.
“ Try not to listen to the dialogue.”
“What’s that?” Fishy asked again.
“Oh, this is the good part. It’s a giant space bug! They
slaughter and eat all the buff young stormtroopers.”
“Even Denise Richards?”
“One can only hope. It would help to restore my belief in
a supreme being that’s for sure.”
Bernie took a long pull on his wine bottle and said quietly.
“Y’know, you guys don’t really have to baby sit me. You should
be going downtown like all the other idiots. It’s after ten.
Don’t mind me. Go on ahead and have some fun.”
“Naw, we just want to make sure you’re OK is all. Plus once
you pass out we can take about half your pain killers. When
you wake up in the morning you’ll be so groggy we’ll just
blame it on the stoners who work in the Aspen pharmacy.”
I handed Bernie the remote.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he muttered as we began
to leave. “Have good time.”
“Oh, we will. See you in a few hours.”
“ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ,” said Bernie.
Stay in touch,
Cheers,
Marc
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