HARRY RANGER WAS THE KING OF THE RINK RAT HOCKEY CLUB
THE POOR GOAL-KEEP WAS DESTINED TO GAME AFTER GAME OF "HE SHOOTS HE MOSTLY SCORES"
WHAT COULD YOU SAY, TO THE SMILING WEE LEPRECHAUN OF A MAN, LOOKING UP AT YOU WITH THAT PUZZLED LOOK THAT SAID, WITHOUT THE NEED FOR A SINGLE SPOKEN WORD…., "WHAT? I DIDN'T DO THAT!" FOR THE RECORD, YES HE DID! HE DID THESE KIND OF THINGS ALL THE TIME. BUT ONLY TO THE PEOPLE HE REALLY CARED ABOUT. TRUTH IS, WE KIND OF LOOKED FORWARD TO HIS HORSE PLAY, BECAUSE IT WAS ALWAYS IN GOOD FUN.
YOU COULD HAVE RESTED YOUR ELBOW ON THE TOP OF HIS HEAD, IF YOU HAD WANTED TO…..AND HE WOULD HAVE LAUGHED IT OFF. BASHFULLY GLANCING UP AT YOU, WITH THOSE DEEP, TWINKLING EYES, IT WOULD COME AFTER HE HAD JUST GIVEN YOU A "WET WILLY?" WHICH OF COURSE WAS A WET FINGER….. HIS FINGER, HAVING BEEN IN HIS MOUTH, BEFORE BEING STUCK IN YOUR EAR. THAT'S ONE OF THE FIRST MEMORIES THAT CAME TO MIND, WHEN BRANT SCOTT READ MY EMAIL THIS MORNING. HIS REPLY BACK THIS EVENING, WAS AS A FORMER TEAM-MATE AND PRINT-INDUSTRY COLLEAGUE, WHO HAD PUT UP WITH THESE PRACTICAL JOKES EVERY DAY FOR YEARS. I HAD LET BRANT KNOW THAT OUR MUTUAL FRIEND, RINK RAT HALL OF FAMER, HARRY RANGER, HAD PASSED AWAY EARLIER THIS WEEK, AT HOME IN BARRIE.
SO HERE'S A HOCKEY STORY TO HEAD-UP THIS LITTLE MEMORIAL TRIBUTE TO A FALLEN RINK RAT.
WHEN HERALD-GAZETTE COLUMNIST, BRANT SCOTT, ("A WEE BISCUIT" WAS ALWAYS MY FAVORITE OF HIS COLUMNS), CAME INTO THE NEWSROOM, TO SEE ME, ALL ENTHUSED THAT WE HAD JUST GOT A HOCKEY GIG FOR OUR NEW MEDIA TEAM, I WAS AGHAST, BUT DIDN'T WANT TO SHOW MY FRIGHT RIGHT AWAY. IT COULD WAIT. I KNEW THE TEAM HE WAS TALKING ABOUT, AND THEY WERE JUST SHY OF N.H.L CALIBRE. I LISTENED IN AWE, BUT MOSTLY FEAR! HE WAS TELLING ME, WHAT HE THOUGHT WAS GOOD NEWS, THAT WE HAD A HOCKEY GAME REQUEST, TO PLAY UP IN THE VILLAGE OF MACTIER; WITH A TEAM SO HUNGRY, IT ATE THE COMPETITORS WHOLE. NOT EVEN ANY LEFTOVERS FOR THE MINOR TEAMS TO FEED OFF. MY FIRST JOB AS A CUB REPORTER, WAS FOR THE GEORGIAN BAY-MUSKOKA LAKES BEACON, IN UPTOWN MACTIER. I WENT OUT FOR A GAME OF PICK-UP WITH THE SAME TEAM, IN THE EARLY WINTER OF 1979, AND PLAYED THREE PERIODS OF NET. IT WAS A SIXTY MINUTE HORROR THAT UNFOLDED THAT NIGHT, WITH FOUR MAN BREAK-AWAYS ALL THE TIME. I WAS BLACK AND BLUE ALL OVER, FROM SLAP SHOTS FROM EVERY ANGLE ON THAT SHEET OF ICE. WHEN THEY ASKED ME OUT FOR A SECOND NIGHT OF HORROR, I POLITELY DECLINED. I WASN'T HEALED FROM THE FIRST EVENING OF HOCKEY-RUGBY.
I IMMEDIATELY RESPONDED, "THAT'S GREAT BRANT, BUT HOW ARE WE GOING TO GET HARRY UP THERE? I'M NOT PLAYING NET AGAINST THOSE GUYS, EVER." IT WAS BACK IN THE EARLY 1980'S. WE HAD JUST ORGANIZED A NEWSPAPER SPONSORED HOCKEY TEAM, AND HONESTLY FIGURED WE KNEW WHAT WE WERE DOING. HARRY RANGER KNEW HOW BAD WE WERE, BECAUSE AS IT WAS SAID OF HIM, IN THOSE DAYS, "HE HAD MORE RUBBER LANDING ON HIM THAN THE RUNWAYS OF TORONTO'S AIRPORT." THAT WAS TRUE. BUT YOU KNOW, AFTER THE GAMES WE GOT POUNDED, A FEW BEERS LATER ON, ALWAYS SEEMED TO EMPOWER US, TO MAKE BIGGER AND MORE DARING CHALLENGES. THE PROBLEMS ASSOCIATED WITH THIS, WERE THAT A FEW OF OUR BETTER PLAYERS, REALLY DIDN'T LIKE BEING HUMILIATED EVERY GAME WE PLAYED. SO WE WERE FORCED TO LIE TO THEM, IN ORDER TO GET A FULL TEAM OUT. SO BRANT AND I, IN THE MIDDLE OF A WORK DAY AT THE NEWSPAPER, TRIED TO FIGURE A WAY OF SOFT-SELLING IT TO HARRY, SO HE WOULD AGREE TO MAKE THE TRIP. HE WAS OUR GOALIE AND NO ONE……AND I MEAN NO ONE, WOULD VOLUNTEER TO STRAP ON THE OLD PADS. I WAS A CAREER GOALIE AND I EVEN REFUSED. I WOULD RATHER HAVE BEEN A HALF ASS FORWARD THAN A BEAT-UP GOALIE. SO MUCH FOR HARRY.
WE CONVINCED THE KINDLY, GENTLE, DIMINUTIVE OLDTIMER, THAT THE MACTIER CLUB WAS GOING TO LEND US A FEW PLAYERS, AND HE WOULDN'T HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT THE NORMAL RINK RAT FARE, OF BEING PUMMELED ALL GAME LONG. IN RETROSPECT, AND BY THE WAY, I DID APOLOGIZE FOR LIEING TO HIM…., HARRY DID COME WITH US, AND HE BELIEVED OUR COVER STORY RIGHT UP UNTIL THE PUCK DROPPED, AND HE COULD CLEARLY SEE THE RINK RATS WERE SPORTING THE SAME WAYS, THE SAME INCOMPETENCE, AND THAT WAS NOT GOOD FOR HIM.
AT ONE POINT IN THE FIRST PERIOD, WHEN HE COULDN'T SEE BECAUSE THERE WAS SO MUCH SWEAT DRAINING INTO HIS EYES, DRIPPING DOWN THE LEATHER OF THE MASK, HE SAID TO ME, IN A SHORT HUDDLE IN THE CREASE…."CURRIE, YOU SON OF BITCH. YOU LIED TO ME AGAIN." LIKE THE RINK RATS WERE FAMOUS FOR, WE STARED INTO THE DRAGON'S DEN, LAUGHED AT ADVERSITY, WHACKED OUR STICK SHAFTS AGAINST HARRY'S TORN PADS (THAT ALWAYS SHED HORSE HAIR ON THE ICE) AND SAID, WITH CONVICTION, "HARRY, WE'RE MOUNTING A COME-BACK. HANG IN THERE." AS WE WENT BACK INTO THE NEXT FACE OFF, HARRY COULD BE HEARD MAKING SOME PACT WITH GOD, OR FOSTER HEWITT, TO SURVIVE LONG ENOUGH TO GET BACK INTO THE LOCKER ROOM…..FOR THE BEER HE MAY, OR MAY NOT HAVE HAD, TUCKED INTO HIS SHOE FOR MORAL SUPPORT. AT ONE POINT IN THE THIRD PERIOD, WE SAW ALL THESE MACTIER LADS DOING CARTWHEELS, AND PIROUETTES BEFORE FALLING TO THE ICE. HAROLD SHER, A FIGURE SKATING STAR ON HIS OWN, TOLD HARRY TO STOP TRIPPING THEM, OR THEY'D BEAT THE REST OF US UP. "I'M NOT TRIPPING THEM," HARRY YELLED AT HAROLD, "IT'S THE DAMN HORSE HAIR AND STRAW COMING OUT OF MY PADS. IT'S ALL OVER THE FRONT OF THE NET." HEY, IT WORKED FOR US, AND IT'S HOW WE SPRUNG HAROLD FOR OUR ONLY GOAL IN THE GAME.
I THINK HE LOST TEN POUNDS THAT GAME, AND YOU KNOW, THE LITTLE FELLOW STOPPED AT LEAST HALF THE SHOTS ON NET, AND ALTHOUGH ARGUABLY THE SCORE WAS A LITTLE BIT LIKE, WHAT YOU'D SEE IN BOLD LIGHT, ON A FOOTBALL JUMBOTRON, WE RINK RATS GAVE OURSELVES A LOT OF GOODWILL POINTS, FOR JUST MAKING IT TO THE FINAL BUZZER, WITHOUT HAVING TO RAISE THE WHITE TOWEL OF SURRENDER. "I'LL NEVER BELIEVE ANOTHER THING YOU TELL ME CURRIE," SAID THE WHIPPED RINK RAT NETMINDER, AS HE MADE A BEE-LINE FOR THAT FLASK OF COLD ALE. BREEZING PAST THE REPORTER, ME, WHO WAS ALSO COVERING THE GAME FOR THE HOMETOWN PRESS. THE HEADLINE WOULD READ, "MACTIER LIONS EAT RINK RATS FOR GOOD CAUSE." I KNOW. I DROPPED THE "B." HEY, IT WAS A FEATURE COLUMN IN GOOD FUN, ALTHOUGH HARRY WAS TRYING TO LAUGH IN THE DRESSING ROOM, NOTHING WAS COMING OUT, BUT A SPITTING, SPUTTERING DIATRIBE THAT SOUND LIKE, "YOU BASTARDS!" HIS LONG TIME FRIEND AND NEIGHBOR, ALISTAIR TAYLOR, WHO MAY HAVE CONTRIBUTED TO AT LEAST FIVE OF THE THIRTY GOALS, BY ACCIDENTALLY CLEARING THE PUCK INTO OUR OWN NET, WAS TRYING TO CAJOLE THE TWO INCH SHORTER "HARRY" BUT NO PROMISES WERE HAVING ANY IMPACT, EXCEPT WHEN HIS PRAYERS WERE ANSWERED; "FOR GOD'S SAKE MAN, GET ME ANOTHER BEER."
ALWAYS A CHEERFUL FORMER GOALIE
As regular visitors to this blog site will recognize, my heart never left its position with the old Herald-Gazette, in Bracebridge. It was my dream job. My friends were there, and that included Harry and his wife Sheila, who worked in our printing shop, then known as Muskoka Graphics; tucked into the dank, ink-scented rear part of the familiar thin, white, two story building, on Dominion Street; looming so pure and historic, at the intersection with Quebec Street. It was a job I looked forward to, each morning, and I didn't mind staying late. I would spend part of each day chatting with the printing staff, including Jimmy Wright, another master of the machines, and one of the Rink Rat founders. I was mesmerized by the printing machines, and Harry would patiently describe the process, and what they were working on, at the time. He had a smile and an anecdote every time we visited, and honestly, and conveniently, he could play me like a cheap violin. He had a great sense of humor, and he loved to play practical jokes on me, (and Brant) and I was a "sucker," taking the bait every time…..only to look around, and notice all the other staff killing themselves laughing. I may have reminded him of this cajoling, when I had that goal-crease meeting with him, in MacTier. "Hell if you can't take a joke Harry," I probably uttered, in one of about fifteen retreats, trying to convince him to stay in the game. I told the lads on the bench we might have to duct tape him to the posts, because he was talking about pulling himself for a sixth attacker. And this was only the first period. I told him that night, that even if he was to expire in the middle of the game, we would have to fake-it, and prop him up against the cross-bar until the final buzzer. "Currie, I'm quitting this team," he'd mumble, as I skated away laughing. You could hear him hitting the goal-posts with his stick, and I knew those chops were for my benefit. He was thinking of my shins at the time.
My proudest moment, was when I was asked to attend a Loveable Losers Hockey Tournament, in the late 1990's, a tournament still run by the Rink Rats in Bracebridge, and was asked, during the opening ceremonies, to come out to centre ice for a special presentation. There I was, side by side my two great Rink Rat chums, from the original Herald-Gazette years, Ed Kowalsky, and Harry Ranger. We were there to receive our official retirement sweaters, with names on the back, and a rousing testimonial by Gord Dawes and Ed Renton, for our years of service to fundraising in the community, and hopefully good sportsmanship toward others. I looked down at Harry's little bald head, wrapped my arm around it, and whispered, "I'm sorry you old fart, for hauling your ass to MacTier that time." He looked up, with a huge smile, and very softly, replied, "God will get you one day Ted….and when he does……"
God got Harry first. My old hockey and work buddy, passed away on Monday evening, after a brave battle with lung cancer. On Monday night, I actually thought about Harry, and the Rink Rats, for no apparent reason, yet I think now, he was letting me know he had moved on from this mortal coil, ready for the next challenge of existence. As I do very much believe in the after-life, and our ability to communicate with those who have crossed over, I'm talking to him already, and well, begging him to go lightly on me, when it's my turn to head heavenward. He'd relish the idea that I'd be worrying about this…..sensing that even in heaven, there can be a little hell going on…..and that even God likes the occasional practical joke; within reason of course. He might lose that heavenly finger, or be sent back to earth as a porcupine, if he tries a wet willy on the big guy.
Harry used to love telling me that he was related to Toronto Sun columnist Paul Rimstead, from up Sudbury way, and therefore, having him and Rimmer up there, means God's got a full compliment of jokesters to make the heavenly experience even more heavenly.
I wish to extend my heartfelt sympathy to the Ranger family. Harry had an amazing life force within, and a goodness that I felt in my heart, even after many years of being distant from one another. That was the aura of Harry Ranger, and it was as infectious as it was beautiful. I have known a lot of characters in my day, who influenced me in my writing career, but very few have had the impact of Harry Ranger…..a good sport through and through. A kindred spirit who gave more than he ever received…..but he was happy to do so.
I even helped Harry and Sheila, and the residents of Balsam Chutes, save the old Stephenson Road bridge, back in the 1980's, that had once been the bridge over the rapids at Bird's Mill in Bracebridge. After it had been replaced, it was rebuilt over the Muskoka River, on the Stephenson Road. It was a beautiful old bridge but it was in structural distress, and neither Huntsville or Bracebridge had an appetite for paying for the repairs; as it was a town-line structure in a sparsely populated area. It was only a couple of football field lengths from Highway II. If the bridge was closed, it would have meant a much longer drive out to Highway II7, and then north and south on Highway II. It was done this way in the winter because the hill on the highway side, across the bridge, was a monster that couldn't be plowed in the winter season. Well sir, little Harry and his team of Save Our Bridge residents, fought the good fight, and saved the old bridge. Even though it was serious business, we had a lot of fun working on it together. You just couldn't work with Harry, even for a minute and a half, and then say the experience was unremarkable.
We are all better, kinder humans for having known Harry Ranger, goaltender extraordinaire!
A Note to an Old Friend: Thanks Karen. It was nice talking to you again after all these years, and hope to see you sometime soon. Balsam Chutes was always a special place to visit, and you were always a wonderful host...who we, the noisy guests never thanked as we should have.
Please visit my other blog at http://muskokaaswaldenpond.blogspot.ca
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