CHOCOLATE AND HOCKEY

by Holly Rennick

AUTHOR'S NOTES

"Why Chocolate is Better than Sex."  You must have been e-mailed the list.  Myself, I'm not sure that it is, but then some say I'm cautious about both desserts and guys.  My friend Cindi, on the other hand, has opinions about everything, "opinions" pluralized because she'll disagree with herself half the time.  And science teachers accuse us language teachers of being subjective!  I will not even go into the basis for her pronouncements, "They said it won a Nobel Prize," for example, about vitamin B-12 making chocolate milkshakes less fattening.

So for what they are worth, here are Cindi's thoughts on chocolate and sex and hockey.  She got most of the one-liners from spams, of course, so don't give her more credit than for her having Microsoft Outlook.  (Who but Cindi would send her bank account number to the widow of a deposed Nigerian functionary ready to pay her 15 percent of the $20 million?  It's essential for her survival that she's my friend.)

Don't blame me for that which follows.  If Cindi's computer weren't humbled with "Critical Microsoft Update" worms, I wouldn't have agreed to be her scribe.

WHY CHOCOLATE IS BETTER THAN SEX

1) We don't have to beg for chocolate.

This proves nothing.  We can get sex without begging too.  They call it things like manipulation and deviousness, but it's allowed if we're Catholic.  Eve invented it.

Let's just not get like Mrs. Marabel Morgan who wrote "Total Woman".  Wear Saran Wrap to greet your hubby after his hard day at the office.  Imagine how sticky you'd feel plastered in plastic!

It's an art helping our partner realize his needs.  Sex is a need, right?  Most of us start learning long before we know what we're perfecting.  We climbed on daddy's lap, whispered secrets and gave him one bite of our Kit Kat.  He was in a better mood about our getting another Barbie.  Not erotically, he told himself, but he knew where our little butt was.  Without pursuing details, when we as pubescents told him secrets, we were a little more knowledgeable about his lap and he was probably good for a two-piece swimsuit.  We learned something about engaging a male.

So let's move ahead to high school and our brother who maybe wasn't romantic because we mentioned his faults.  "Gross, Tim, don't take off your shoes in here."

But we didn't have to beg to get what we wanted.

"Timmy, I wrecked my shoulder in volleyball practice."

"Sorry."

"Maybe you can rub it?"

"I suppose."

"We can still watch 'Basic Instinct' before the folks get home.  I'll sit in front.  Want a creamy or chewy Brach's?"

"Chewy."

He rubbed through our blouse.  When we shed that, he massaged with some baby powder.  Then we slipped the strap down to use baby oil.  When the movie's police interrogation had Sharon Stone uncross her legs to reveal her ultimate weapon, we moved Timmy's hand forward and fed him another chocolate.

Timmy never rubbed through Saran Wrap is my point.  We never begged.

2) We can have chocolate in front of our mothers.

Same for sex.  My guess is that 90 percent of our mothers knew when we started having sex.  If they didn't raise hell, it was because they also knew we were being safe, somewhat anyway.  We thought we'd hidden our pills so cleverly in our jewelry box.  Mom would have guessed where to look with the same mental process it took us to hide them.  It would have been exactly like at age ten when we hid the Cadbury chocolates behind our Pippi Longstockings socks.

We'll interpret the "in front of" a bit loosely.  Unless we're into major kinkdom, we never hauled our date up onto the kitchen table while Mom was peeling carrots.  The delicate part was traipsing him through the kitchen on our way to bed.  That's pretty close to 'in front of".

Stan: "Uhh, Hi, Mrs. Barton."

Mom: "Hello, Stanley."

You: "The frosting looks good, Mom.  Come on Stan.

Stan: "Umm."

Mom: "Got any homework?"

You: "Just chemistry.  Greenhouse gasses and globalization.  Bye."

Stan: "Maybe..."

Mom: "You want to stay for dinner, Stan?"

Stan: "Thanks, but I guess my mom's probably already fixed something."

Mom: "I need to ask Sarah about the potluck anyway, so I'll call and tell her the two of you are together.  We talked at coffee club."

You: "About me and Stan having intercourse and everything?"

Stan: "Wait..."

Mom: "I told her that you saw the school nurse, dear.  Just go on.  Dad's not home till 5:30."

You: "Just a little of that chocolate cake for a starter?"

Mom: "It's for dessert, not now.  You two head on up now.  You're staying for dinner, right, Stan, after?"

3) We can have chocolate while driving.

Is "Don't drive and fuck" supposed to be clever?  This stupid-ass guy with a shit-eating grin picks us up for a date with two seatbelts on the driver's side?  The back seat at least has some room.  If we're parked, the front seat will do, though there are a million stories about honking the horn.

The sex-while-driving inanity ties into America's car culture, the automobile as our extension.  OK, Corvettes are more-or-less big red penises, probably driven by guys with little pale ones.  I'm sure that the designers (used to be in Detroit, now in Yokohama) have me figured out as well, though I'm not sure how my Camry projects a vagina.  Maybe the cup holder.

Remember all the ways we made out before we ever scored?  A few Teachers' Lounge reminisces:

"Jennie and this guy were in the front seat and Elliot and myself were in the back and Elliot didn't even know that she was watching when I shot him off!  The next day he was talking to her in World History and here she was remembering his cock!"  [Music Dept.]

"So I opened his glove compartment to stash my bra and there was this C one!  Asshole!"  [Counseling Dept.]

"We did this thing called 'Chinese Fire Drill'.  All us kids at a stoplight and everybody piles out, runs around, and piles back.  We'd be laughing so much and feel up whoever we were jammed against.  One time, honest to God, I had a guy going for each boob and I had a cock in each hand.  Honest!"  [A known exaggerator from the Phys Ed. Dept.]

Cars!

4) We can have chocolate on our desks during working hours.

Substitute "examination table" for "desk" and sex and chocolate are equally possible in the medical field during working hours.  A doc will forget to have us redress if our nipples enjoyed the checkup.  He'll put our legs in the stirrups and watch our hips while he touches things with his rubber-glove.  Our body is designed to facilitate his access, so maybe his hips react too.  I shouldn't be so sexist, though.  Ten percent of women want a female MD for this very reason.

It would be a sadistic nurse who'd enjoy applying a male catheter, but every nurse has her tale about a male patient's involuntary arousal when he's wearing that little hospital gown that shows his butt.  But sometimes he's immobilized flat on his back.  The sweet stories (to me anyway) are where the nurse shows she cares.  The "touch therapy" taught in nursing school is something else, I believe.  Jane Fonda's Oscar-winning fuck of Jon Voight in the anti-Vietnam War "Coming Home" takes it all the way, but Jane's not an RN.

Medical professionals can thus have sex during working hours.  Someone else has to research them eating chocolate, but I imagine they do that too.

Any job needing a neat desktop should be done without chocolates and sex.  You file the legal brief and there on page 231 is a smeared Goo Goo Cluster!  You file the negotiated settlement and there on page 143 is the opposing attorney's semen.  Chocolate and sex are for after work.

As teachers, we should have neither candy nor sex on our desks.  We want kids looking at either their books or the board.

5) We can have chocolate when it's gone soft.

This is a sexist put down on males when nature abandons them.  "Well shit, Ralph, you've lost it so I'm going home."  We don't dump on our guys.  What if they started complaining about our unreadiness?  We can still fake it is the main difference.

Maybe Dream Whip (or whatever) still doesn't get the result.  (Some guys have standards.)  It's hardly the end of the world.  Teach him a little something about how girls share chocolate.  (Not the dildo dykes, the ones who like being feminine.)  If you actually don't know, teach him a little something about how you sweeten yourself.

Let him feed us the chocolate.  We feel great and he feels virtuous.  The ones who'll fuck us best are the ones who learn to masturbate us first.

6) With chocolate, we can bite the nuts.

Hershey's with almonds is better than plain Hershey's milk chocolate.  And who'd want an Almond Joy without the nuts?  But we should be fervently committed to never damaging a guy's balls.  As we girls are designed more practically, we're less vulnerable on the receiving end.  Sixty-nining is so overrated, but now legal in every state.

As is becoming apparent, sex and chocolate are in close alliance.  We are what we eat, they say.  So check out one of those confectionaries that market erotic sweets. (Outfits with names like "Russell Stover" don't, of course.  The formality of the corporate name tells.)  "In your Dreams" is a chocolate item anybody could roll out on a marble slab.  And how original, the chocolate oval with turned-up sides and a Maraschino cherry in the middle!  Niche candy inventers, seemingly a dim lot, perhaps smirk about biting his nuts.  Not me.

7) Chocolate lasts as long as we want.

While sex just up and finishes on us, is the joke?  Wrong on both counts, buster (assuming that this witticism came from a male).  Males, we know, sexually engage for the span of a football commercial, a correlation seen by Budweiser, anyway.  We, on the other hand, are a more resilient race.  Our clock starts earlier, clicks off later and we can run the hand around a few times in the middle sometimes.

Before he gets experienced, though, we can tease our date for a whole movie feature.  Hear the one about this boyfriend who punched a hole in the bottom of the popcorn box, set it on his lap, and every time she went for a handful, got a handful?  She should have eaten the popcorn and when he shut his eyes for the buttery finale, given him a good dose of salt.  Just an idea, anyway.  Sex can be feature length plus previews and subliminals showing happy popcorn tubs.

Chocolate consumption, on the other hand, is time-constrained endeavor.  Ever held a Milk Dud for the duration of a movie?  Stickier than if we'd done the popcorn box trick the way he wanted.  OK, maybe Milk Duds are just chocolate colored.  We'll get to chemicals later.

Consider those chocolate orange stick candies!  Pretend there's a whole box and ten minutes to kill.  Gone!  Good chocolate does not last as long as good sex.

8) There are more varieties of chocolate.

Why open a Whitman's Sampler if we don't want to sample?  And what did M&M's figure out?  That we love variety, blue even.  It would be so easy to go a whole year, eating a different chocolate daily.  (Don't, though.)  So we'll be conservative and eliminate two-thirds of the 365 as just petrochemicals and 42 liquor flavors because we don't do alcohol.  We're down to a 1/3*365-42 = 79.67 item dessert menu.

Kama Sutra has 27 positions for intercourse, but one of my students has book that illustrates 100, including, "She is Almost Standing on her Head, He is Kneeling".  Now assume we could find a limber guy.  Half the positions appear to be exceedingly uncomfortable, or worse yet, positively injurious.  That leaves 50 ways to pleasantly impregnate a nongymnast, one of which involves her standing on her head.

So chocolate wins, 79.67 to 50.

9) Having chocolate with children is legal.

True, but this one isn't funny to those of us in secondary education.  Of course there'd be no chemistry between us and a "child".  But we're bumped in the stairwells by boys bigger than we are.  "Oh, Hi, Ms. Barton."  We have girl students who have sex three times per week.  The school provides them free birth control and we get docked the health insurance.  Not fair!

Any boy whose desk I bend over can see down my neckline.  Any male teacher who bends over a girl's desk sees down hers.  But as we eliminated having chocolate on the teacher's desk in an earlier item, what's the tie between subsequently mentoring a younger friend and chocolate?

The answer to our question is "chocolate coated mints".  What do we see at the checkout?  Junior Mints.  How do we support the Girl Scouts?  Thin Mints keep us thin.  A chocolate mint reminds us of a nubile body.

"Mr. Gibson, I know I didn't do that well on the Algebra test, but wanna buy some Girl Scout Cookies?"

"Sure, Kristin.  Got those Thin Mints again this year?"

"There's 32 in a box, so it's a good deal."

"I'm sure it is.  Run and close the door so your troop doesn't come in and steal your sale."

"OK."

"So why don't you sit on my knee so I can see this pretty badge here on your vest?"

"Sure, Mr. Gibson.  It's my Cookie Sale Activity Pin.  That's the pin part on the inside there."

"Kristin, you're getting to be quite something behind this badge."

"Our Girl Scout Law tells us to respect authority.  So first, how many boxes of Thin Mints do you want?  They're not that expensive."

I wish Boy Scouts didn't just sell Christmas trees.  I'd buy some chocolate Easter bunnies and ask about his lifesaving merit badge.  How does that CPR work?

10) The word "commitment" doesn't scare off chocolate.

What I've noticed is that it doesn't scare off sex either.  It's after sex that he flakes out.

SO LET'S ASK THE EXPERTS

1) Ask the chemist.

That's me, sort of.  Here's the urban legend:  Brain fluctuations accompanying sexual thoughts could involve some amphetamine-like chemical whose level in our brain goes up when we meet the right person.  Phenylethylamine (PEA) might be involved.  As PEA is chemically similar to norepinephrine and dopamine, post-romance depressions might involve PEA deficits.

Chocolate is loaded with PEA and we do seem to eat chocolate when depressed.  Attempted self-medication?  Or perhaps we eat chocolate to enhance our romantic feelings, the focus of a New York Times article.

But here's the science.  Dr. Richard Wyatt and his associates ate pounds of chocolate.  It didn't raise their urine levels of PEA and gave them headaches.  The conclusion is that a Rocky Road won't do what Viagra can.

2) Ask the shrink.

Extra!  Extra!  Read the advertisement!  "An alternative to 12-step!  You can reduce almost any type of addictive behavior -- from drinking to sex, eating, and the Internet -- with this practical and effective workbook...  Supported by scientific research, Dr. Horvath approaches addiction as a bad habit, not a disease...  Horvath teaches the consequences (and even possible benefits) of addictive behavior, alternative coping methods, choice, understanding and dealing with urges, building a new lifestyle, preventing relapse. Includes dozens of exercises, self-study questions, guidelines for individual change plans."  (Horvath, A. Thomas, 2003, Sex, Drugs, Gambling & Chocolate, A Workbook for Overcoming Addictions, 2nd Ed, Impact, 240 p.)

Let's give Dr. H himself some self-study questions.

   "Dr. Horvath, I drink lite beer, I eat chocolate, I have sex and I e-mail.  Am I addicted?"

   "No, Dr. Horvath, I mean all at the same time."

   "Dr. Horvath, so like they're just tradeoffs?"

   "Dr. Horvath, if a Snickers has 280 calories and having sex uses 60 to 120 (60 for foreplay, double that for bed-shaking fucking) how many can I do per candy bar?"

   "Dr. Horvath, is your degree from a university with a P.O. Box address?  Put another way, does your alma mater advertise in airline magazines?"

3) Ask the writer

Holly says that sex and chocolate are literarily interchangeable, to wit, "Mr. Goodbar Snickers as he Kisses her Mounds.  His Tootsie Roll in her Milky Way makes a Baby Ruth."  Jeeze!  And Holly just used names of chocolate candy bars.  No Starburst, thus.

So how about real literature?  Take, for example, this excerpt from "Torch Song in Chocolate" by Birthday Nymph.  Holly wants to use it in her English class, but it's not in the District-approved list.  "Together, they draw the chocolate over the curve of her breasts, replacing silk with sweetness.  The creamy skin disappears under the chocolate, blending into the sinking line of black silk until the dress rests in a swirl of softness around her hips.  She rests back on her elbows as together they pour the still-warm sauce over the muscles of her belly.  From bowl to skin it cascades over her body to the worn wooden stage, leaving our nymph as a chocolate-covered birthday treat."

No question that it's quite literary.  But think they can lick that goo out of each other's hair, even if it is fat free?  Syrup for promiscuous gay guys would explain why they like their sex in bathhouses.

Writing about sex can be pretty bad, but not nearly as messy as chocolate.

4) Ask the educator.

"With chocolate, size doesn't matter."  The point thus to which this alludes, we must suppose, is that we honor the big male organ.

As a College of Education might deem it, "Size is an attribute reflecting nutritional preference.  Small-dimensioned people are fully people.  Deprecation can harm a developing male's self esteem.  While it is desirable to set goals benchmarked by measurable performance, metrics must be gender blind except when recognized players tilt the playing field to rectify historic injustice."

Come again?  This is why sometimes we don't teach much.  Shoot, as it takes one wiggly finger to personally satisfy a female, why hold a male up to a baseball-bat standard?  Ghirardelli doesn't sell big pieces of choclolate and it's good stuff.

A school may have three black Chicana cross-gendered girls who could be actuaries if the exam were de-emphasized.  But we probably have 200 small-penised boys who could be great lovers if appropriately encouraged.  In the case of a younger lad who's still growing, I'll even take small for the pleasure of his pleasure, so to speak.

If we want a big slab of chocolate, we can buy it, but big chocolate items usually taste like wax.  Chocolate Easter eggs come to mind.  And even if we buy a 10-pound block for a confectionary project, we're not going to serve it that size.  When the cocoa bean product hits the pallet, small is better.

Size does matter, but inversely.  Small is just a different kind of enablement.

5) Ask the rock stars.

Rock historian: "So, Mick Jagger, what about when the bobbies raided Keith Richards' estate in 1967 and found you eating a Mars bar out of Marianne Faithfull's vagina?"

Jagger: "Just publicity to enhance the image of my mouth."

Faithfull: "No, No, I needed more fame to support my drug wastage."

Mr. Mars" "Heh, heh.  I'm the one who doubled my sales overnight."

SO LET'S GO TO THE MOVIES!

Sometimes we need intellectual input.  That's why we love movies, so we'll forget about it.

1) We are never too young or too old for chocolate.

Which title speaks of greater adventure: "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" or "Charlie and the Sex Factory"?  You're right; it's hard to decide.  Well my point was that the first one is fun to read, even when we're big, and the second one sounds more of interest to middle-age men.  So let's agree that chocolate spans the generations.  Sex spans our industrial years.

"Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory" is the movie version.  Eccentric chocolate maker Mr. Wonka will give a factory tour to the five kids who find a golden ticket in their Wonka bars.  When young Charlie Bucket finds a dollar bill on the street, our consumer lad buys two Whipple-Scrumptious Fudgemallow Delights, unwraps the second and sees the glimmer of gold!  The other winners prove themselves to be irresponsible brats and Charlie impresses Wonka and wins a reward beyond his wildest dreams.

But look!  The capitalist's last name is "Wonka".  Drop the "a" and you get what boys Charlie's age call masturbation.  Ahah!  The chocolate to sex link!  Look what happens to the other four youngsters.

   Agustus Gloop falls into the chocolate river and gets stuck in the pipe.  He swims in such sweetness and finds the orifice.  Get it?

   Mike Teavee gets shrunk by a TV camera.  This accustoms boys to be filmed.  "Hey, Mike, why don't we shoot you playing with this nice chocolate covered donut before you get dressed?"

   Veruca Salt falls down a chute while trying to get a golden goose.  "A goose," I said, being hardly subtle.  We wonder if she was captured behind the fudge extruder by the candy bar Three Musketeers, Agustus holding her arms, Mike spreading her knees and Charlie goosing her exquisitely.  "Oh, do let me go if you want to capture me again, you naughty three."

   Violet Beauregard turns into a blueberry while chewing a special gum.  We note that dear Violet was not a cherry.  Her name is code for "Violation Boyfriend Regard" which speaks of her abuse by a French dandy.

So after being symbolically seduced at the Saturday matinee, get in my car, little girl.  I have a nice Mars Bar down here.

2) We can ask strangers for chocolate.

The movie's name is "Chocolat".  No, I didn't forget the "e"; the title did.  I'm going to make a garden movie and call it "Tomat" and you'll think it's French as well, if you don't speak French, that is.

Idealist and romantic heroine Vianne moves into town and doesn't wear black, doesn't go to church and is an unwed mother.  She starts a chocolate store that threatens the conservative mayor and most of the citizens.  But to have drama, she arouses people's suspicions and inhibitions with her creations.  The townsfolk one-by-one have their life's problems cured by Vivian's magic chocolate.  They are loosened in attitude, made courageous and renewed sexually.  This chocolate is an aphrodisiac, we discover!

No one had any fun until Vianne showed up.  Catholics like me are evil or innocently mislead because we're stupid.  The liberated chocolatiere vs. the stuffed shirt mayor who considers it blasphemous to eat chocolate during Lent.  Worldly cosmopolitanism vs. small-town provincialism.  Oh, the transforming power of the feminine in the face of patriarchal oppression!

Vianne's the stranger to whom people come for chocolate, but it's as clear that this candy's a surrogate for sex in a repressed society.  Heavy duty!

3) A Hershey's Kiss never frustrates.

"Like Water for Chocolate" is cine mexicana that evaded the Border Patrol.  "Como Agua para Chocolate" is an idiom for sexual frustration.  Tita is the youngest daughter of an abusive mother who wants what she wants; what the daughter wants be damned.  It's pretty much a chick flick because Tita's experiences, from nursing a baby to falling in love to cooking, are ours as well.  Sometimes in that order.

"Like Water" takes place in the kitchen, the center of life.  The film's passion, eros, sensuality, jealousy and sex with evil undertones are made for our weaknesses.  Tita's elder sister, butt naked, is carried off on a swashbuckling rebel's horse.  Our feminine hearts are twanged when she returns years later as a revolutionary general in tweed jacket and bandoliers of bullets, still beloved by her abductor.  They call it "Magical Realism".  Not real, I say.

Food and sex get all mixed up in sumptuous feasts that include baked quail with rose petal sauce, chilies with walnuts, and corn fritters with syrup.  Think symbolism, girls!  What's mole (not the rodent, but "mo-ley") but chicken, chili and chocolate sauce?

4) We can have chocolate together without being designated as members of a special group.

Consider that lez favorite, "Better than Chocolate".  College dropout Maggie is a clerk at the Ten Percent Bookstore. (It's not a discount store.  Get it?)  She meets nomadic butch Kim and after Kim's van gets towed away, they shack up. The movie has lots of allusions to sex, but most encounters are interrupted.  The van gets towed just as homosexuality gets interesting, for example.  Interrupting their erotic bliss in the next scene, Maggie's mother and teenage brother show up.

Maggie's clueless mom: "Kim, do you have a boyfriend?"

Kim: "No.  Funny that."

Maggie and Kim have their hotsies later, but the camera is on the peeking brother.  The pair finds excitement in a bathroom stall, but the camera is on the listeners outside.  So maybe this is about voyeurism.  Mom, of course, finds the vibrator and just has to see.  The camera bounces back and forth from her face to her son having sex in the park.  Double titillation.  The body-painting scene raises concern about rashes, as latex doesn't just wash away and probably contains evil dyes and emulsifiers.  Maggie makes an anti-censorship statement by posing nude in the bookstore and there's a happy ending.

What does any of this have to do with chocolate?  Beats me.  She just co-opted the name, the clever director.

So there we have it: four movies named chocolate, but about sex.  Go to Blockbuster and see for yourself.

WHY HOCKEY IS BETTER THAN SEX

We're talking ice hockey, fans.  Ice hockey's not better than sex because it's so nasty.  Ice hockey spectators feel cheated without a brawl.  Compare hockey to rape, if you're a criminal, not to sex.  There might be some truth if we overlook the violence, I suppose.

So I'll let these comparisons speak more for themselves, something I rarely concede.  

1) Professional hockey's legal.

And professional sex is legal in Hollywood.  Brittany Spears, she breathlessly reveals at a press opportunity, as a pubescent used to walk around her home naked!  "So my dad says, err, Brittany, I think that maybe you should be wearing clothes now that you're getting bigger."  Imagine that!  Young Brittany naked!  Oh!  Oh!

And prostitution is legal in Nevada -- $10 million to county coffers annually.  Sure, gals can form a pro hockey league and guys can hawk their bods, but both professions tend to be gender defined.  Big business equal opportunity in areas of comparative advantage, I say.  

And, whoa, get this:

   Hookers do hot tricks.

   Hockeyers do hat tricks.

This correspondence was totally unrecognized until I thought about it!  Please recall that Holly said that I get all my stuff from the Internet.  This proves that she underestimates me.

2) The puck's always hard.

And very cold.  But let's not think that we have a gender-specific allusion.  A puck is also called a "biscuit", the African American slang for, well, the other side of the goal.

And how about the fact that if you insert an "h" in "puck" and remember that "phone" is pronounced "fone", you say a naughty word!  It's a great icebreaker if you're at a party and want to get a conversation going.  Hockey groupies, thus, are called "puck bunnies".

3) The protective equipment's reusable.

If you remembered to wash it after the last event.  Macho guys didn't used to wear helmets.  When they made them mandatory, they whined that they couldn't tell as much about what was happening.

If you're worried about protection, "hand-manning" is illegal in hockey, another difference.

4) Periods last 20 minutes.

Players rest between hockey periods is the difference.  Watching that Zamboni drive around can't be that interesting for spectators, though.  We have such inane feminine innuendos about hockey periods

   Q: What do tampons and the Chicago Blackhawks have in common?

   A: They're only good for one period and they don't have a second string.

   Q: What do a Polish woman and a hockey player have in common?

   A: They both shower after the third period.  (Sorry about that, those of you from Warsaw.)

A Minnesotan gets a job at K-Mart. At the end of his first day, his manager asks how many sales he made.

Minnesotan: Only one.

Mgr: Only one?

Minnesotan: But it was for $300,000.

Mgr: That's fantastic! How'd you do it?

Minnesotan:  Well, this guy came in looking for a blade sharpener and I talked him into better skates.  And if he was going to get serious, he better get a new stick.  He said he'd like to, but the pond was too rough, so I sold him a Zamboni!  All in all, $300,000.

Mgr: All because he wanted a blade sharpener?

Minnesotan: Well, no. Actually he'd come in to buy his wife a box of tampons. I told him, "Well, your weekend is shot, you might as well play hockey."

5) We can count on 60 minutes of hockey at least twice a week.

But that's just when it's in season.  If we're lucky, we get an overtime.  In hockey, the faceoff is so exciting!  In sex, the faceon can be pretty swell.

The reality is that on the ice or in the bed, the actual scoring is usually measured in seconds.  The rest of the time is just scooting around.

6) Our parents cheer when we score.

Dad: "Into the crease, Timmy!  Hold back, Timmy.  Now shoot!"  (On the rink, the "crease" is a semicircle in front of the goal. Players not in possession of the puck may not enter.)

Mom (after the victory): "Timmy, these ouchies must be so tender.  You just keep soaking while I get out of these sleeves.  Better yet, I'll get in the tub with you...  Why, you're just like Wayne Gretzky when I used to be a puck bunny.  I'll be like a special cheerleader, but we won't tell Dad, will we."

7) A two-on-one or three-on-one isn't uncommon.

I understand how a two-on-one or three-on-one might work, but let's get honest.  In sex and hockey, the one's going to get pounded.  Like a tie-breaking shoot-out, a one-on-one's the game's greatest moment.  It's all about reading what's in the other's mind.  Just you and him.

8) We know we're finished when the buzzer sounds.

Shoot, there's a story in each one of these, just like the chocolate, so let's just wrap them into a hockey player's erotic diary:  "Friday.  Lost 5-3.  Getting my nose broken gave me a boner like a hockey stick so I hired a hooker for an hour.  After I attacked and scored, she washed out her rubber and Dad fucked her for second period.  Changing on the fly, Mom the enforcer got her third.  Buzz."

9) We gained so much insight about sex and chocolate from the movies.  Think of our expectation for a French film.  Ooo la laa!  Then think of our expectation about a French Canadian -- a hockey melee.  There must be more similarity than the performers' refusal to speak English.  In neither contest does that make any difference.

There was that Disney movie about the ragtag multi-cultural low-income pewee hockey "Mighty Ducks".  There were sequels, a la "Rocky" and "Terminator", which tells us something.  In Mighty Ducks II geta goalie Julie who can save virtually every slapshot made at her.  You won't believe this, but these unruly flag-waving kids beat the cheaters from Iceland in the Junior Goodwill Games!  Such drama!  Actually, the drama must have been left on the cutting room floor -- Julie plus all those hormonal boys.  The "five-hole", being the position between the goalie's legs, should be good for a sorry joke.

The hockey video cassette worth watching is Disney's "Miracle", the true one about the American college kids beating the USSR in the 1980 Olympics.  The sex videos not worth watching start with "Aaanis Anguish" and end with "Zulus and Zebras".

Wasn't there a porn flick about a gorgeous chick shipwrecked with a hockey team?  (No, you're confusing it with "Alive", the true one about the plane crash in Chile where 16 rugby players survived by consuming chocolate bars and 29 dead teammates)  If there's not the one about the shipwreck yet, I think she should make herself queen and they'd wave palm branches and stuff.

Q:  So what do the movies tell us about sex and hockey?

A:  That the writers, producers, directors, actors, light guys, best boys (what do you suppose they do?), etc., don't have much interest in hockey.

10) Field hockey is a different sport.  Girls used to wear pleated skirts, white blouses and colored sashes.  Now they wear colorful shorts and colorful shirts.  Propriety and civility, however, do not keep the players from shedding their smart attire when opportunity presents.

Miss Simpson: "Rebecca, you scored quite nicely this afternoon.  Did that little sweeper from St. Angeline even see you coming?"

Rebecca: "Thanks, Coach Simpson.  Actually, we had our eyes wide open the whole time after we let the shower rinse out the shampoo."

Miss Simpson: "I do hope you girls are enjoying our new leotard uniforms as much as I am.  Shorts and shirts are so constraining."

Rebecca: "Oh, yes, Coach Simpson.  Especially how every game you take the time to personally put them on us."

Miss Simpson: "It's so important to untense the lower abdominal muscles after a match.  We'll just remove these panties."

Rebecca: "Right, Coach Simpson.  You stood for the whole game.  Want me to go lower like usual?"

THEREFORE

Combining our expertise with that of the movies and the experts, we've broadly dispelled the hypotheses that chocolate is better than sex.  We acknowledge, however, that the comparison is one of multiple objectives.  If, for example, variety were the only criteria, chocolate would win.

We summarily reject the thesis that ice hockey is better than sex.

We lack sufficient comparative data relating field hockey to sex.  We suspect, however, that a correlation exists.

THE END

****

Holly on the Web

Wherever you found this story on the web, thank you to the server.  My problem is that I've no systematic way to update the various servers.  As literary errors (or just poor word usages) are made known to me, I'll repair that which is salvageable on http://www.asstr.org/~Holly_Rennick/.  My website's not much graphically, I admit, but HTML isn't my native language.

You can contact me via the site's message form, that HTML code by the smart people at ASSTR.

I won't be changing the story significantly, so if you didn't like it before, that much will remain the same.  But if you did like it, an update may read a bit more cleanly.

Holly
