The lair of the jack strap | The Press

First days of the Gregorian year, rue Cartier in Quebec. He mist. The people seem rather cheerful lads.

I suppose them happy to be well connected, or reconnected to Hydro-Quebec.

(By the way, did you know that the 1^er January is also a Christian feast of the circumcision of Christ?)

Cartier is a very city artery of Quebec.

Once teeming and noisy, it had no shortage of places for rumba. The last known brothel in the city resisted it for a long time.

But it has aged, like me, the population and the clientele of Jules et Jim, an ancestral bar. But it still remains very attractive.

I have my habits there: a coffee roastery, recruitment center for the FADOQ; a fruit and vegetable stall, where I’m always cold with Demers tomatoes; a bakery, which my body mass index tries to avoid; etc

And invariably, my neighborhood bookstore, where I make my rounds of inspection, like an assistant manager.

I see the book by Pierre Gervais, written with Mathias Brunet: Inside the locker room. The reviews are super good, and I like to read the journalist Brunet.

I remember the sympathetic Nanny in the series Throw and countwho managed the lair of the jack strapthe locker room.

My ne-native senses are on the alert. I leave with the work.

End of the diurnal part, this meaningless day. I sit down to read Gerv, as he’s nicknamed in hockey.

Drawn from the first pages, I let myself slip into an episode of the autism spectrum as I like them, when reading invades me.

A few hours and I land on the last page. A rare relaxation, and in the cradle, sleep.

Final score: a treat! I devoured it whole, this book, as eagerly as a smoked meat from Phil, in my neighborhood. Nothing but good in there.

Don’t get me wrong, we’re not talking about a Pulitzer Prize here, but what efficiency! The content obviously, magical for a Quebecer who loves this sport, and the collected writing of an experienced columnist.

They covered the topics, and wrote down exactly what a hockey maniac wants to learn. Personalities, for example: I knew it, always hated it, Pacioretty!

Manias, superstitions and other OCDs (obsessive compulsive disorders). We still learned about Patrick Roy, and about other amazing katas of some.

We all want to know the crisp stories. Sex, drugs and rock and roll. I understand that Gerv was very restrained, we understand that, but we would have loved it… Apart from a Finn, who eats a cursed one!

I would still like to empty a couple of bottles of Bordeaux with him, Gerv, a good vintage, in return for a few confidences.

And finally, urban legends and other gossip. And details of the players’ room, and equipment, etc. I know it sounds silly to the layman, but we like it, the rest of us!

Gerv sniffed it, smells of equipment, divine exhalations of hard-working little gentlemen.

I myself remember the fragrance and the wetness that emanated from the hockey bags of my guy, and his teammates, in my past life as a driver of future stars. A smoke!

And, consequently, the fog in the windows of the vehicle after a few minutes, a Turkish bath. And the equipment that spends the night under the fan in the motel bathroom, a copy of the Ritz, at the Black Lake tournament…

This reading also reminded me of my “career” as a hockey player. I’m sure you’re dying to know more…

I summarize it for you: hard work, but obvious lack of talent.

A feat. I don’t remember by what chance, but I was chosen, along with another, to play in the annual Sept-Îles regional hockey tournament with the young Innu of Maliotenam, an aboriginal community near Sept-Îles. We were two blonds on the bench, we decided!

Adorable little guys. I would have been adopted if I could have, to spend my entire career with them.

Continuation and end of this trajectory in minor hockey: bantam, at Domaine Saint-Charles, Duberger district, in Quebec. But outdoor rink, no arena. Was bored of my seven islands…

Two years playing either for the Condors or for the Eagles. The only two clubs in place. So the schedule looked like this: Eagles visit Condors; Condors visit the Eagles, and so on.

And guess who reached the championship finals? Exactly, you are really strong: the Eagles and the Condors!

Tell you how we hated each other at the end of winter, playing against the same faces!

Eventually, this career ended in a somewhat dismal fashion. Suspended from a garage league. Gotta do it, don’t be proud of it. However, I was only going to find out what was going on when things were stirring a little hard, sniffling, let’s say…

At one point, in my early 50s, I felt like Guy Lafleur, I felt like I had left too soon, and I thought about returning to the game.

But finally, I was calmed down. Obviously, I was going to exaggerate, and become a perfect candidate for a heart attack. And perhaps cause an overflow of registrations, unknown friends, who would have hoped to “pinch” the mayor.

Great moments in sports history, my career, I know.

But a bit short for a great book like that of Messrs. Gervais and Brunet.