I have been asked to review Club Fred's version of 1993. This view of the year will probably differ somewhat from that seen by "Time", "The Wall Street Journal". or David Brinkley. Actually, the medium that comes to mind is "Weekly World News". So, here goes.

To insure accuracy, I thought I would look over my notes. Oh- I don't have any notes. Well, I guess I'll just have to rely on what I'm told I remember.

Chicago- Whores, Blues, To The Maxx, New AVPF

In January, Club Freddites attended the Midwest Regional Tournament (formerly the Chicago tournament , but the name had to be changed to conform to the dictates of the monolithic National Organization). Unlike most tournaments, this one was held over what was a 3-day weekend for many. Great concept- 3 days to party, and only 2 days of hockey. Reasonable ratio. At the beginning of the tournament, we walk into the building. In the gym there is a group of teenage women playing volleyball. I love Chicago.

Before the tournament there was much speculation (no, I don't know by whom-- I was just told there was much speculation) concerning who was favored to win. The favorites were Cape Cod & St. Louis. St. Louis had some apparent strengths due to the recruitment of players from other teams (OK, hockey whores). Yes, this is odd-- the idea of hockey whores playing FOR St. Louis. It was pointed out that the key recruit for SL was Mr. Carbo from Seatown. Many knowledgeable hockey pundits said "but nobody from Seatown (home of Jimi Hendrix) has ever won a..." But we all knew history didn't matter-- who listens to pundits, anyway!

The official party was held mid-tournament, thus insuring that all participants could attend, even if they had to leave immediately after end of tournament, (something other tournaments might consider), as well as making the second day of play that much more enjoyable. The Otto (the Fred Otto Schick Memorial Most Offensive Player Award, as if you didn't know) was won by our favorite Canadian, FLB. Her clinching act was that she was able to offend even last year's Otto winner, no easy task. Heinz also gave a special "Miss You So Badly" preventative award to Kelly and Tim, who were not present to accept. It is believed that they were off somewhere earning the award.

After tournament play was completed, it was time for the unofficial party (the reason people fly to Chicago from thousands of miles away). The St. Louis boys, contrary to their purported reputation of being whiners and sore losers, decided they were going home, and couldn't participate in after-tournament partying. Much pleading and cajoling by many parties were unable to change their intently rational minds. Even the most heartfelt entreaties of your VPF had no effect. However, Markie V saw what we were all doing wrong, and stepped in with the proper solution-- bribery!! After a beer or twelve, he had convinced our Archbound friends that there were more critical things to be sought in Chicago than hockey. As he worked his magic under the watchful gaze of the Olive Garden bartender (one eye on the gang, one eye on the tab), others of us were quietly consuming a delightful meal at a centrally located table. After mocking the nearby nuclear families relentlessly, it was determined by management that we might like a private room. Greatly offended by this request, and having more and more difficulty finding the bathroom, we all decided it was time for the Blues!

The group quietly left the restaurant after settling our indebtedness therein (we think) and headed for the Kingston Mines, after a brief stop at the hotel. At least most of us headed there. Seems there was some confusion in the parking lot about which way were the hotel rooms, and one Busch boy became convinced that they lay in the direction of O'Hare. Nevertheless, those remaining made it to the North Side, with only an intermediate stop for a 12-pack (in case the Mines were out). Once warmly ensconced in a dark corner, next to a mysterious curtain, the show began. After a couple of preliminary sets (which were clearly designed to confuse us, as they switched from stage to stage), one of the singers thought it was appropriate to involve Mr. Carbo in the act. Mr. Carbo performed magnificently, as one would expect. Before we knew it the headliner was ready to strut her stuff. Ms. Holly Maxx (used to tour with Ike Turner after Tina left) gave a truly inspired performance. We thought it was because she was a consummate professional, but little did we know that she had become enamored of our own Markie V.

Yes, she eyed him, she sang to him, she caressed him with her music--I had never before seen a woman make love to a man in front of so many people, with her clothes on. This was not mere lust. Between sets, Ms. Maxx introduced our Mr. V to her MOTHER! We're expecting wedding invites any moment. Unfortunately, we eventually had to leave (Rob had to catch a plane), so we separated the two lovebirds, dragged Mr. Carbo away from his multiple squeezes, woke up the Rickey kids, and drove back to the suburbs, but not before a unanimous acclaim that Markie V be appointed an Assistant Vice President of Fun. We made it to the hotel safely, where we picked up our lost Buscher, Mr. Carbo had a brief fling with an inflatable friend, and we went to sleep (except for Rob, who had to catch a ride in an hour so he could get to the airport for a flight 6 hours later-- Rob, we need to talk to your travel agent). And so another glorious Chicago (oops, Midwest) tournament passed, and we proceeded to...

North Carolina- Cardboard Figures, Blues, Angels, Harps

In March, several stalwart teams (and a few queens) made it to East Carolina University for the East Coast Championships (formerly the East Coast Championships- some people accept authority much too easily). Taking a clue from the Chicago tournament, this one was not held over a 3 day weekend, but the Tournament Party was held between the first and second days of play. The undisputed pre-tournament favorites here were the Cape Cod Cranberry Muffins, a status they no doubt achieved because of their experience in playing on the East Coast.

I can't remember what (or if) we did for dinner, but our celebratory phase began with the traditional Cape Cod acquisition of two-dimensional friends. After unsuccessfully trying to have a lucid conversation with Kathy Ireland, and failing to determine who was at fault for the lack of success, I joined many revelers at the corner blues bar. I think it was on a corner. I think they had blues. Well, it was a bar. I knew this because a non-uncle from the Lone Star state kept offering to buy me beers if I would introduce him to the youngest hockey party patrons I had seen this side of the Canadian border.

Eventually a band did begin to play, and it did seem like the blues. But they could clearly see that something was missing. Try as they did, they could not make up for the lack of an authentic Chicago style blues harp player. But lucky for them, a star was in their midst. Immediately upon learning of their good fortune, the band invited the Most Hallowed Almighty National Director himself to join them for a set, and the folks of Greensomething, North Carolina were introduced to blues the way we do them in Chicago. But even great musical events have to end, and Texans have to hit on older women, so we wandered off to breakfast (a meal some enjoyed so much, they tried it again the next morning). The rest of the tournament was played, and people immediately drove off in many different directions (apparently only the Chicago team had the brains to fly to a tournament that was hundreds of miles away from everyone). The only thing left to do was prepare for...

Champaign- Records, Records, Records

In May, Nationals were held at the University of Illinois, in beautiful Champaign/Urbana. Yes, May- the month with Memorial Day, that wonderful first weekend of summer, an exciting 3-day weekend perfect for frolicking, and the beginning of the period when it is acceptable to wear white shoes at country club functions. So it only seemed appropriate to schedule the United States National Underwater Hockey Championships for that ideal time-- the weekend before Memorial Day Weekend. Ah, but to ease the hardship on those who work for a living, the tournament was scheduled to last not the usual mere 3 days, but a fantastic four fabulous fun-filled days! Oh well, at least it gave us a perfect opportunity to set some records, and set them we did.

Pre-tournament favorites were defending champion Club Duck and perennial contender Seatown. Skeptics said "but nobody from Seatown (home of Robert Cray) has ever won a...", but we in the world of hockey never listen to skeptics. The extended length of the tournament allowed Club Fred to operate for the longest continuous period in its history, taking quite a toll on us all. Many new members were recruited (including one James Tiberius Kirk, who was last seen absconding with a Club Suck T-shirt), and many old members were forced to renew their dues, no matter how hard they tried (4 days gives us a lot of time to harass them). New, updated membership cards enabled everyone to look their best for the record. And the added creature comforts like reclining lawn chairs and convenient bushes helped everyone enjoy their time around the clubhouse.

But creature comforts pail when matched against the competitive nature of Fredfans. Always attempting to outdo ourselves, club members participated in several record-setting escapades. Almost every trip to the beer store set a record for efficiency, with the final trip setting what could be a standard for the ages. If only I could remember what it was. Thanks to all for their contributions, but special thanks are due to Roger, for saving Pedro from what could have been serious harm, Rob for his quick dismount to lighten the load, and Markie V for standing in the road like a complete idiot making sure no traffic would block our approach. It addition to the speed records, your Club also set a consumption record of seven kegs of beer. I guess a 4-day tournament isn't all bad.

After the tournament there was of course an official party, with the boys from Seatown putting their best face forward. When all tired of the official party, it was time to see what kind of entertainment we could find. Let's see, it's Sunday night in a college town between semesters. Guess we'll have to make our own entertainment. We managed to find a tavern with reasonable music, a nice tight dance floor, a pleasant patio, and absolutely no sense of humor. Since it had already been established in the past that Club Fred had no trouble discreetly sneaking kegs into drinking establishments, a more adventurous approach was called for. Could a keg be brought into such an establishment by a small group of screaming, waving, drunkards who would try to divert attention from themselves by climbing over the patio fence? What the hell, it was worth it; after all, the bar was charging a totally unreasonable 25 cents for a beer! And so, we had an opportunity to set a record for the most ransom paid to free a keg which had already been purchased, as well as starting our way to the record for most police visits to Club Fred (3, by the time the night was over).

After leaving said humorless establishment, a couple of the party specialists from Club Fuck, invited all up to a lovely hospitality suite, where we were able to continue our revelry. Even Pedro was having a good time, though he kept asking which person was Hugh Hefner. People gave their all in an effort to Win the Party, but as a wise sage (me) once said, in the best parties, everyone wins, and this was certainly an example. As people gradually faded after the extended days of revelry, some few stalwarts continued into the morning almost up to the time where we had to wake them up for breakfast! And so to the next stop on the hockey trail...

INTERRUPTIVE FOOTNOTE: It is my solemn duty to have to face the horrible consequences prescribed by years of harassment (or, as some would note, the mere pointing out of certain facts), but yes, Mr. Carbo, the trophy now reads Chicago, Chicago, San Francisco, Chicago...California, Chicago... SEATOWN (home of Frasier Crane)! But, back to reality...

Cape Cod- More Foreigners than You Could Shake an English Muffin At

In October, the friendly folks of Cape Cod hosted their first annual? Once Around the Pond tournament. Since the Cape Codders are known for their practicality and wisdom, the tournament was held over a 3-day weekend. The assortment of teams was a wonder to behold. Not only were there folks from England, Toronto, and of course, the FFFs, but there was even a team from Connecticut! After all these years of snipe hunting! Pre-tournament favorites were the hometown Codpieces and the FFFs.

Adult behavior and sportsmanship abounded, but we knew these couldn't last forever, so we headed for the post-tournament party at the local VFW hall. A fine and plentiful meal was enjoyed by all. Well, almost all. Actually it was especially plentiful for most of us because a sizable contingent of Canadians got lost on a rotary and spent the entire evening calling an answering machine asking for directions. Unfortunately for them, the only directions they got were to leave a message at the tone. But for those of us present, the dinner and award ceremony was the epitome of joyful communion and international goodwill. There were even translators provided.

After the ceremonies, it was decided that the foreigners would be more comfortable somewhere other than a VFW hall, but we moved to a local dance establishment anyway, where the FFFs proved that it is possible to Lose the Party. After the bar closed, or our designated driver had to go to sleep (I forget which), several of us transferred to the humble abode of Spacey & Kimball, where the Brits were shown that rock & roll is truly an American invention. Thence on to...

Seatown- what the hell's in Seatown?

In November, the Pacific Coast Championships were held in the old Pacific Northwest. I'm not sure if they were actually in Seatown or in some other town named after a crappy beer, but then who really cares? Since I am neither pacific nor live on a coast, I was unable to attend. However, I was told that the pre-tournament favorites were Club Truck and the favorite son Seatowners. Cynics said "but nobody from Seatown (home of Pearl Jam) has ever won a... oh wait a minute. Never mind, I guess they are the favorites".

A true Club Fred event could never truly be held in Seatown, since Fred Otto (our guru) has been said to be unwelcome there. However, we are informed that those present believe they had a good time.

And so, the year winds down. Next thing you know it will be January, and time for the next Chicago (oops- Midwest Regional) Tournament, January 15-17. Better book now, because we're always looking for more Assistant Vice Presidents of Fun!!!