First, retiring a player's number.  When I went to Bowling Green State
University
in the early 1970's, they had never retired a player's number.  There was a
wonderful defenseman who I think wore #3 and whose name, I think, was
Roger ---- .  He was a fan favorite.  His specialty was blocking the puck
by dropping down and stopping it with his stomach.  We wanted to have his
jersey retired and the student newspaper ran a coupon for people to fill
out to ask the administration to retire his number.  They got a lot of
response, partly because many of us badgered our non-hockey-loving
friends into filling out the forms, too.  However, they refused to retire
his number.  The player chose to go to graduate school instead of the NHL
because he said he was too small for the NHL.  Most students thought he
was the best hockey player at BG.
 
Has Bowling Green retired anybody's number?  As I remember, the
administration said they didn't want to retire any numbers because
they thought it was a bad idea.  Have they changed their mind?
 
I also said I'd send a funny story.  This has nothing to do with hockey,
but so many people on this list have a good sense of humor that I'm
sending it anyway.  The person who sent it swears it's true.
 
 
*** The Farside Comes To Life In Oregon
 
  I am absolutely not making this incident up; in fact I have
  it all on videotape.  The tape is from a local TV news show
  in Oregon, which sent a reporter out to cover the removal of
  a 45-foot, eight-ton dead whale that washed up on the beach.
  The responsibility for getting rid of the carcass was placed
  on the Oregon State Highway Division, apparently on the
  theory that highways and whales are very similar in the
  sense of being large objects.
 
  So anyway, the highway engineers hit upon the
  plan--remember, I am not making this up--of blowing up the
  whale with dynamite.  The thinking is that the whale would
  be blown into small pieces, which would be eaten by
  seagulls, and that would be that.  A textbook whale removal.
 
  So they moved the spectators back up the beach, put a
  half-ton of dynamite next to the whale and set it off.  I am
  probably not guilty of understatement when I say that what
  follows, on the videotape, is the most wonderful event in
  the history of the universe.  First you see the whale
  carcass disappear in a huge blast of smoke and flame.  Then
  you hear the happy spectators shouting "Yayy!" and "Whee!"
  Then, suddenly, the crowd's tone changes.  You hear a new
  sound like "splud."  You hear a woman's voice shouting "Here
  come pieces of ...MY GOD!" Something smears the camera lens.
 
  Later, the reporter explains:  "The humor of the entire
  situation suddenly gave way to a run for survival as huge
  chunks of whale blubber fell everywhere."  One piece caved
  in the roof of a car parked more than a quarter of a mile
  away. Remaining on the beach were several rotting whale
  sectors the size of condominium units.  There was no sign of
  the seagulls who had no doubt permanently relocated to
  Brazil.  This is a very sobering videotape.  Here at the
  institute, we watch it often, especially at parties.
 
  But this is no time for gaiety.  This is a time to get hold
  of the folks at the Oregon State Highway Division and ask
  them, when they get done cleaning up the beaches, to give us
  an estimate on the US Capitol.