Missed $DKNG and $PENN? $GAN is the real sports gambling play
$GAN is essentially the SaaS provider that powers online gambling. It is a pure play on the growth of online betting and should see a huge spike when professional sports return. It recently IPO’d and should see a huge run similar to DKNG. GAN and Fan Duel signed a long-term partnership deal last year. March 2020 GAN signed a deal with PENN along with Michigan's Sault Ste tribe of Chippewa Indians as their latest clients. The big news, in my opinion, which hasn't been made public is a partnership with a major U.S. casino. GAN has said "it could not reveal the client’s name, as they sought anonymity until they received regulatory approval." Some have speculated MGM Grand to be this anonymous client. They have an exclusive deal to be the provider for Fan Duel as they role out gambling in additional states. "We are currently supporting FanDuel’s operations in the States of Pennsylvania, New Jersey and Indiana. FanDuel has a unilateral option to require GAN to support its online launch into any additional intra-State US markets which permits Internet gambling during the contract term, with such launch to take place within six (6) months of the state publishing regulations defining the technical requirements for undertaking the operations of such Internet gambling. Our agreement with FanDuel provides that we will be the exclusive provider of their casino gaming operations for the initial three years following a launch date. " Rather than trying to predict which casino or app will dominate online gambling, pick the software company powering all of them. TL;DR - Buy GAN shares because it doesn’t have options yet (I probably lost 90% of the sub with that)
Skin begins to melt around two-hundred degrees Fahrenheit
1 Burnham chomps fry after fry, each freshly removed from the metal basket that now hangs above the bubbling vat of grease. He fights the agonizing heat against his teeth and the soft tissue of his mouth and throat. Each fry is like swallowing a lit match. The tips of his index finger and thumb are bright red. “Not again.” It’s a voice from behind him. “Hi, Frank,” Burnham says without turning around. “Come on, dude. This has to stop.” Burnham listens to a fry crunch between his molars. His fingers and tongue throb. He stares at the yellowish tendrils of grease that stretch away from the fry basket before detaching and falling into the bubbling pool below. “You hear me?” Frank says. “Yes, Frank. I hear you. Jesus.” Frank is a full-timer here at Benny’s Burgers so, though he’s no older than nineteen or twenty, he thinks he’s a boss. Burnham finally turns and looks at him. He feels tired and annoyed, but thrilled by the prospect of confrontation. An image of Harmony threatens to overwhelm him, but he fights it, suppresses it, focuses his energy on Frank. Although Frank is clearly Hispanic, Burnham didn’t much care about him until a few weeks ago. Burnham had been working the front counter, covering for a coworker, when in walked Frank and his little sister, Anna, who was no older than five. Frank had her up on his shoulders and she was giggling uncontrollably. Frank had introduced her to everyone, including Burnham, who did his best to hide his distaste. Something about the sight of Frank and Anna together—their smiles and the way they clearly cared about each other—had led to a sort of snapping inside Burnham, a weird and frustrating feeling of loss and jealousy. “I’ll tell the boss-lady,” Frank says now. “This isn’t sanitary.” When Burnham doesn’t answer—instead, just stares at him—Frank points at the French fries and continues: “Seriously, dude, if Angie knew you were touching the food it would be your ass.” “Frank,” Burnham says, “you’re Mexican, right?” Frank scowls and leans back in an exaggerated way, as if Burnham has just raised a hand to him. “What? Why does it matter?” Burnham eats a fry. “I’m just curious.” Frank’s mouth drops open—the same stupid look he always gets when he’s confused: A horse-toothed pink hole in the middle of his bushy face. Burnham points at the black locks protruding from Frank’s red hat and says, “You’ve got Mexican hair. And you’re dark-complected. You look Mexican.” “Well, my mom is Mexican,” Frank tells him. “My grandparents came here in the seventies or something.” Burnham looks down at the grease. He thinks about jabbing his finger in, like he did yesterday. He remembers the sudden pain, how quickly he had to recoil. Frank had somehow seen the whole thing, had come darting over with wide eyes. Burnham remembers Frank’s lecture, remembers forcing a smile and slowly plunging his finger in again. He remembers the shock on Frank’s face. The grease bubbles, bubbles, and then Burnham sees a new image: A melting face, cheeks drooping like hot wax. “Frank,” he says. “Stay the hell away from me.” 2 Sunlight seeps through the curtains. The room takes on an orange hue. It is both dark and light at the same time. “Harmony, dear. Where’s Harmony?” “Mom,” Burnham says. “Come on. Remember?” Burnham helps his mother out of her recliner, ignoring the persistent memories of his sister. An infomercial host’s excited voice rages out of the old box-shaped television’s speakers: “Get our new state-of-the-art wok! Just nineteen-ninety-five! Call now and receive a second wok at no cost!” “Why do you watch this shit?” Burnham says. Images of colorful, steaming vegetables overwhelm the screen. Lately it’s been nothing but infomercials, like this one, and Burnham has begun to wonder if his mother has lost her ability to comprehend stories, if that’s why she never watches normal shows anymore. He leans over and switches the television off before helping her into the wheelchair. “Do I have cards tonight?” “Not tonight, Mom.” Burnham begins wheeling her towards the bathroom, ignoring the ancient brown stains—spilled coffee? Pepsi?—in the carpet. He ignores the dead flowers and plants scattered around the house, their browned leaves as crinkly as that cellophane shit they package DVDs and Blu-rays with. His mother says, “I won at hearts last Saturday. You should’ve seen it. I shot the moon and Jackie Glennon started running her damn filthy mouth, and then she just stalked off and went home. What a sight it was! Did you know that people…people…um….” Her voice trails off. “That’s nice about your card game, Mom, wow, good for you.” Fuck me, I need a cigarette, Burnham thinks. His mother’s ramblings are commonplace. She tells these tales about people Burnham doesn’t even know, her brain misfiring like an old engine, sparking up some random memory of an event that took place decades ago. This time it’s card games, probably from the late 1980s or thereabouts, back when Burnham was just a kid. Yesterday it was a fender-bender she had in the parking lot of a grocery store that closed up in 2001. Last week she was going on about Dad winning three-hundred dollars at the casino in Sault Sainte Marie, before Burnham was born. Subsequently, however, Dad had accidentally dropped his wallet into Lake Superior, unwillingly committing his miniscule fortune to the deep. “Good for me, yes,” his mother says. “I usually win, but when I don’t, to hell with those bitches!” The walls of the house make it look like the place fell asleep in 1995 and never woke up. Each room is adorned with flowered wallpaper or borders that long ago began to warp and peel from the walls. The Springy, pastel colors have faded: Some of the yellows appear almost white, or ivory. The flowery designs seem decades outdated. Every time Burnham makes this trek from living room to bathroom, passing through the dining room and kitchen, he is reminded of old commercials from the 90s—commercials he likes to watch on YouTube every now and again. He thinks about how Sprite cans looked so different twenty years ago, or how 1990s Ford trucks, so new-looking on the computer screen, still remind him of the weathered rust-buckets he sees in the neighborhood. “We need to get you in a time machine or something,” he tells her as he forces the chair over the threshold, and she begins humming something…a pretty song that he can’t place, the lyrics eluding him. “What is that?” he asks, but she doesn’t answer, and quickly stops humming. Once inside the bathroom, Burnham’s mother wraps her arms around the back of his neck. He lifts, pulling her to her feet and guiding her until she finds her footing. He helps her lower her drawers and holds her hand to support her until she eases down safely onto the toilet. “I’ll be right out here. I’ll leave the door open.” Burnham steps out of the bathroom and into the dining room, which is just a room away, on the other side of the kitchen. He begins poking around the dining table, which is littered with old junk mail, newspapers, and other useless trash. “We need to throw all this shit away,” he says, raising his voice so she’ll hear him, but she doesn’t answer. “We could take it all out back and have a nice fire,” he says. He slides a page of expired fast food coupons aside and finds a notepad nestled beneath it. It’s one of those notepads with yellow paper. Burnham has always wondered what the use of yellow paper is. He lifts the notepad and stares at the writing on its top page, a collection of barely-legible cursive squiggles. She calls from the bathroom: “Bernie? Honey, can you help me now?” “Just a second, Mom.” He stares at the frantic scrawling on the notepad and notices that it’s a series of questions. “Bernie, are you right there? I can’t stand up.” “Yeah, Mom, hang on.” He reads: Am I sick? Where is Harmony? Is laundry done? And down at the bottom, Will someone please wake me up? There is a sudden and familiar thunk from the bathroom—the sound of the seat clanking against the porcelain rim of the toilet. Burnham tosses the notepad. He rushes through the kitchen and into the bathroom, expecting to find his mother sprawled out on the floor. Instead, he discovers that she is still in a seated position atop the toilet. “I fell right back down,” she says, her face flushed. She looks pouty, fish-lipped, but there’s the faintest evidence of a smile, too. “Jesus Christ, Mom. Are you okay?” “I’m fine, but I’m pretty sure my ass’ll have a nice bruise.” Burnham stares at her. Her eyes are locked on his with an intensity and awareness he hasn’t seen much for the past couple of years. There’s no confused emptiness in them; instead, they are the oily-colored, expectant eyes of an amateur comedienne waiting for a laugh. It occurs to him that she is joking around, having a rare moment of clarity. He feels a sense of profound wonder—life is a goddamn funny thing sometimes—but he also feels exposed, on the brink of being found out, though he isn’t sure he is hiding anything from her. “Where have you been?” Burnham says, and for a reason he doesn’t quite understand, punches the wall next to the doorframe. 3 Burnham sits in his gray Malibu across the street from a homey bi-level with beige siding and chocolate-colored shutters. The grass in the yard is dry, yellowed, and the giant maple tree that flanks the house has begun to lose its leaves, though many of them have held onto their greenness with impressive stubbornness. Burnham guesses that less than half of the tree has taken on its usual mid-autumn color, though eventually all of its leaves will be as red as an ocean sunset. Of course, he can’t see any of this detail in the gloom, but he knows from previous visits. Since his mother’s moment of clarity a couple weeks ago, he has been stricken by an impatient feeling, as if he needs to act. He’s been driving past this house on a near nightly basis. He lights a cigarette, inhales, and looks at the digital clock on the car radio: 12:14 am. He cracks the window and waits. At 12:17 a pair of headlights swings into the street in front of him, approaching slowly. He leans down a little to avoid being seen, but he is far enough away, and parked on the other side of the street anyways, so he knows there’s no reason to worry. The car slows, its brakes squeaking a little, and eases into the driveway. The garage door goes up to reveal a dim orange light and a myriad of garagey things: A lawnmower, some tools hanging on the back wall, a couple garbage cans. Burnham flicks his cigarette away and trots through the front yard as the rusty old Cavalier crawls to a stop in the garage. He leans against the siding next to the opening, listening for the sound of the driver’s side door opening and then closing. When he hears the rusty wunk of the door slamming shut, he peeks around the corner. A chunky Mexican woman stands with her back to him, fumbling with her keys next to the car door. Her hair stretches down her back, drooping to a few inches below her ass, like a horse’s tail. She has on maroon scrubs, which answers a question for him: she must be a nurse. He wants to say something, and nearly does, but then the door that leads into the house opens, and little Anna comes hopping out excitedly. Frank stands in the doorway behind her with a huge horse’s grin on his face. “Mommy!” the girl shouts, and Burnham’s legs go rubbery at the sound of her voice. He hadn’t noticed it before, back at Benny’s Burgers, but Anna’s voice sounds remarkably similar to Harmony’s. An odd mixture of hatred and love fills him, threatens to pull his feet out from beneath him. He reaches in his pocket and feels his lighter there, the rough grooves of its spark wheel against his thumb. The feeling calms him, brings him back to reality a little, but he can’t shake the odd emotion that has overwhelmed him—a feeling that only gets worse when Frank’s mother bends down and wraps her arms around the little girl in a tight, motherly embrace. It suddenly occurs to Burnham that he isn’t sure what he’s doing here, what the point of this visit is. He’s been toying with the idea of vandalizing the place, maybe starting a small fire in the garage, but now he’s just confused…and thankful that he hadn’t spoken when he saw Frank’s mother exiting her car. What would he have said? What would’ve been the point? As she walks into the house, Frank’s mother presses a button on the wall and the garage door begins to rumble shut. Burnham scampers down the driveway, but then stops when he sees a newspaper lying at the foot of the curb. His hands begin to shake and then he laughs under his breath. He plucks up the newspaper, unrolls it, sets it aflame with his lighter, and pushes it into Frank’s mailbox. Burnham sprints to his car and drives off, laughing uncontrollably all the way home. 4 Harmony hops off her purple bicycle, points at the candy store a couple doors down, and says, “I want some! Can we? Please, Bernie?” Burnham stops and stands up, his feet on either side of his Huffy bike. It’s a bright yellow day with blue skies and wispy, tissue-thin clouds scattered about like white freckles. The wind is like nestling your cheek against freshly dried towels. “Okay,” Burnham tells her. “But I only have two dollars. One candy for you, one for me.” She hops up and down, her sandy blonde pigtails bouncing. Her hair sparkles in the sunshine. “Yay! Thanks, Bernie! You’re the best big brother EVER!” He smiles and hands her the two dollars. There are a few people wandering the sidewalks, and a few cars cruising up and down Main Street, but it’s not too busy in town today. Burnham recognizes many of the people as neighbors and other common townsfolk. There’s really nothing to be nervous about, and anyways, he doesn’t feel like taking the time to chain their bikes to the bike rack. “Okay, Harmony,” he says, “I’ll stay here and watch our bikes. You can go in the candy store by yourself, but you have to come back the second you’re done. Got it?” She nods her head emphatically. “Yes, of course, of course, I will.” Harmony giggles and scampers away. Burnham watches her disappear into the front door, turns his head to watch the moderate town traffic drift by, leans against the brick wall of Ed’s Hardware, and pulls a cigarette to lips. He’d stolen a couple packs from Sammy’s Quick Stop a few days ago, which was fine, no one would miss them. But, of course, Harmony had found them stashed way in his bedroom and confronted him about it. He’d been somewhat embarrassed about it, but he was more afraid that she’d tell on him. So instead of panicking and snapping at her, which would be an open invitation to go narcing to Mom, he sat down with her and had a friendly chat. He explained to her that since he was underage, he had stolen the cigarettes when the cashier wasn’t behind the counter where they were kept. He also explained that it was wrong to steal and that he regretted it, and hoped to never have to do it again, which was the truth (his friend Tony was turning eighteen soon, so stealing wouldn’t be necessary anymore). Burnham told Harmony that he trusted her and she liked that, and promised not to tattle on him. Problem solved. And still, even today, Burnham feels the need to be overly nice to her, to let her have her way—and it seems like she knows it. She’s acting cheery, but she keeps asking for stuff, seemingly manipulating him in her own childish way to let her have whatever she wants. He lights the cigarette now, inhales quickly, and then cradles the cigarette in his palm, hiding it from plain view so he won’t be caught. Burnham is much more careful now. If a little girl could catch him in the act, then a cop definitely could, if he wasn’t extremely careful. A minute or so after he stomps out the cigarette, Harmony comes sprinting out of the candy store, a wild and determined look on her face. She appears to be cradling something. “What’s the big rush?” he asks her. She says, “Quick, quick, let’s go!” As she approaches Burnham notices what it is she’s cradling against her chest: about fourteen Snickers bars. He grabs her arm and says, “What are you doing with all those?” “Let go, Bernie, let go!” He pulls her away from her bike. “Did you steal these? You little thief! What did I tell you about stealing?” She makes a mean and angry face, a sharp scowl that is, in its own way, quite cute. “If you can steal, I can steal!” He sighs and kneels down in front of her. He looks back towards the candy store, but no one has followed her. He has to admit, he’s a little impressed that she could get away with it. Hiding this odd feeling of pride, he says, “Yes, but I told you, I regret stealing because it makes me feel like a bad guy, like in the movies. You know how in the movies the bad guys always steal, and the good guys always do the right thing? I learned it the hard way, but I definitely would rather be a good guy than a bad guy. I want to do the right thing, and the right thing to do now would be to return the candy bars and apologize.” Harmony drops the Snickers bars to the ground, places her hands on her hips, and shakes her head. “Nuh-uh, no way. You do it!” Burnham points at the candy bars. “Pick them up. Now.” “No.” “You got yourself in trouble. No one’s gonna save you. You have to do it yourself. Consider it a lesson. Trust me, you’ll be glad after you give them back. You’ll feel a lot better.” “If you don’t do it, I’ll tell Mom you stole cigarettes and that I saw you smoking.” “Okay, that’s fine. Mom will be mad at me for sure, but I’m a teenager. She’ll be way more disappointed when she finds out you stole candy. So if you wanna play this game, that’s fine. I’m willing to take the fall because Mom will be more focused on her little girl turning into a little thief.” This finally seems to get through to her. Harmony thinks it over, toeing at the ground beneath her, and at the pile of candy bars. Then she sticks her tongue out at him, bends over, and begins scooping the Snickers bars up. Burnham smiles and helps her pile them up against her chest, as they were before. She looks up at him and says, “You’re mean,” and then walks slowly back to the candy store. Burnham turns away and lights a second cigarette. By the time he finishes it, it occurs to him that Harmony is taking too long. It is a candy store, and a child can get lost in her excitement in such a place, but Harmony isn’t in there shopping right now. Maybe the cashier is lecturing her, which could be a good thing, but if it goes on as long as this, in Burnham’s eyes, that’s just overdoing it. Harmony’s a little girl. She can only take so much berating. Maybe he should go in and help her out. Burnham stamps out the cigarette, wheels both bikes to the rack, and chains them both up. He makes the short trek to the candy store, but then freezes before going in. There on the ground, a couple feet from the curb, are three unopened Snickers bars. Burnham’s heart thuds as he turns and pulls the candy store’s door open. He looks around. There are a few folks shopping, but not many. It doesn’t take long for him to notice that Harmony isn’t here. A couple hours later, she is registered as missing. Two weeks later, she is declared dead. 5 Burnham hoists his mother from the wheelchair and lays her atop the bed. She lets out a soft grunt as she tries to adjust her position. Burnham helps her slip the pillow beneath her head. He looks her over. Her hair is whiter than it should be for a woman of fifty-five, but there is a certain beauty in it, too. It still seems lively, bouncy, as if it’s in some sort of denial, clinging to whatever life it has left. There are thick bags beneath her eyes and pink blotches here and there on her cheeks. Her lips are thin and pale. Burnham can almost see the skull beneath her face, but at the same time there is still something mysteriously youthful about her. If he stares at her long enough, he can almost see Harmony in there. “When your sister died—” his mother begins, but he interrupts her. “Don’t, Mom. It’s time for sleep.” She continues anyways. “When she died, it wasn’t your fault. I’m sorry if I was distant, but I hope you know it wasn’t your fault.” Burnham takes a deep breath and smiles at her, hoping she can’t see in his eyes what this revelation means to him. She’s said it before, quite a few times, but not since she’s been sick. He isn’t quite sure how to feel about it. On one hand, he’s grateful for her moment of clarity here, and it touches him to know she worries about him, even in her current state. He also knows there’s a place deep within him that needs to hear that Harmony’s disappearance wasn’t his fault, but there’s another part of him that actually wishes his mother would blame him, wishes that she’d hate him with an intense vigor. He pulls the covers up for her, nestling them under her chin. With some effort, she rolls onto her side. She smiles very subtly, comfortably. “Do you think maybe I’m already sleeping?” “Shh, Mom. It’s okay.” Burnham reaches over and clicks the light off. The light from the hallway still illuminates her face. “Sometimes I think I must be asleep and that when I go to bed maybe I’ll really wake up, and I’ll roll over, and your dad will be right here next to me, and maybe even Harmony will be asleep in between us.” Burnham says, “That sounds great, Mom. Sounds a lot like heaven.” Burnham was just nine—Harmony an infant—when their father died. He had been working in the yard and inexplicably collapsed. He was posthumously diagnosed with a heart murmur, a relatively minor condition that, in rare cases only, causes sudden death. Burnham’s father was dead before he hit the ground. Nobody’s fault. Harmony, on the other hand…. Well, that was Burnham’s fault. Burnham’s fault in part, that is, because, as much as he’d like to shoulder all the blame himself, he knows most of the blame is reserved for the kidnapper: A middle-aged man named Rolando Flores who had, before escaping to the United States, killed five young girls in Mexico. Now, sixteen years after Harmony disappeared without a trace, Flores, convicted, is serving six consecutive life sentences in a Michigan prison. Flores could have had his sentence reduced (as if it mattered) if he’d only revealed where Harmony’s body was. But he never did. All he’d said was that he’d thrown her into a furnace. “Heaven,” Burnham’s mother says through a yawn. “That sounds nice.” Burnham leaves her bedroom and begins to pull the door shut before pausing. He stares at her and listens to her rhythmic breathing. He wonders how many breaths she has left. “Cards tomorrow,” she says, her voice low and thick. He’s been living with her for two years, since her diagnosis. He’d quit his job as a news cameraman in Ohio to return to Michigan, because there was no one else alive to take care of her. And since there is some money put away—but not enough to make him rich—from the insurance payout after his father’s death, Burnham is able to survive on a part-time gig as a fast food cook. This also affords him plenty of time to take care of his mother. She begins humming that familiar tune again, and like before, Burnham is unable to decipher the song—but he hums along with her, remembering the melody just fine. After a few seconds her face goes slack and she drifts off. She is beautiful when she sleeps. “Please don’t wake up,” he whispers to her, and closes the door softly. 6 His sleep is a restless one, haunted by a recurring dream…. There are ribbons of black smoke and stalagmites of fire spiraling up into the sky. There are white ashes flitting around in the air like giant snowflakes. Everything is peaceful. So peaceful. Burnham finds himself surrounded by walls of flames that, for the most part, burn quietly. He is standing in Frank’s front yard and he is listening, listening. He is waiting for the sound of voices, the sound of screaming, the refreshing sound of melting. Burnham once read on some message board that skin begins to melt around two-hundred degrees Fahrenheit. He doesn’t know if it’s true. But he hopes to find out. The flames pop and crackle, like Rice Krispies. They flick high into the air, twelve, fifteen feet. They engulf everything: Frank’s house, his mother’s Cavalier, the tall maple tree. Leaves float down, ignite, and fold in on themselves, disappearing into glowing embers. Burnham realizes he is holding someone’s hand. He looks down, over, and sees a little girl’s face. He sees the smile of angels, hears the innocent giggle. The bouncy pigtails. The squinted eyes, coffee-brown like her mother’s. Her lips move, but no sound escapes her. He reads her lips: “Hi, Bernie.” “Hey, punk,” he says back, though no sound escapes him either. Harmony looks away from him and stares into the wall of flames. A lost look creeps into her gaze. A lost, frightened look. Her eyes gleam orange. Burnham squeezes her hand gently, thinking, I’m here, I’ll always be here, and I’m so sorry I made you go in alone. But then the light grows brighter, and the air gets uncomfortably hot and thick, and everything smells of charred wood and burnt meat. And as he tries to pull her closer to him, to protect her, she begins to drift away, somehow escaping his grip. The ground seems to liquefy and she floats, floats away from him, drifting into danger like a crippled boat on stormy seas. She turns to face him, splashing impossibly in the grass and dirt, screaming inaudibly, tears tracking down her face. Burnham reaches, reaches, but he’s rooted in, can’t move, and then it happens: the terrible and glorious melting. “Never again! Never, ever again!” he mouths, promising something he can’t guarantee, can’t because he knows it’s hopeless, he is who he is, but Oh God he wants to change because there is good in him, he’s not a monster, and it’s just not worth it…. The walls close in and it feels like glass shattering around him, razor shards pelting his skin, and it’s fire, just fire, but it’s alive and like all living things it needs to eat…. And oh, Jesus, the pain. 7 Burnham stands on the sidewalk and stares at the last door his sister ever opened. The candy store closed down a few years ago and has since been replaced by a pet food store. At this hour, all the businesses on the Main Street strip are closed—and anyways, the town is not as upbeat or welcoming as it was just sixteen years ago. The town is dirtier than it used to be, more unsafe, more ominous. At 2:00 am, there is very little traffic. The mid-October air is cool enough now so that Burnham can see his breath under the orange streetlamp. He stares through this white steam at the door and replays the memory of pulling it open and stepping inside only to find…nothing. He thinks about the Snickers bars lying at the curb. He’d turned his back to smoke, taken his eyes off of her, and somewhere in the five seconds it would’ve taken her to walk back into the candy store, Rolando Flores had pulled up to the curb and yanked her into his vehicle, into a hell that Burnham cannot possibly imagine or fathom. He lifts a smoke to his lips and pauses before lighting it. He laughs quietly. “‘But time, goes by, so slowly….’” he sings softly. “Unchained Melody.” Wow, Mom, that’s beautiful. He lights the cigarette and takes a puff. He glares at the building again and flicks the lighter’s wheel a few times: snik, snik, snik…. The smoke warms him, fills all the hollow places that exist deep inside of him. He flicks the lighter again, stares at the blue eye at the base of the flame. He holds it to his cheek and fights the urge to pull away. Against excruciating pain, he counts the seconds. After twenty-one seconds, an odd coldness spreads across his face and everything glows red out of the corner of his eye.
[60 Teams, 60 Days] Lake Superior State University Lakers
Lake Superior State University (LSSU/Lake State) Western Collegiate Hockey Association (WCHA) Founded: 1946 Location: Sault Ste. Marie, MI Total Enrollment: 2600 Total Attendance: 4000 (2000 Avg) Nickname: Lakers - LSSU's teams carry the nickname of Laker due in part to the school's name and the proximity to Lake Superior. Before being called the Lakers, they were nicknamed the Hornets. Live Mascot: The live mascot for the Lakers is Seamore the Sea Duck. Seamore recently underwent a redesign two years ago to become the above version. With the redesign he became the sole mascot of the Lakers. Before Seamore was a dark blue bird and was often accompanied by a sailor mascot named Foghorn. Many students and alumni prefer the older design of Seamore but have been accepting of the new look. Band: LSSU Pep Band - The LSSU Pep Band primary function is playing songs at LSSU Hockey games. Being a smaller school the Pep Band is not very large and is completely student ran. The Pep Band exists as a student organization and is not part of any academic program. They provide entertainment primarily to the students attending as they are located above the student section of the arena. Fight Song: The LSSU Fight song goes as follows:
We’re gonna rise up for old gold and blue We’re gonna show our Laker pride Take your mighty wins in stride We’ve the power on our side We’re gonna fight, fight on to victory We’re gonna win this game tonight We have the spirit in our team So go fight, you Lakers, win. GO Go You Lakers Fight GO FIGHT WIN FIGHT FIGHT You Lakers Win GO FIGHT WIN
To be honest, nobody sings the fight song's lyrics. In my 4 years of attendance I never heard anyone sing them and did not know there were any lyrics until I began researching for this article. Most Lakers only know the Fight Song by the rhythm and hearing it played by the Pep Band after a goal. Arena:Taffy Abel Arena - The Taffy Abel Arena is part of the Norris Center Athletic Complex which houses all indoor Lake State Athletics. It was built in 1976 and was last renovated last in 1995. It was named after Clarence "Taffy" Abel who is an American Hockey player born in Sault Ste Marie, MI. The Taffy Abel has a capacity of 4,000 seats. It also holds the distinction of being the only arena in the United States that has a capacity higher than the total enrollment of the school it services. Town Information: Sault Ste. Marie, MI (aka The Soo) is a smaller college town with a population of about 15,000. It is on the border of Michigan's Upper Peninsula(UP) and Canada. Across the border is the much larger town of Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario which has a population of about 75,000. The main attractions for The Soo include the Soo Locks, A variety of nature trails/parks, Kewadin Casino, The Soo Eagles (NAHL), Soo Thunderbirds(NOJHL) and the Soo Greyhounds (OHL) (The Greyhounds even let this scrub play for them). First Season: 15-5-0 All-time Record: 900–736–146 Championships: NCAA 3 (1988, 1992 and 1994), NAIA 2 (1972, 1974) Frozen Four Appearances: 4 (1988, 1992, 1993, 1994) Tournament Appearances: NCAA 10 (1985, 1988, 1989, 1990, 1991, 1992, 1993, 1994, 1995, 1996), NAIA 6 (1968, 1969, 1970, 1972, 1973, 1974) Conference Titles:
Conference Regular Season Champions: 1973–74, 1987–88, 1990–91, 1995–96
Rivals Northern Michigan University(NMU) - Being the closest NCAA hockey program and one of the 3 in the UP, NMU is a natural rival for the Lakers. Michigan Technological University(MI Tech) - Being another UP university with a NCAA hockey program, MI Tech makes another natural rival. LSSU was originally an offshoot of MI Tech and is considered by many to be it's little sibling school. I will note that while NMU and Tech are LSSU's main rivals there have not been many big rivalry moments in the last few seasons leading to a more laid back rivalry. 2014-2015 Season Record: 8-28-2 (Conference 7-20-1) Coach: Damon Whitten(1st Year) [2014-2015 Roster](Link) Season Summary: It was a rough first year for Coach Whitten. After having a good chunk of the previous roster either signing with a AHL/NHL team or graduating out of the program(Including all 3 goaltenders), the fresh Laker team did not fair well this season. The players showed flashes of brilliance but could not put together the pieces to come out on top most nights. The relatively you team will hopefully have time to grow together and build team chemistry for the following seasons. While the team did make their first appearance in the WCHA tournament since joining last year, they were quickly defeated by the tournament's eventual champions Minnesota State. 2015-2016 Season [Schedule](Link) Drafted Players on Roster: Being a small school with a currently less than successful program it should not be shocking to many that there are no currently drafted players playing on the Lakers. Most players that are picked up from the team are done so after the draft as a signing and do not stick around at LSSU. Key Games Oct. 17 Northern Michigan This is the home opener against one of the rival UP schools so it will set the tone for the year. Dec. 11/12 Michigan Tech The Lakers double header against their other UP rival will be a test for the players. Tech is coming off a phenomenal season and it will be interesting to see how LSSU stacks up. Players to Watch ** Gordon Defiel - G - So** It's proving time for Gordie going into his sophomore season at LSSU. The team will need big plays by him to improve from last year's setbacks. ** Bryce Schmitt - F - Sr** Coming in second last season on the team in points, Bryce enters his senior season with the Lakers. He will be looked to for production and leadership by the team. ** Eric Drapluk - D - Sr** Drapluk lead the D corps for the Lakers last year coming in 3rd overall in points for the team. Another senior that will be looked to lead this team in a positive direction. (LSSU’s) History Greatest Players: Doug Weight - Center Brian Rolston - Left Wing Jim Dowd - Center Honorable Mention: Kellan Lain who made his NHL debut January 18, 2014 for the Canucks and was involved in a full-line brawl setting an NHL record for fastest fight to start a career and was ejected from the game. Greatest Coaches:
Jeff Jackson, 182–52–25: 6 Years
Ron Mason, 129–47–8: 7 Years
Frank Anzalone, 223–205–41: 11 Years
First NCAA Championship,April 2nd 1988, St. Lawrence - Score 4-3 OT LSSU:
First Game, 1966, VFW Chippewas - Score 7-0 LSSU:
Last NCAA Title, April 2 1994, Boston U - Score 9-1 LSSU:
Closing School and City Information City Population: 15,000 School History Founded as Soo Tech in 1946 as a satellite school of Michigan Tech. Lake State eventually became its own entity known as Lake Superior State College in 1966 and officially split from tech in 1970. They were granted university status in 1987. Traditions Hoholik Victory Bell: After any Laker Hockey Victory the team ditches their skates and runs outside the arena to ring the victory bell surrounded by the fans. The tradition started in the early 1980's. A new bell was installed after the original was heavily damaged following the celebration of the 1992 NCAA Championship. Local Dining:
West Pier is a drive-in burger joint that is a favorite among locals and tourists alike. West Pier has the best burger I have ever eaten and is pretty reasonably priced for a small operation. Sadly they are only open for part of the year and only accept cash.
Clydes is West Pier's main competition and the cause of a town rivalry for burgers. Also a small drive-in burger joint that is only open part of the year, Clydes is no slouch when it comes to their food. While I personally prefer West Pier, Clydes is a great second choice.
The Antlers is a small restaurant located in The Soo that features a wide variety of wild game. From bison to beef, chicken to ostrich, there is always something good to try at The Antlers.
Random Trivia: Men's Hockey is the only D1 sport at LSSU. LSSU's Main Campus is built on an old fort named Fort Brady. Lake State was mentioned on the Colbert Report once for banishing the work Truthiness. Academics Big programs for LSSU include Nursing, Fire Science, Fisheries & Wildlife, and Business. Final Thoughts: This was a really good way to look back at my time as a Laker and is bringing up many memories from watching my team play. I only wish I had found out about this sooner so I would have a bit longer to work on my article. Thanks to JohnDoeMonopoly for making this all possible. Subreddits /CollegeHockey - For even more information about college hockey (men’s and women’s!) /60Teams60Days - For further information about this series
Question about working for a Native American tribe as a non-native
So I live in Northern Michigan and I see job openings for the local tribe/casino/enterprise or whatever you want to call it. The job would be right for me but the very last sentence of the job info page literally said, "Native American preferred." This is sort of disconcerting to me. I am not native. And I have heard rumors in the past that this company can/will terminate you if there happens to be a native that wants the job, even if they are not exactly qualified to do it. However, I've asked around recently in regards to that concern and people have told me that they have a new director and that it's not like that anymore... but still.. So I guess I was just wondering if, as a non-native/Indian, one should stay away from Native organizations since they are apparently not under the same laws as everyone else? It seems really shitty if that's really the way it is, but I'm trying to get a job in this field and they are the only positions available in my area. EDIT: I found this during the job application process:
Title VII of the Civil Rights Act of 1964/1991 prohibits employers from making employment decisions based on an employee's race, color, religion, sex or national origin. Alleged violations of which are often addressed by the EEOC. The Tribe is a sovereign nation and as such is exempt from Title VII and from EEOC oversight. The Tribe will use the information provided for reporting purposes and for the determination of preference in hiring as defined in the Sault Tribe Board of Director approved "Hiring Preference" Policy. The "Hiring Preference" Policy provides preference to Native Americans during the selection process. If you have questions regarding this policy, please use the contact us link on the our website.
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