We here at hockeenight.com are pleased and a little honored to have among our contributors the one and only Slats Radke, who was a hockey beat writer for the Chicago American back in the great era of hockey from the late 50's to the early 70's. We hope to have Slats on board as a regular contributor.

Take it away Slats!

This is what my life has been reduced to.

As you've read above, I did indeed cover the hockey beat in this town. That's when there were morning and afternoon papers, and writers weren't interested in being on television, just in getting the story, filing, and getting to the bar to meet up with the players.

And what players they were! Stosh, Chico, Swoop, Whitey...they were all great guys who played their hearts out every night. Not like players now. Look at them all. Helmets, face masks, visors. They even wear mouthpieces so they can avoid losing teeth. These players need to understand. If you wanted to keep all your teeth, maybe you should have chosen a profession more in tune to your delicate constitution, such as a florist. Or this Duncan Keith? How can a hockey writer take a guy seriously when he has a last name for a first name and a last name for a first name? The day you become Keith Duncan, you can come talk to Slats.

And us writers were a tougher bunch back then. We weren't just writers, we were newspapermen. Look at me now. I am writing for this thing called a "Blog". I think "Blog" is a stupid word. In fact, I think it's downright idiotic. I refuse to add it into my vocabulary.

And I wrote for real editors. Tough, hard living, hard drinking men who always had a carton of Chesterfields in their desk drawer, and a bottle of Rock & Rye on the bookshelf behind their chair. Who am I writing for now? Two goateed meat heads.

There has to be a sort of respect between a writer and whomever he writes for. How am I supposed to trust these two? CT? The man is still married to his first wife. How an you understand what anyone writes about until you've been through three or four wives, and are one bad day at the track away from being in a body cast? And Forklift? What kind of grown man calls himself Forklift? And how can I talk about hockey with him, he doesn't even drink. He needs to understand. I can't sit down and tell him why a defenseman like Pierre Pilotte or Red Kelly is better than this Swedish character in Detroit if we haven't had a few Rock & Ryes.

Still, these meat heads came to me, and I just want to cover some hockey. If you own a newspaper, any newspaper, even the Supermarket Gazette,  and want a hockey writer, say the word.

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