A few days ago I walked into a pub with my friend Andrea. We were there to eat and catch up, and (as usual) were caught off guard by the Wednesday early evening crowd. Ah, right. Playoff season. It was game 7 between Montreal and Washington. I glanced at the TV and burst out laughing.
I’ll tell you why in a second.
First, let me say that I am continually amazed at the commitment and dedication men can have for their sports. Not all men, granted. But I have met many a men who have done what I consider absolutely ridiculous things, all in the name of Sport. More specifically (because I am in Canada here, and it is playoff season), Hockey. I will now pause to see if I can think of one single woman who would make the list.
….talk amongst yourselves….
Nope. Not a one.
Let’s get back to these guys. These crazy, intense guys. I was told this story shortly after the 2002 Winter Olympics in Salt Lake City, Utah. Canada and the US were battling it out for the hockey gold. This acquaintance was so swept up in the hockey mania that he and some buddies decided to drive down and try to get tickets for the gold game. It was so last minute that they couldn’t get any time off work, or put any planning into it at all. They just jumped in a car, and made the 1,500 km drive from Victoria, BC to Salt Lake City non-stop.
While driving home through the Rockies (after having been up for probably a good 48 hours straight) my friend swears on his life that he saw a large, purple, cartoon dinosaur emerge from the trees, cross the road, and disappear into the brush on the other side.
Yes, folks. He was so incredibly sleep deprived that he was hallucinating giant cartoons. This was the point in the trip where he decided it would be a good idea to pull over and let someone else drive.
I met this other guy who spent a lot of money (no, I don’t know how much, but enough that it caused a pretty major fight with the wife) for a seat from The Montreal Forum when it was gutted and changed into a mall. A broken seat that had been ripped out of concrete and was of no use to anyone.
And then there’s my good friend — we’ll call him “Frank” (because that’s his name. Frank, I am SO calling you out on this). Last week he was at the bar with a friend, watching game 5 in the Montreal/Washington series. Montreal had lost three of their previous four games. So it really looked like Washington was going to kick their ass in game 5 and win the quarter finals.
Frank, a Canuck’s fan, turned to his buddy, who was still cheering for Montreal, and said:
“If Montreal pulls themselves out of this mess and wins this series, I’ll shave my head!”
I walk into a pub right at the end of game 7. You know what happened. Even if you don’t follow hockey, you darn well know that Frank was doomed to lose his hair. That’s just the way it works.
I like to think of myself as a kind, loving individual who is supportive of her friends. But right now all I can do is giggle maniacally at Frank’s plight. I mean, come on dude! If you have taught me anything it’s that you DON’T TEMPT FATE! Especially during the playoffs. May your shiny, soon-to-be sunburned scalp be a lesson to you and all the other insane-o hockey freaks out there.
A lesson in what? I’m not sure. But there’s some value or moral buried in the chunks of your fallen hair, my friend.
I’m normally a Canucks girl, but suddenly I find myself also rooting for Montreal. Go Habs Go!
Sculpture “Our Game” by Edie Parker © Wikicommons
Dinosaur © Flickr
Go Habs Go! © Flickr