The Bull Pen

It’s the first time in over five years I’ve had two consecutive weeks off work.  So far, this has meant visiting family and friends in Ontario, a despairingly clumsy round of golf, consumption of at times unhealthy amounts of food and alcohol, and, of course, watching the Stanley Cup.

I’m not going to bore you with the details of most of it, though there was an amusing moment in the round of golf when I chunked a divot approximately the size of New Zealand.  I replaced it because I’m a nice person.  I was playing in Brightsgrove, Ontario, on the course where Mike Weir learned the game.  If Weir had been there, he could have played right-handed and one-handed and still beat me by 30 strokes.

I felt fortunate the flight home fell on Monday night, allowing me to watch game six between the Kings and Devils on the in-flight TV.  Or so I hoped.

The reception turned out to be patchier than a werewolf’s quilt.  I didn’t see any of L.A.’s three power play goals.  With the game decided early, I became much more interested in reading Fargo Rock City by Chuck Klosterman.  I highly recommend this book if you grew up listening to 1980’s rock and think “Talk Dirty to Me” by Poison is a romantic song.

ANYWAY, the reading wasn’t so peaceful.  There was an infant in the row behind me and two in the row in front of me.  Yes, there were times ALL THREE were crying at the same time.  I was at the centre of an unholy baby symphony.  No one under the age of eight should be allowed on a plane.

The spotty reception allowed me to see one goal live: the one that made it 6-1 Kings.  I saw the Cup presentation, but with no sound, so I imagined Gary Bettman was telling a story about how they almost lost the Cup on the way to the rink and he would have had to present Dustin Brown with a shot glass.

All in all, it’s been a great holiday, though I have had some weird dreams, like the one where the Oilers re-hire Craig MacTavish.  Like I said, too much food and drink.