Frankly My Dear, I Don't Give A Puck.

Am not a sports fan. Not even a little.

Al is. Avid like.

So when one of our teams makes it to some big season's grand finale;
World Series, World Championship, Stupid Bowl, or Stanley Cup, I know that resistance is futile; I will listen to details and stats incessantly.

Well. Listen is a stretch.

Last night there was a game on the tv and I was in the room with said tv. Reading my book.

Glancing at the screen to the sound of a Canadian accent to see if owner of accent is good looking, Al mistakes this as actual interest.

"Blah blah blah, penalties, blah, finger biting, blah blah, broke his back, blah. blah. blah."

"Oh. I was just checking to see if he was hot. The hot guy broke his back? That sucks. I hope his face is ok."

"You're unbelievable."

Offer up silent thanks to the Universe for Owen being too much of a pussy to ever want to play such a violent sport.

More book. I bet Jamie Fraser would clean the fucking ice with any of these guys.

"Remember how pissed you were when I suggested that Tom Brady play football in assless chaps?"

Am nearly launched off the bed as Al leaps up and starts punching mattress whilst whooping and squealing in delight.

"Really?"

"They just scored a goal!" With the jumping and pumping of the fists.

"Look at you. Really?"

Grab laptop and commence dicking around.

"Cool!!"

"I know!! They scored another one! They could win this fucking thing!"

"No. Not that. I wanna see this movie!"




"It's the kid from Charlie and The Chocolate Factory, and Spiderwick! I love that kid! He's all grown up and trying to bang Julia Robert's niece! Look!"

"Yeah. As soon as I grow a vagina I'll go see it with you."

Offer up silent plea to Universe to deliver me gay best friend.

Contemplate writing to friends in Vancouver who are parents of eight year old ultimate hockey fan;

Hey Skipper! You know if I cared any less about this hockey shit I'd be dead right? But if I gave even the smallest poop? Which I don't. Not even the teeniest little crumb, I'd want Canada to win. Don't tell Al.

Al insisting game is quite exciting, so spend minute or so watching.

"Hehehehehe."

"What now?"

"Listening to the announcer guys? You can make just about everything they say sound dirty;

'Butt ending'?  That's not gay at all.

'Dead puck'?  Didn't sound like 'Dead fuck' in my head. Nope.

'Double minor' ? Jailbait twins! Yay threesome!

'Poke check'?  Yeah. I checked. I got poked.

'Three on one'?  In your dreams babe."

"That's enough outta you. Aren't you going babysitting?"

Text from friend;

"Come down at eleven. No way I'm not gonna see them win this game!"

Hand Al tissue with which to wipe tears of joy from his cheeks as his team has emerged victorious;

"I'll never get it.  Win or lose, those guys are still making millions and fucking supermodels.  Win or lose you're still a working stiff barely making ends meet and not fucking anything resembling a supermodel. See ya later."

Wash up, don jammies, grab book and head to friend's house.

"Did you watch?  Wasn't that awesome!!??"

"Apparently."

Cuddle up on couch and join Jamie in the wilds of 18th century America. And just for fun,  dress him in a hockey jersey and assless chaps.