Wings Fan Versus Avs Puppy


I heard someone say on “Real Time With Bill Maher” recently, that the 20’s are the most formative period in a person’s life.

This may or may not be true, but it is an interesting possibility to consider.

What I believe to be absolutely true: the 20’s are the most radical and friendly to the extreme decade in one’s life.

You are a 20 year old one day, which is essentially a child in an adult’s body.

In the morning, you are 26, with the grim realities of adulthood and the anti-fun concept of reponsibility staring you in the face, perhaps coupled with a hangover.

When I use the word “radical”, this is the kind of change I am talking about.

This state of affairs made itself as clear to me as it has in quite some time just a few days ago.  Read on if you please and I’ll tell you about it.

I write this post from a hotel in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, having just spent the last few days in Key West for a dear pal’s wedding.

I can’t tell you how relieved I am that I’m off the hook for destination weddings until next summer, by the way.

Anyway, the story here is what happened the night before I jetted down to the charming, yet seedy island in the Florida Keys.

Having the urge to play some pool, a favorite game of mine, I had the rotten luck of sitting next to a diminutive loud mouth while I waited my turn to dethrone the reigning, and slightly buzzed, champion of the table.

“Did the Avs win tonight?” I told the lad that I did not know, and that I was irritated with my own teams run of rotten play.

That’s when things started to go south.

He made it clear that he hated the Wings. I made it clear we both knew why.  You get the picture.

Smaller people, especially men, are some of the most transparent, and often the most pitiful.

They resent most of humanity for being taller than them, so they seek revenge in every way possible.

Of course, this is known as the “Napoleon Complex.”  I find the British term even funnier and more insulting when dealing with little folks: “The Terrier Syndrome”.

I would guess that this chap was somewhere between 21 and 24.

Now, I just recently turned 29.

I cannot at this moment call myself a responsible person, or a man of restraint, and keep a straight face.

However, I will call myself someone who wants to be, and will keep trying to earn this title however many times I come up………short.

So, did I talk back to this confused little person who could pass as an extra from “Willow?” I did indeed.

Did I enjoy the pettiness of proving someone wrong? Always have. Always will.

Did I borrow from “Reservoir Dogs” in referring to him as “little doggie” and that I’d be happy to muzzle him? Oh yes.

Did I have it in me to shove back when he shoved me? No.

As trying as this was, I had the presence of mind to not be the almost thirty year old buffoon, who is kicked out of a bar because of a shoving match with someone significantly younger and dumber over a sports “rivalry.”

By the way, we of Hockeytown, and any other fair minded hockey person, are hip to the fact that this is not a rivalry anymore.

As we live in a time and a place in human history when looking at someone sideways can result in a chat with a posturing person of authority, “chickening out” is not the manly the thing to do, but sometimes it is the best thing to do.

“I don’t want to do this. I want to play some billiards and go to Florida in the morning”, was what I told myself. So I followed my own orders.

Imagining the little doggie walking home, stumbling and cursing at his displeasure at being removed from the tavern in question, brings a smile to my face, and can be credited as a cheap victory of strategy over idiocy.

At the same time, I am red blooded enough to feel some shame at not striking back.

As sophisticated as you may find yourself, the male ego is an unforgiving master

So, I will swallow my pride and stay out of trouble…..but darn, little Avs doggie.

A muzzle would do you some good.

Ian….and as always….Go Wings!/ianflemingdunha