In Sliverville when I was growing up you were either a redneck or you were a redneck. Sliverville made Saskatchewan look sophisticated. Still does.
Just about everybody cheered for the Toronto Maple Leafs. It was not so much that the Leafs were any good, they weren't, it was that they not the Fucking Frogs. The Fucking Frogs were what the Montreal Canadiens were known to one and all in Sliverville unless you wanted a prostate exam with a snoot boot.
The Canadiens were a good hockey team. But they spoke too much French for the good people of Sliverville.
The only exception to the the rule of Hating the Fucking Frogs was a guy I went to school with by the name of Pierre McPhee. I still remember him admitting in school that he was a Frog Lover. Pierre's dad was an old boxer from the Scottish part of Quebec. He was every bit as good a fighter as John Ferguson and taught Pierre every trick he knew. Being Scottish in Quebec can teach a boy a thing or two. The Scots are a tough breed for a nation that never one a war anyone can remember unless you call curling a war. Pierre's mom was a tough old French broad who claimed to have grown up just down the road from the Lafleur family.
So when Pierre got ganged up on in the alley on the way home from school the day he admitted he was a closet Canadiens fan things did not go for the bullies the way they figured they would. There was a lot of blood in the alley's puddles and none of it was Pierre's. When he was finished defending himself Pierre walked into his back yard which adjoined the alley where he was met by his father. His father said, "Not bad work son. But I can still see one of them moving from here. Next time finish the job."
When Pierre got a little older he played lacrosse for Sliverville until the team was banned from competition because of Pierre and his teammates finishing the job.