30 April 2007

Sunday Morning

The Hammer missed several hours of good hockey today tied up outside the pub while her owner had lunch and emptied pints at his local. Watching a game at the pub is much better when the Canucks are not playing. When the Canucks are playing it is like watching a game and having to listen to 100 drunken colour commentators at the same time. And the only thing they can agree on is that they need another beer and they would like to kill one another.

I like being the first one through the pub doors in the morning. The bartender grumbled, "Morning Beer," at me and poured me a couple pints. The second pint always tastes better after it has had a few minutes to warm up. I told the bartender, "Turn off the motherfucking tv poker. There's a hockey game starting in New York City."

After the second pint I ordered up a faller's breakfast: three eggs, bacon, ham, sausages, hash browns ("And make sure there is some fucking hash in there this time!"), three slices of toast and a small side of chili. "And bring me a bowl of water for the Hammer, will you? She's thirstier than I am."

The cook brought the bowl of water outside to the dog with a couple sausages. The Hammer likes the pub cook better than Canuck fans like to deceive themselves about their teams' chances of winning the Stanley Cup. My dog was all batty brown eyes and icicly drool hanging from her mouth to the cigarette butt littered ground after she had her sausages and massage from the cook.

The Rangers/Sabres game was livelier than the Sunday morning pub crowd as they slowly assembled their hangovers and began playing cribbage and talking about the Canucks, gas prices and recent and upcoming surgical procedures. I figured the game should be over by 1:30 and I would get back out into the sunshine with the non-drinking world. Overtime meant a couple extra pints and the possibility I would be run over crossing the road at the wrong time on the way home.

It also meant I could watch a few more women bend over and the pet the Hammer outside the pub window. Having a dog is like owning your own free titty peep show.

I made it home ok, the Canucks got hammered nearly as bad as me after I had a few PBRs and a plate of Sonja's lasagna. I felt real good after the meal. I think Sonja slipped a little homegrown into the recipe.

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