14 April 2012

Marquis de Canuck

At the track again last night. Made fifty cents. Did not exactly pay my bar bill.

Canucks game was on there too. Crowd was light because of the game. The local hockey team is like a giant magnet for fucking losers. Most people prefer to suffer at home than in public.

Watching the horses make their way around the 5/8ths oval was not as entertaining as watching the Canuck fans who prefer to suffer in public I was surrounded with stare at their team in misbelief. Near tears they were. I felt like the Marquis de Sade, the torture on their faces was so lashingly exquisite.

"Good thing we aren't Canuck fans," Sonja said to me as she too watched the orca filled sky fall with all the thud of Newt Gingrich's Republican presidential candidacy around us.

On the way home we listened to the radio. The consensus, as if the Canuck coach gives a rat's ass about what radio broadcasters and the sort of people who phone in to their shows think, was that the back up goalie should be given the next start and perhaps the rest of the series to salvage. If you are looking for Luongo today, try looking underneath a bus. He is under one somewhere.

Canucks fans are understandably disappointed. No one gets to riot when their team gets their bum spanked in the first round.

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