24 February 2014
Live To Win
Would have been a black mark on the Hockey name if I had not woke to the Hell's bells of my alarm clock at 4:00 AM to watch Canada kick the motherfucking shit out of the hopeful, hopeless Swedes who really ought to change the colours of their flag from yellow and blue to black and blue. A younger Beer would stayed up all night. That is not me any more except when I am camping.
Snow was falling outside. The Hammer and I accepted its cold invitation to play as soon as the medals were draped over my countrymen's deserving necks.
Thought we would be the first visitors to scar our nearest park's six inch deep virgin pow but I was wrong. Couple of young neighbourhood love birds had already half finished a snow fort which my dog signalled her approval of with a warm stream of piss.
"You must have been watching the game too," the top of the pair guessed educatedly.
"Every fucking minute of it," I nodded.
We were pretty nonchalant about our country's hockey team's success. No fucking way the once logging toughened, now computer literate Swedes were going to do anything but lose.
Just another golden dream Canadian Day the rest of the world dreams of waking up to.
At home I finished off the bottle of Arran's cream liqueur (highly recommended by the way) Sonja and I had fortified a couple morning pots of coffee with during the game and then slept the rest of the morning.
As I slept I dreamed of yet another golden day four years from now in motherfucking Korea.