11 March 2014
Another Hockey Night in Canada
It was a hard rain falling. Hard as a government is of hearing. The sort of rain that is the only thing preventing Dope City becoming populous enough to have a Canadian army presence nearby and our own big league baseball team.
I decided, after a few drinks, and a brief consultation with my instincts, that perhaps tonight was not a good night to drink and drive. Always trust your instincts, motherfuckers. Unless you have bad instincts - then fuck 'em.
There was still time to catch a bus where I was going - another hockey game, this time a local junior b play-off game - so I sorted out my route and pick up times on the bus company's handy computer page. Was not surprised to find the bus would take me to the rink in slightly more time than it would take me to walk there. Buses in some places are there to help out the common man. Around Dope City they are here to punish us for not owning a fucking car.
For most people this unrelenting punishment is a daily fact of life like waking up in jail is for a prisoner. No fucking wonder so many people think they do not fucking count.
A man has to make himself be counted these days.
As I drank and waited for the time I would have to run to the bus stop I played records and played with the dog. The Hammer appreciates getting to hang out inside when the weather is bad. We listened to The Saints' "I'm Stranded" a couple times because Sonja had gone out drinking with my sisters Kitty and Sal. They were going to the bar Rob Ford was spotted at a month or so ago. My sisters heard it was the place to be. I hear it is not what it is cracked up to be.
There was a 4x4 parked in the bus stop. Only somebody from Steepleton would park at a bus stop. If Dope City mayor Gregor Robertson saw somebody parked like that he would drown them in a vat of Happy Planet juice. In fact, that is what I felt like doing too but I did not have a vat of Happy Planet juice handy.
As I boarded the bus I asked the driver, "What an asshole. Who parks like that?"
"People in Steepleton do it all the time," the driver told me. Must be something in the Bible against buses.
Jesus never rode in one! Therefore bus riders must be the spawn of the Devil.
Unlike Dope City buses there is hardly any advertising on Steepleton buses. Just a couple placed by the fucking government and one from some fucking anti-abortion crusaders.
The windows of the bus were steamier than an East End Chinese restaurant in January.
Half the people were not white. The other half needed to pull up their pants pretty fucking bad.
Everybody thanked the driver when they got off. Small town class.
Went to the crowded pre-game bar not all that far from the arena where a seat was saved for me by some of the baddest old motherfuckers in town. As we drank we listened to Chis Isaak singing from a satellite somewhere above the Hellish clouds and some people (including football mad me) watched the Whitecaps make fools of the New York team in town to begin the new season.
There were lots of fights during the sloppily played game. No good ones. No blood. An above average junior b hockey game. Not the blood bath games once were in the old barn.