Relaxing at home. Yes, Odysseus found this tiresome, after 2o-odd years away from wife, son, dog, and swineherd. But sometimes, after three or four or eight nights out, I like a night round the hearth-fire, glass of mead in hand. No wine-dark sea in sight...instead, I see dark wine, in this case a cheapie called Nero. Not zero, hero, or Fred Shero, but Nero--to be drunk only when the palace is burning.
So lately there has been much celebrating, and celebrating has drink inherent in it. Celebrating a friend's achievement--and scoring 500 NHL goals over 18 years verily smacks of drink. Celebrating 30 years out of high school, and particularly the smashing of those hideous walls that kept groups from groups. The bringing down of those barriers has drink. Celebrating no sleep--and celebrating sleep too, when it comes, and comes again. Celebrating, now, the cusp of another chapter in the celebrated annals of WPBHL-rooted sport, as we stand poised on the precipice of five months of intense hour-long tilts in the gym. All of this veritably smacks of drink.
Verily, dear Abbot, all that you chronicle is drink: friends; friends who've done well; winning; lack of sleep; arrival of sleep; and promise of sport, combat...hockey. You have drink dear Abbot. Strong drink. Well done.
ReplyDeletePS - beautiful f*cking photo. Hmm - I remember that moment well. Nice to have it captured. Perhaps the moment of the night - for us little ball hockey guys anyways...
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