In light of the weekend hockey events, I have decided to chime in and beat a dead horse. With a different perspective of course.
Because this is a "diary" I will take you back to 1992. It is a warm atumn evening and the lawn needs to be mowed. I am 13 years old and hate that lawn. In fact at this point, I hate life. Parents are dumb, and people are annoying in general. As I mow back and forth about 12 times, it is then time to dump the bag.(yes, I knew at level 3 it took 12 swipes to fill that @#$%&*! bag)
As I go to the dump pile, which seemed about 8 miles away, I see something come from nowhere out of the corner of my eye. The bag of grass goes flying with the clippings all over the freshly mowed grass. I was busy minding my business doing my stupid chores; the right way and some DOUCHE messes with me. It is on! I proceed to chase this freak around the yard and run his ass into a corner on the deck. His only option is to grab the 3 wood that is resting in the corner. Next thing I know I am staring up at the gray skies. That MF'er knocked me cold with the 3 wood.(he threw it and it connected...he knew he could not get in close enough to swing it at me) Who would do such a thing?
You guessed it, that MF'er was my LITTLE brother. Par for the course. I wondered why the events at Yost on Saturday felt so familiar after watching the replays.....