Oh I have been oh-so delinquent in my do-me's. (Nope, not right either.)
I've been bad and I need to make amends (There. That'll do it.)So, in order to return with a spurt of energy that would make a rabid rabbit revel in wacky wonder, I'm going to post the team reminder I sent out for Mother's Day. Then I can play catch-up (or, as we say in Canada, ketchup) and talk about Doctor Who, The Sex Talk, Xombi, Attack the Block, Thor's day and other all-over-the-place kind of stuff.
Here's what my teammates read the evening of Mother's Day as we started our summer season of Tuesday night hockey.
Ahh Mother's Day: a salute to the women who bring so much joy to the world, while always keeping in mind that you should never be too Norman Bates about the whole thing.
My Fellow Dragons:
I truly and sincerely hope that you've done you're best to ensure that your most beloved ones of the opposite sex have had a terrific Mother's Day. But having said that, I also hope that you've kept in mind that you're playing hockey this Tuesday night.
Preparing an extra special and supremely fancy-schmancy meal for your mom as a surprise treat so she doesn't have to cook -- that's fine.
Doing a special load of laundry for your wife in cold water and set on 'delicate' so that her naughty knickers are properly cleaned -- that's fine.
Wearing the special slave girl outfit so your honey can be the gladiator for a change -- hell, that's fine too.
But I pray to the gods of hockey that no Dragon was out there doing too much gardening and has therefore hurt his back -- because that would be truly unacceptable.
Remember remember remember and repeat after me: "Honey, you know I love you and I will do the dishes, paint your toenails and happily wear the blindfold on this most special of days -- but I gotta play me some hockey on Tuesday and you know I can't risk straining my back! So, woman, I am telling you and I am begging you -- tie me up, tie me down, flip me over and spank me like a naughty teenager from the 1950s, but do not make me overdo the gardening cuz that sweet-sweet siren named "Dragons" is calling my name and I cannot resist her gloriously beckoning song!"
Of course it would have helped if I had sent this e-mail *before* today's gorgeous and potentially hazardous gardening weather, but between my wife receiving her Canadian citizenship, having to supervise my niece as well as my two boys for the weekend and ensuring that today was memorable and relatively hassle-free for my lovely wife -- well, my plate was full to the point of overflowing.
So, I hope your back is not suffering due to this e-mail's relative tardiness.
HOCKEY!!!
Tuesday night we return at the oh so very late hour of eleven o'clock. We're playing Wolfpack 2 -- and I have to figure these guys are inferior sequels to the original Wolfpack. These guys are no Godfathers or Dark Knights; much more likely they're like Charlie's Angels, Lara Croft or, dare I say it, The Matrix and they're merely a poorly carbon copied repeat of a more glorious and awe-inspiring original concept.
I don't always hate sequels, but I already hate these guys. So let's play film critic to their tedious, tired concepts and tear them to shreds.
Hockey. Tuesday late at night.
Hope to see you there,
Kevin.
p.s. - And nary a "mother joke" in the whole e-mail. Shocking. Simply shocking.
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