Christmas, and the long winter ahead, stirs memories of long past and longer forgotten. Memories of a better time, which really is nothing more than sugar plums and peppermint candy clouding the true reality of our lives. And our loss. I remember though, how every pothole full of frozen water became a potential hockey rink. And after our parents checked out the safety of the venue, the thickness of the ice, and whether or not it was in the range of "Mom's call" for supper, our Montreal Forum, Chicago Stadium, or Maple Leaf Gardens (spit) would be cleared for occupation by the masses. Games beginning in the morning, running through to dark, only stopping for Mom's call, or the occasional pee in the bush. Hours and hours of unsupervised play time. Days ending with rosy cheeks and frozen wet pant legs. Does this even happen anymore? The following was a Twitter thread many years ago. I should clean it up and build it out, and I...
(Fake) Pastor Dino's rant trap.