We won tonight. Bittersweet triumph as we acknowledge the chemistry of the team coming together in the final game of the season.
As with all unions, good or bad, there will never be another one like it.
But what do you know about hockey, baby Osprey? I won't make assumptions based on you not having any teeth.
I wonder how well you could play hockey, kid. It's a team sport, you know. Crows could do it, I'm sure, but they're the social type. You ospreys, not so much. Hell you don't even go by ospreys, just osprey, you're that introverted.
You know what, though? So am I.
Don't tell the girls.
I said don't.
Every week it's the same, wee osprey. I show up and play and chat and have a great time, but that pre-game dread, kid, it gets me bad. Dragging myself out of my cozy isolated routine to do loud and fast things on two skinny steel blades across slippery ice. Cutting loose and yelling and pretending that I know what the fuck I'm doing even though eighty percent of the time I have no clue and ninety percent of the people out there can tell. Sixty minutes of adrenaline-fueled glee doing exactly the opposite of what everyone would expect of sweet little me, then coming home and coming down and spending the next six days and twenty-something hours dreading the next match and all the social interactions that come with it.
What do you think, kid. You think you could do it?
Yeah, neither did I. But I just found out they offer a payment plan so I guess I'll be at it again next season.
Thanks for listening, little baby.
Enjoy your social-anxiety-free life.
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