We would have been twenty one or twenty two, somewhere thereabouts. The lads drove up on a Friday night and met me at a bar on the south end of town which just happened to be our Friday haunt. Sometime after closing we staggered through the door of my parents house and crashed.
Next morning we loaded up on beer and meat, the two staples required for a weekend in the wilderness. The amount of alcohol we brought up was ridiculous. The amount of food nearly as much. I assured my friends that the one thing we could rely on was that we were going to eat like kings.
For some reason I repeated this phrase a number of times. Why, I have no idea. Twenty years later I still haven’t lived it down.
This was one of those trips where nearly everything went wrong from the start. We got to the landing where I realized I had forgotten the keys. Two hours would have been lost going back to town so we went to a nearby cabin and borrowed some snips so we could get the boat unchained from the dock.
Across the water and was lucky enough that we had a spare key hidden behind a log in our cabin so that problem was solved. It soon became clear that one thing I had never done was light the stove as I failed miserably at that. I figured out the fridge though and we had the barbeque so we were ok. That day was spent sitting in chairs in the water drinking beer in the sun and wandering into the sauna, out into the lake, back into the sauna and so on. That night, if I recall correctly, and I may not, we feasted.
And then we ran out of propane on the barbeque.
Now my memory is fuzzy all of these years – like I said I seem to recall dinner the first night but I may even have been wrong there.
And we may have had leftovers for the second day and survived but I may be wrong on that too. I do remember one of my buddies trying to cook bacon on the pipes of the sauna but what day it was floated away on a river of Old Vienna or Ex (beers of choice those days) long ago.
In the end we fled the wilderness and made our way back into town where we hit the Pizza Hut or Pat and Mario’s and ate like five guys in their early twenties who haven’t eaten in nearly twenty four hours would eat. Good thing it wasn’t buffet or they’d be out of business is what I’m saying.
And then we went drinking in town.
You’ll have to excuse Oiler fans for looking at the strips of bacon in their hands and the pipes in front of them and wondering what the hell is going on here. We figured we’d be eating steak and tenderloin and cassoulet and sausage (God I love sausage) and strawberries and butterscotch pie and other kinds of pie (but not cake) and cold beer and red wine and instead we’re getting tripe and the poorly (ironically?) named Superior Lager.
The problem is that last year’s furious finish got hopes up. I am with Ty in his estimation of that club but I’m also with those who looked at the additions of Cole and Visnovsky, another year of experience for the kids and the return of Horcoff, Souray, Moreau and Pisani to full health and figured that they would be in the mix for a playoff spot.
Which they are. I figured 7-10 would be the range and it is.
Lets just hope that they get over the hump or we may be talking about this twenty years from now. Believe me, I still hear those words all of the time.