A Whole Lot of Nothing Going On

My 2 year old addiction continues to overwhelm me.

"I have a confession," I told Mom as I started to prepare my frostings for Sunday's cupcake decorating class. "Something I've been putting off telling you."

From the living room I heard an, "Uh oh. Now what?"

I took a deep breath and came out with it, sans sugar coating, just blunt force honesty.

"I've taken to watching the Golf Channel."

Mom drew a sharp breath. "Oh. My. GAWD! And just how long has THIS been going on?" She couldn't have been more disappointed had I told her I had taken to walking up and down Hollis Street soliciting Johns.

"A couple of weeks. I've been putting off telling you."

"This is all your father used to do! Watch golf shows. For hours and hours. BORING!" She paused for a second. "And why are you telling me now?"

Bro and I went golfing today, after yet another huge rainstorm rewashed the city. We had run into a fellow Newfoundlander named George who had joined us at a course I had not yet tried, Airlanes out near the Halifax airport. He was amazingly enough, from our hometown of Channel-Port-aux-Basques, and although our families never really interacted we knew each other's pedigree so to speak.

Mom was nonplussed when I told her we ran into an old neighbour. "Go to a course in Halifax and run into a Channeller who has moved back east from BC. Figures."

George was a good guy who drove like holy hell, but alas, in all directions.

This sort of compensated for my game which was straight and true but went nowhere fast. I mowed the fairway the whole round. Bro was somewhere in between, but his chipping game still continues to dog him.

George had imparted some valuable information to us during the round.

"The US Open starts today."

"Oh of COURSE!" said Mom, throwing up her hands. "And now you want to watch it. OK I'll go into the den, onto the computer."

She went off in a huff, muttering slurs about my father for tainting her children with hockey, golf and Neil Diamond music.

Prior to sitting my ass down in my Mom's favorite rocker recliner to watch golf (yes I know but I like it okay), I'd had a conversation with my friend and fellow blogger @Habbykins aka Laura, wherein I bitched a lot about the Habs, or rather lack thereof. It went a lot like this:

Me: I see we still haven't signed anyone with only 2 weeks left to go before July 1st. WTF is Gauthier doing? No Markov, Gorges, Pacioretty but hey at least we've got Darche and Trotter locked up.

Laura: I haven't seen anything confirming Trotter.

Me: You're right, but I don't want him anyway. He's another small center, to go along with our enigmatic streaky phone-it-in forwards, cause we apparently can never have too many of those. 

Laura: Jagr would be better than what we have now (Darche and Moen subbing in on the top 6 from time to time). How sad is that?

Me: I keep waiting for Pyatt to get signed. We'll be dancing in the streets I'm sure. Have the kids even been qualified yet?

Laura: Do you think Muller will be back with the team?

Me: No.

Laura: Then who?

Me: Cunneyworth. Longshots on Carbo or Roy (both of whom I've seen mentioned in fantasy tweets).

Laura: Roy and Martin would kill each other.

Me: See? Total bonus.

What IS Gauthier doing anyway? If he is spending all his time on the back nine at a ritzy golf course schmoozing with Meehan and grabbing some scrawny waitress ass between champagne refills he could at least invite me so I'd have something to gossip about.

Give us something to work with here Monsieur Gauthier. And for God's sake sign somebody before July 1st!