From The Desk Of The Commissioner
Good Evening Fellows,
It's a bit weird not having Keith's weekly analysis piece to look at underneath my column. Although the follow up to my definitive post-work week cool down time is a slight disappointment, I'll allow it to stand. That being said, I would like to point out a first that happened in the history of TFLOEG this week, the infamous stat change for the win. I'm not going to gloat about the fumble being taken from Sproles and added to Thomas' overall stats as that would only be bad for my already fragile fantasy karma. All I know is that I went to bed a six time loser, was awoken to the opportunity to drive out to Brooks to tighten a seizing screw, returned to bed and, a half hour later, my subconscious was broken by a text reading "congrats on the win!" It was quite the chain of events.
Looking back on my time, I've been a part of many reversals of fortunes. Although none as memorable or as sweet as my grade five birthday party. An old Klingon proverb states that "Revenge is a dish best served cold"and, in this case, they were right (if only for the temperature). It was December in 1995 and I was turning eleven. The newspapers in these times not only gave business around Calgary a place to advertise, but also print usable coupons for half price this or buy one that. It was no different for Rampage City Paintball (that's their current name, I'm not sure if it was such in 1995) where they offered a deal for fourteen players, unlimited ammo, co2, hot dogs, birthday cake and the like for a certain reasonable amount. As it was my birthday the logical division of these fourteen places would be to invite most of my old school chums and have a regular battle royal inflicting bruises and welts. Unfortunately, my father saw it a different way. "What fun it would be to have you invite six of your friends and I'll invite six of mine!" Now, the idea of six eleven year old kids going up against adults did seem a little foreboding, at the very the least. But, knowing the type of company (that's the pun) my father liked to keep it was a nightmare. By all accounts the equivalency of a prisoner of war being sentenced to death by firing squad in a slight turn of events. You see my father was part of the Princess Patricia Light Infantry Militia stationed in Calgary and his chums were the type of people you expect to meet at such a place. The day arrived and, much like the opening shots of Saving Private Ryan with vomiting/pee dribbling, we were thrust in to combat with the Princess' best. You'd think that we'd mount a stunning victory and that would warrant the reversal of fortune promised at the beginning. What's wrong with you? We were child soldiers firing our first weapons against essentially Seal Team Six. It did not go particularly well. I came out bruised and bloodied, not knowing if my friends had made it. They had (it was paintball). At the end of it all we sat with our older rivals and waited on our promised hot dogs. The kitchen had only seven dogs ready, the rest were boiling in a pot in the back (that's where the temperature thing comes in). These bunned wonders filled the youth's bellies with a victory that has not, until recently with the introduction of dual footlong Seattle style Griffey dogs, tasted any sweeter. Our tormentors waited five to six minutes until it was time for theirs, it was Glorious! Suck on that support the troops supporters! The cake was OK (I've had better [Blizzard Ice Cream Cake {or maybe those ones you get at Costco that are just a mound of individual Eclairs with various drizzlings}]).
Until next week, Good Luck Chumps,
-The Commish
It's a bit weird not having Keith's weekly analysis piece to look at underneath my column. Although the follow up to my definitive post-work week cool down time is a slight disappointment, I'll allow it to stand. That being said, I would like to point out a first that happened in the history of TFLOEG this week, the infamous stat change for the win. I'm not going to gloat about the fumble being taken from Sproles and added to Thomas' overall stats as that would only be bad for my already fragile fantasy karma. All I know is that I went to bed a six time loser, was awoken to the opportunity to drive out to Brooks to tighten a seizing screw, returned to bed and, a half hour later, my subconscious was broken by a text reading "congrats on the win!" It was quite the chain of events.
Looking back on my time, I've been a part of many reversals of fortunes. Although none as memorable or as sweet as my grade five birthday party. An old Klingon proverb states that "Revenge is a dish best served cold"and, in this case, they were right (if only for the temperature). It was December in 1995 and I was turning eleven. The newspapers in these times not only gave business around Calgary a place to advertise, but also print usable coupons for half price this or buy one that. It was no different for Rampage City Paintball (that's their current name, I'm not sure if it was such in 1995) where they offered a deal for fourteen players, unlimited ammo, co2, hot dogs, birthday cake and the like for a certain reasonable amount. As it was my birthday the logical division of these fourteen places would be to invite most of my old school chums and have a regular battle royal inflicting bruises and welts. Unfortunately, my father saw it a different way. "What fun it would be to have you invite six of your friends and I'll invite six of mine!" Now, the idea of six eleven year old kids going up against adults did seem a little foreboding, at the very the least. But, knowing the type of company (that's the pun) my father liked to keep it was a nightmare. By all accounts the equivalency of a prisoner of war being sentenced to death by firing squad in a slight turn of events. You see my father was part of the Princess Patricia Light Infantry Militia stationed in Calgary and his chums were the type of people you expect to meet at such a place. The day arrived and, much like the opening shots of Saving Private Ryan with vomiting/pee dribbling, we were thrust in to combat with the Princess' best. You'd think that we'd mount a stunning victory and that would warrant the reversal of fortune promised at the beginning. What's wrong with you? We were child soldiers firing our first weapons against essentially Seal Team Six. It did not go particularly well. I came out bruised and bloodied, not knowing if my friends had made it. They had (it was paintball). At the end of it all we sat with our older rivals and waited on our promised hot dogs. The kitchen had only seven dogs ready, the rest were boiling in a pot in the back (that's where the temperature thing comes in). These bunned wonders filled the youth's bellies with a victory that has not, until recently with the introduction of dual footlong Seattle style Griffey dogs, tasted any sweeter. Our tormentors waited five to six minutes until it was time for theirs, it was Glorious! Suck on that support the troops supporters! The cake was OK (I've had better [Blizzard Ice Cream Cake {or maybe those ones you get at Costco that are just a mound of individual Eclairs with various drizzlings}]).
Until next week, Good Luck Chumps,
-The Commish
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