17 Long Days
I started this silly Martin Havlat Beer Strike 17 days ago and it’s really pissing me off. Why can’t the man score a stupid, lousy goal and get this over with? I’d take anything at this point…a tap in empty-netter, a disallowed kick-in, hell, even a deflection of his stick into the Wild’s net would work for me. Beer is something I took for granted in the past and this idiotic stunt of mine has made me realize how much I miss it.
And I’m not talking about the tasteless domestic brews like Miller Lite or Bud Lite either. I miss the Octoberfest beer from Sam Adams. I miss the simple black and white beauty of a freshly-poured Guinness Draught. A Corona with a lime. St. Paul’s Summit Extra Pale Ale. I had a big, juicy cheeseburger the other night and had to choke it down with a Pepsi, an F-in Pepsi for God’s sake! Enjoying a cold beer after a long day at work was something I could look forward to during the day, but no longer.
Until Martin Havlat scores a single goal, that is. The Wild are at home tonight against the Flames and I’m holding out hope that he’ll get one. My basement fridge is still full, waiting for Marty to hit the twine. You can do it, I know you can. Oh, who am I kidding…I may as well stop at the gas station on the way home for some sugared-up soda. FML.