Hockey pools and rugrats
The draft for the family hockey pool was yesterday, and I’m still unsure of my team. I don’t know whether or not taking Paul Stastny with my second pick ahead of proven guys like Olli Jokinen will pay off. It currently is, as Stastny has 8 points through 3 games so far, but we all know how fast things can go in the crapper (see: Chris Higgins last year). It’s strange how despite the fact that I have $30 riding on the office hockey pool and the family pool having the top prize of bragging rights, I still feel I have more at stake in the family pool. Maybe it’s because I get to trash talk my cousins and victory over your own blood tastes sweeter. Hmm…that doesn’t sound very good, does it? It’s a family bonding thing, I swear.
Then again, one never really knows how these pools can turn out. Last year the halfway point leader for the family pool was the cousin that picked her players based on how hot she thought they were. Ultimately she lost because she forgot to submit a drop list to get rid of her injured players at Christmas, but the fact remains that an entirely unscientific approach was working. The cousin that won last year decided to pick mostly old guys, to which I tried convincing him to take Draper as his last pick, because hey, Draper’s old. No dice. Oh well, as long as he doesn’t win again this year, it’ll all be good. I think I was 2 points shy last year of winning.
Before the whole draft went down, a few of the kids were running around the house. These would be children of some of the participants in the pool. It always amazes me at how much entertainment a four year old can get from running circles around the hallways and rooms of a house. For a good twenty minutes all I heard was “EEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeee…*fades out*…eeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee…*fades out*…eeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEE!” as four rugrats between the ages of 3 and 7 chased each other in what seemed to be a chaotic version of Tag. Eventually it devolved into an inflated hammer swinging match, with a dog as the victim of the hammer abuse. Actually, I really shouldn’t say “dog” because it wasn’t a real dog; it was white, furry and smaller than a cat, a breed I like to call “punt dog.” So really, I didn’t feel all that sorry for the creature. Fortunately, the kids eventually got distracted by Dora the Explorer in the other room.
Hope everyone’s Thanksgiving went well and you’re all suitably stuffed to the gills. I was fortunate (or unfortunate, depending your point of view) to re-learn that good stuffing can be as addictive as heroin.