The Boogie Man

My thirty-something year old sister recently started dating a new guy. As I hadn’t met the previous two or three boyfriends and had tuned out of the whole process, I was slow to hear the news that he was a pro hockey player.

As after a twelve year absence, I recently re-started my hockey hobby, I found this to be a fascinating turn of events. I couldn’t wait to meet him. Maybe even have a few beers together around the campfire. And then I watched the video.

After watching the whole flick, I felt like I had been beaten-up. My face hurt just watching the video. I immediately emailed my sister.

I was very concerned that some night, after a few drinks, I would make an irreverent but innocent comment and would then all of the sudden have a six-foot-seven, twenty-something-year-old on my chest. She assured me, NHL goons are nice people and opinioned that I had been out of Minnesota for too long.

I wish I could say that I’ve since met him, he’s a nice guy and he never punches me but I have not yet met him. And I still plan on calling him the booger man.

[Dear Mr. Boogaard please note that I did not use the terms bugger, nor did I use buggar, either of which certainly would have justified an ass-whooping].

To the New Year!