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BS: The Mother of all BS threads

gnu 08 Aug 13 - 01:22 PM
Rapparee 08 Aug 13 - 11:53 AM
gnu 08 Aug 13 - 05:55 AM
gnu 07 Aug 13 - 04:11 PM
Amos 07 Aug 13 - 03:39 PM
gnu 07 Aug 13 - 02:53 PM
gnu 07 Aug 13 - 06:14 AM
Amos 07 Aug 13 - 04:19 AM
Amos 07 Aug 13 - 12:18 AM
gnu 06 Aug 13 - 08:25 PM
Amos 06 Aug 13 - 03:36 PM
Rapparee 06 Aug 13 - 02:25 PM
Rapparee 06 Aug 13 - 10:32 AM
Amos 06 Aug 13 - 02:43 AM
Acme 06 Aug 13 - 01:57 AM
Rapparee 05 Aug 13 - 09:31 PM
Little Hawk 05 Aug 13 - 06:07 PM
gnu 05 Aug 13 - 05:32 PM
Little Hawk 05 Aug 13 - 04:56 PM
Amos 05 Aug 13 - 04:42 PM
Little Hawk 05 Aug 13 - 10:44 AM
Amos 05 Aug 13 - 10:43 AM
Rapparee 05 Aug 13 - 10:02 AM
Rapparee 04 Aug 13 - 08:31 PM
gnu 04 Aug 13 - 07:48 PM
Rapparee 04 Aug 13 - 07:04 PM
gnu 04 Aug 13 - 07:00 PM
Amos 04 Aug 13 - 06:42 PM
Little Hawk 04 Aug 13 - 01:55 PM
gnu 04 Aug 13 - 11:56 AM
Amos 04 Aug 13 - 10:51 AM
Rapparee 04 Aug 13 - 10:21 AM
Little Hawk 04 Aug 13 - 08:40 AM
gnu 04 Aug 13 - 05:39 AM
Acme 04 Aug 13 - 03:04 AM
Amos 04 Aug 13 - 12:32 AM
Little Hawk 03 Aug 13 - 10:56 PM
Rapparee 03 Aug 13 - 09:39 PM
Rapparee 03 Aug 13 - 09:37 PM
gnu 03 Aug 13 - 12:57 PM
Janie 03 Aug 13 - 12:35 PM
Little Hawk 03 Aug 13 - 12:20 PM
Janie 03 Aug 13 - 11:56 AM
Rapparee 03 Aug 13 - 09:48 AM
Janie 03 Aug 13 - 09:44 AM
Little Hawk 03 Aug 13 - 09:39 AM
gnu 03 Aug 13 - 07:19 AM
Amos 03 Aug 13 - 04:04 AM
Little Hawk 03 Aug 13 - 12:13 AM
Rapparee 02 Aug 13 - 11:32 PM
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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: gnu
Date: 08 Aug 13 - 01:22 PM

Rap... on the way home. Incontinence can see incontimental if yer up ta Sobeys Grocery and "The mood" strikes eh?

Did I miss sommat? Is SRS Walkaboutst?


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 08 Aug 13 - 11:53 AM

Your mother goes to your car to pee? I shan't ask why -- it's probably an old New Brunswickian custom -- but couldn't you at least build her a little place out back, somewhat closer to her house?


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: gnu
Date: 08 Aug 13 - 05:55 AM

The worst of the construction should be over for Mum by day's end. Yesterday, the water and sewer crew had to move while the pavement was milled on adjacent streets. As we are on a dead street and it is a leg of a t-intersection, the slowest part of the job has been in front of the house next to Mum's. They had started the curbstop next door the day before so it was noisy, dusty and dieselly (diesmelly?) so yesterday was quiet until they returned in late afternoon. The curbstop was finished and a catch basin near a corner of Mum's property was installed. The previous catch basin had a square cover. The new one has a round cover. Someone at City Hall has caught up with the modern tech introduced bt the Romans just a while back! Today, I foresee Mum's curbstop replaced and mine connected (mine was renewed about 5 years ago. The noise and such will be at it's worst for Mum toady but, barring any problems, I won't have to park the car in a parking lot at the end of the street which means Mum won't have a 400' walk to and from it over rough and dusty terrain. 400' can be a marathon when yer 86 and ya gotta pee.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: gnu
Date: 07 Aug 13 - 04:11 PM

Pin a note, A? Ya already did, and not just on my door, just by sayin ya'd like ta visit. Means a lot ta me. As does yer encouragement fer me ta write. I'll never come close ta the likes of the authors that are regulars in just this here one Mudcat thread but it sure as heck won't happen if I don't buy a ticket.

I read that snippet early this AM. Hadn't read it when I posted it. Only copied up to the otters and trimmed it. There is a reason I haven't gotten back to it other than laziness. It's a private excuse. I think it's obvious.

I'll shut up now.

Thanks, Amos.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos
Date: 07 Aug 13 - 03:39 PM

Hey, no worries, Gnuzer. I dig the burdens of the moment. If we cruise through your town I'll just pin a note on your door to show ya I care.

But if you can find an hour a day to work those tales up, you really, really should do so, man.


A


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: gnu
Date: 07 Aug 13 - 02:53 PM

As for the phone # and possible meet and greet, things are rough for me at the very moment. I get a few hours in my own home from about 5AM to 9AM and then it's sporadic. Mum looked after me all my life + 9 months. My turn. She is even in a worse state than usual as there is heavy quip all over our street doing water, sewer, curbs, sidewalks... when a dump truck unloads and the tailgate bangs, she thinks of thunder. Sigh.

Fact is, if you had the time and if things were okay with Mum when you hit Moncton, I would lash you down to the dining room table and make you visit until the wee hours and cook you and yours a proper breakfast in the morn before youse continued your travels. Alas, given the circumstances, it's nowt to be. My loss, indeed. Truly, and most unfortunately, my great loss.

Shit happens, I guess.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: gnu
Date: 07 Aug 13 - 06:14 AM

Thanks, A. I have a lot of them in that condition which I have accumulated over the past few decades. The only ones I ever shared were "Dale and Del" stories (only here at Mudcat and only because some of them seemed to fit in with LH's Shane stories) and "nature tales" if they fit in with a thread. I guess I feel comfortable in this venue.

I am sure it happens with many such as it happened with the Nick blurb. Ya get a thought and start to type just to see what gets on the page and it flows fast so ya gotta disregard grammar, tense, sequence, fleshing out ideas and such. At least, that's my experience. Plus, I am just plain lazy.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos
Date: 07 Aug 13 - 04:19 AM

I meant tale-spinning, of course...


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos
Date: 07 Aug 13 - 12:18 AM

Beautiful tale-spining, Gary. You should polish it up and publish it in installments.

Serious, now.

BTW, PM me your phpne number in case we are coming tyhrough Moncton on the way to Antigonish.

A


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: gnu
Date: 06 Aug 13 - 08:25 PM

SRS... otters. Minds me of a story I wrote a few days after my uncle died last fall. It was a rough exploratory thing... I repost it in first take form...

Thirty eight years ago, come October, my old man and my uncle collected me at uni on the Friday before Thanksgiving Weekend and we went north. Dad began making enquiries when we reached Plaster Rock as to accommodations. Said he was from Chipman and locals immediately identified with him as Chipman was, and still is, a lumber town with a big mill. He soon learned of Nick Deleavey's Sporting Camps and, with vague directions, we set off in search of same.

We journeyed north on 385 toward Riley Brook and found the piece of plywood nailed to a tree: "Nick's Camps". Chip seal road was behind us. About two miles in, we met a man on an old tractor and Dad asked after Nick's. The man was mute but "spoke" sign language, as did Dad. He shouldered an imaginary rifle and queried Dad with a look. Dad nodded. He pointed up the road, motioned "right" with a flat hand twist and bent wrist, and indicated the distance with thumb and forefinger. It was welcome news after many "How fuckin far is it?"s.

We arrived. There were three buildings. One was an old log cabin which was obviously built by experts. There were two recently constructed buildings? camps. The dog announced us. Typical farm dog. Big and loud. A woman appeared at the cabin door and held up one finger. Dad waved, smiled and nodded. She closed the door.

We looked around. A brook about eighty feet from the camps had been beaver dammed and the road continued across the resulting pond over a large log culvert. The woods were true Acadian Forest; a mix of huge hardwood and softwood and all the trimmings. The air was crisp and clean. Heaven.

A man looking about seventy five emerged from the cabin and took his cane from it's perch beside the door. Wide brimmed fedora, Humphrey Jacket and pants, suspenders over a Doeskin shirt, wool socks neatly tucked over Greb boots. I liked him. He slowly made his way to us. He was having a bit of labour, being not a lot taller than he was wide. He extended his hand to Dad, and introduced himself. "Nick." "Bill Owens, Moncton. My brother, chic, and my son, Gary."

We all complimented Nick on his heaven. He knew we were not Sports, not city folk. Nick said, "Bring yer own grub?" "Yes." "How many nights?" "Leaving Saturday. Eight nights." "Five dollars a bunk a night." Dad shook his hand. Nick pointed his cane at the nearest camp and said, "You fellahs get settled and I'll be over to advise you." "Thanks." He waddled back to the cabin.

It was a mansion. Eight beds. No bunk beds. Big table. Ninety six inch Enterprise with lots of firewood and a large drying rack for wet clothing. Four Coleman lanterns hung from the rafters. Full compliment of pots, pans, dishes and cutlery. Five dollars a night? For a mansion? How could he afford to give it away? The answer was not long coming.

A feast was had. Monster T-bones, spuds, onions, and shrooms washed down with cold spring water from the sink. A sink! A spring fed sink! Surely it couldn't get better than this? A knock.

Dad opened the door and Nick, kerosene lantern in hand, asked if we were settled and fed. Dad replied yes and asked Nick if he wanted a up of tea. "Love one." and he slowly made it to the table. He was about to take a seat at the side of the table, upon which Dad pulled out the chair at the head of the table for him. He understood proper respect. It wasn't lost on Nick who thanked Dad and acknowledge the gesture and nodded his acknowledgement and appreciation of good manners.

Tea was poured and a smoke offered, both of which were accepted by Nick.

"So, you lads are from Moncton."

"Yes. Born and raised. My mother and father were from Salmon River, near Chipman and they moved to Moncton after they married. Three boys, five girls." And so began a night of getting acquainted. Nick worked in the woods from the age of twelve. Landed a job with the railroad when he was in his twenties and walked, six days a week, nearly three miles each way through the woods. Tended a trap line and hunted along the way, sometimes in season. Stories were traded. Varied stories, about everything from boyhood memories to chilling war stories. Stories I had never heard. I felt honoured to be allowed to hear these stories. It was as if, for the first time, I was allowed a glimpse of my real father and uncle.

The hour drew late and Nick asked the question, "What are you fellahs after." "Deer." "Ain't no deer here. All moose and bear. Best bet is Burnt Church Road. Go as far as ya can and then walk into the old farms by the waters. Plenty a deer. Everybody had apple trees and they all left and moved to Plaster Rock and Perth-Andover to work in the lumber woods. Anybody in Burnt Church asks, tell em yer stayin with me. You fellahs get a good rest and leave an hour before dawn. I'll check in on ya after supper next eve."

I couldn't get to sleep for a few hours. The stories resonated in my head. And, I was one of the guys. I had no stories of my own but I was given a lesson in storytelling by masters that evening.

I woke early and shut off the alarm clock. At the time the clock should have wakened us, I quietly got up, stoked the stove, put the kettle on, went outside, and returned to the stove to start breakfast. When the temperature was reasonable in the camp and my cooking was near done, I said, in my best imitation of uncle Chic, "Hands off yer cocks and on with yer socks!" They both roared with laughter and did what well trained troops did; they flew out of bed and went outside.

Upon their return, I set a huge breakfast before each and myself. Nick's tales were recounted and commented on. Lots of laughs. I gathered the dishes and was about to pour hot water on them but Dad said to leave them for later. We quietly loaded the old Galaxy station wagon and were off for the old apple orchards.

We arrived at the end of Burnt Church Road at half passed six and started walking silently in the darkness. At light, Dad, in sign language, gave us our directions and indicated his intentions. We split up. It was magnificent countryside. Each of us explored our respective areas, met up at ten o'clock at the spot where we had split up, and walked silently back to the powder blue Ford for tea and cookies. Mum made scrumptious cookies. Molasses, ginger snaps that snapped and snapped the taste buds, ginger cookies sprinkled with sugar, shortbreads, peanut butter with a thumbprint full of strawberry jam - even strawberry jam tarts with crosses of pie dough made with her Master Baker father's recipe. All melted in the mouth. We discussed our recon and Dad decided on the rest of the recon which focussed on the area between the old farms and the water. We began again.

We repeated our scouting and returned to the wagon for lunch at one o'clock. I cooked Salmon River hash on the Old Coleman stove the way I was taught. Lots of onions and one sixteenth of an inch of "burnt" in the bottom of the pan. Delicious. As cook, I got to scrape the burnt and have it as dessert. The plan was laid. Something puzzled me. Dad's plan would put us at the vehicle a half hour early but I knew better than to question my father. He made Lieutenant eight months after induction into the Canadian Army on the day World War Two broke out.

We left the car in five minute intervals and met up again, a half hour early, at the first old farm. We discussed things in hushed voices. Dad pointed to himself and then at the ground. I was startled when Uncle Chic spoke loudly. "Okay. Let's head for the car. Let's go, Gary." He began to walk heavily and pointed to my feet. I followed in suit. He began a conversation with me about what we had seen. We walked two hundred yard and his voice and footsteps became more quiet. Mine also. I understood. At four hundred yards, we stopped and looked back. Dad walked into the woods. Twenty minutes later, he fired. It was a large deer. The work began.

We arrived at camp an hour late and hung the deer. The camp was spotless and supper was simmer boiling in a huge pot on the stove. Another large pot contained water for washing up. The supper table was set. Five dollars a night? Why were we the only ones in heaven?

We feasted. Nick arrived, grinning as much as my father, if not more. "Told ya." "Yes sir, you sure did. Depending on weather, we'll take care of that one on Wednesday or Thursday and half of it is yours." "You are not a Sport. I knew it when I saw how you were dressed. I thought someone stole my clothes." That was the first of many jokes. It was Saturday night. A deer was hung to cure. A bottle was opened. The stories were better than the previous ones. I slept like a babe. I was one of the guys.

I rose before dawn to explore. It was Sunday so I knew no wardens would be near, especially not on a private road before dawn, so I took my rifle. Talked with a large bull moose feeding in the pond below the road who seemed very curious and puzzled. He had startled me when he rose his head from under the water less than thirty feet from me. He quickly grew bored and returned to his feeding. I moved on. There was close to a half inch of ice on the beaver pond. I could hear something breaking the ice every so often. I stopped and peered in the direction of each shattering of ice. Two of them came scampering into view, chasing each other around and leaping into the air to come crashing down into the ice and disappear, then breaking up through the ice some distance away to repeat the display. Otter play! It was great fun to watch.

I watched the otters for near a half hour and decided to return to camp in time to cook breakfast. I hadn't had even a drop o the pure and I was as sassy as a squirrel. I figured the older folk weren't quite as chipper. They weren't. My imitation of "It's half past six, get yer hands off yer pricks!" was met with a tad less than laughter. But, they stirred when they heard Nick's voice.

Nick said he saw me leave the camp early and asked me if I was after jackin. No! We don't do that! I told him about the moose and Moosebirds I fed. Canada Jays, Whiskey Jacks, Gray Jays, Camp Robbers and a half dozen other names for my fav bird. Then. I told him about the otters. He said, "You had a rifle!" "Yes.Yes?" "Why didn't you shoot them?" "Why should I have shot them?" "Those river rats eat all the trout! I am tryin ta run a business here!" I apologized and said I would shoot them on site next time. A lie.



This story continues it's winding tale of the rest of the trip and becomes detailed in the accounts of the stories and the lessons I learned. I wrote it in one sitting in a matter of a few hours so it's very rough, as you have seen in reading it, if you have read this far, of course. It rambles as it was just a sketch, a brainstorm, for future consideration and a LOT of fleshing out for detail and reader edification is required to make it palatble. It goes on for a number of pages but I just wanted to get to the otters. I can still see them playing on the ice? through the ice? with the ice? with each other. It was magical. Shoot em? No. Feed em trout and charge yuppies more than $5 a bunk ta see em! Money maker, Nick!


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos
Date: 06 Aug 13 - 03:36 PM

ah, so. Well, ROman, whose post I was answering there, is a good man and I thought it might offer him some ideas. Transfiguration is one. Heinlein's various life-after-death configurations also come to mind.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 06 Aug 13 - 02:25 PM

Or perhaps in the Transfiguration itself, which is celebrated today in many Christian religions?


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 06 Aug 13 - 10:32 AM

Your post to that literary website regarding transfigured heroes and heroines.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos
Date: 06 Aug 13 - 02:43 AM

Such as in Arthur C. Clarke's "Childhood's End," Amos?


Sir:

This predicate phrase is clearly meant to modify some antecedent or subject phrase. Be kind enough to inform a weary traveler what it might be.


A


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Acme
Date: 06 Aug 13 - 01:57 AM

Congratulations, Amos!

Sitting in the dining room at my brother's house, smelling the salt water out front. Waiting to see if I get to see the otters shitting on the dock. "Water rats," he calls them. They watch him walking down the gangway to his boat and as he moves closer they back up over the cleat and poop right on the rope he is going to untie if he wants to take the boat out. I want to see that!


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 05 Aug 13 - 09:31 PM

Such as in Arthur C. Clarke's "Childhood's End," Amos?


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Little Hawk
Date: 05 Aug 13 - 06:07 PM

Yeah, he's deep.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: gnu
Date: 05 Aug 13 - 05:32 PM

Oh wow, man.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Little Hawk
Date: 05 Aug 13 - 04:56 PM

Well done, sir!

I think Chongo was on there awhile back too...it was some terse statement he made, like...

"A loaded gun is better insurance than a loaded question. A loaded fool with a loaded gun, on the other hand, is worse than nothin' at all."


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos
Date: 05 Aug 13 - 04:42 PM

Hey MAW!! Check out Daily Literary Quotes for today! My fifteen nanoseconds of fame! Whoot. He's going to use another one later sometime also.

A


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Little Hawk
Date: 05 Aug 13 - 10:44 AM

Io doesn't look like a very hospitable place, but it might prove to be an almost inexhaustible food source.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos
Date: 05 Aug 13 - 10:43 AM

Do you stand the roads on end at the start of each frame?

Actuslly Rapp is just covering his butt here. He's a kitterpaw with a tendency to long bullets.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 05 Aug 13 - 10:02 AM

I know! Let's talk about road bowling!


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 04 Aug 13 - 08:31 PM

Images of Jupiter's moon Io seem to show that it is, indeed, made of green cheese.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: gnu
Date: 04 Aug 13 - 07:48 PM

To the defense, Rap. Where else would the offense stick it?


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 04 Aug 13 - 07:04 PM

Stickit? Stickit where?


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: gnu
Date: 04 Aug 13 - 07:00 PM

Agreed. Just over one hour to the first stickit. >;-)


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos
Date: 04 Aug 13 - 06:42 PM

If I had to elect something to do for four days straight, I am sure it would not be cricket. Not at all.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Little Hawk
Date: 04 Aug 13 - 01:55 PM

It's incomprehensible, except to those who know and adore it. ;-) Or so I gather...I certainly don't comprehend it.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: gnu
Date: 04 Aug 13 - 11:56 AM

I like Cricket but a four day match?


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos
Date: 04 Aug 13 - 10:51 AM

Cricket is perfectly clear tot hose grown in the art. I barely know a pitch from a wicket.


A


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 04 Aug 13 - 10:21 AM

I truly can think of fewer things more boring to watch than target shooting, be it with bow and arrows, handgun, or rifle. It's like watching the grass grow, but slower. Unless you're involved, of course. After that comes diving -- I keep hoping someone will rip their trunks or that their suit will come off during the dive, and the same goes for gymnastics.

I respect and admire the skill any of these takes, but....


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Little Hawk
Date: 04 Aug 13 - 08:40 AM

I suppose American football is a pretty interesting game once one really understands all the finer points of its strategy, but it's a dreadful bore if one doesn't. (and you could probably say that about a great many things)


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: gnu
Date: 04 Aug 13 - 05:39 AM

Puck never played hockey. He was a fairy.

Yankee football is far from slow whilst the ball is in play. AND, the speed with which information is analysed during play and a plan of action is formulated after each and every down is blinding! The timing and use of the hurry-up in a nail biter! I could go on but I fear youse are already bored to tears.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Acme
Date: 04 Aug 13 - 03:04 AM

Possibly, Amos. But is any game more obtuse than cricket? Do you understand it better than football?


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos
Date: 04 Aug 13 - 12:32 AM

AMerican football, like American foreign policy, is slow, muscle-brained, occasionally violent, sometimes fumbling and inept, occasionally effervescent with grace and coordination, and very hard to follow tot he uninitiated.

A


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Little Hawk
Date: 03 Aug 13 - 10:56 PM

Benedict Arnold WAS a patriot! He returned to the loyal service of the British Crown as any true patriot would when coming to his senses after a brief lapse of judgement.

(Hee! Hee!)


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 03 Aug 13 - 09:39 PM

That is, a can of tuna for A puck, not "for puck." Using a can of tuna for Puck would give an entirely new slant on "A Midsummer Night's Dream."


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 03 Aug 13 - 09:37 PM

New England Patriots? Like Benedict Arnold?

Hockey ain't hockey unless it's being played on a frozen pond or river by some guys who use whatever they can find for sticks and a can of tuna or something for puck.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: gnu
Date: 03 Aug 13 - 12:57 PM

I actually watched hockey this year AND enjoyed it. I wish they had a strike and lockout every year. Somehow, a hockey season that starts and finishes in warm weather is just not Canuck to me. Somehow, watching hockey and having the air condtioners on just ain't right.

Many years ago, I became a fan of a much less violent and far more slow paced game which begins it's preseason games in just about 31 hours. Dallas and Miami. I still have to wait until Friday to see my fav team, the New England Patriots, play Yankee Football.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Janie
Date: 03 Aug 13 - 12:35 PM

Me 'n MOM often nod off during the 3rd quarter of a baseball game.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Little Hawk
Date: 03 Aug 13 - 12:20 PM

There are 3 periods. Each period lasts 20 minutes (of actual playing time). If you have a tie at the end of the third period, then an overtime period (or sometimes even 2 or 3 overtime periods) must be played until someone scores a goal, thus ending the game. If no one ever succeeds in scoring another goal, overtime periods must continue being played until..................umm......well, for a pretty damn long time, eh?

;-)

That's as best I can remember it. I never played hockey myself, cos I grew up mostly in New York State, not Canada, and hockey wasn't big where I was living. The games that were big around there were football, basketball, and baseball.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Janie
Date: 03 Aug 13 - 11:56 AM

How many innings are in a hockey game?


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 03 Aug 13 - 09:48 AM

I remember the night I stopped watching hockey. Wait, I never started. You could get hurt, fighting like that.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Janie
Date: 03 Aug 13 - 09:44 AM

Morning Mom. Here's your coffee.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Little Hawk
Date: 03 Aug 13 - 09:39 AM

Yeah, the Philadelphia Flyers were the team that most strongly influenced my decision to stop watching hockey too. What a bunch of classless idiots.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: gnu
Date: 03 Aug 13 - 07:19 AM

The Yell Stripes afraid of The Cherry? Nah. They are scared of Blue.

LH... I remember the night I stopped watching hockey:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IbTAYukpv8I


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos
Date: 03 Aug 13 - 04:04 AM

I thought Chongo was determined to pop that Cherry? What happened? Scared of the Mounties?


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Little Hawk
Date: 03 Aug 13 - 12:13 AM

That's something we're all in deep denial about, Rap. It's just unimaginable.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 02 Aug 13 - 11:32 PM

Someday Canada is gonna lose its Cherry Boy.


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