H
hockeybeat
Guest
Allow me to try to dull the Great SportsJournalists.com Flame War of '07 with two tales of relationships renewed.
Story one:
---
Last week, I talked to a friend that I hadn't spoken with for awhile. This person has always wanted me to be happy and to be well, and to be completely honest, has been a better friend to me than I deserved.
We talked for awhile and we are cool now. I hope my friend is happy that we're talking again; I know that I am as that person is important to me.
-----
Story two:
On Saturday, after I got home from covering the shut-in convention that is the NFL Draft, I received a call on my cell.
"Hi, XXXXXX, this is Cindy!"
Who?
"You know, Cindy!"
I don't know a Cindy.
"Who is this?"
This is HB.
"Oh, I'm sorry." As she hangs up the phone, I hear her say, "I called someone named HB."
Thirty seconds later, the phone rings again. It's the same number. I answer it.
"Hey dude, it's Billy! How ya doin', bruddah?"
It was my cousin Bill. We hadn't talked in a long time. A couple years. The last time I saw him was after my grandmother passed away.
A little history, if you'll let me: Billy was my favorite cousin growing up. We're the same age. We're share the same lack-of-maturity. I lived with him, his mother (my father's older sister) and his father. We were running buddies who terrorized my extended family.
Once, after a snowstorm, my uptight aunt asked us to shovel the driveway. We said, "Woman, make us grilled cheese sandwiches. Two each. And then, maybe, we'll think about shoveling the driveway." She looked at us and mumbled in amazement, "One asshole graduated from college and the other is going to college."
Another time, Billy and I were quoting lines from South Park at the dinner table to my aunt and uncle's great annoyance. She screeched that "If one more word is uttered, I'm gonna throw these mashed potatoes at someone." It took about ten seconds before we yelled, "Respect my authority!" in the Eric Cartman voice. Yes, she threw the potatoes. Yes, she had a ******* of a mess to clean up. He and I went out and got pizza, laughing.
She was not alone in absorbing good-natured abuse from yours truly and Billy. My uncle suffered a stroke in 1990, forcing him to stay at home. He forgets and can't write. A man who was born-and-raised running in the streets of NYC is pretty much locked down in a Long Island home.
He's happy as he can be about it. He cleans the house. He plants flowers. He flirts with the mothers. He plays with my his grandchildren. He's sort of like the retired Don Corlone, minus Italian blood and a criminal history.
He also has a police scanner. We bought it for him years ago to keep him occupied. And he listens to that thing every day. One August day, Billy and I came back from the city; he was working at his job and I was doing something. We had been out since 6 A.M. and were exhausted. We trudged through the door and my uncle said, "Youse guys look like ****." It was his way of empathizing.
We mumbled something back. My uncle looked at us and declared, "I had a long day, too."
Something snapped inside of Billy and I. We started running our mouths. "You had a hard day? What the **** did you do all day? You sat here, read Newsday, ate a ham-and-cheese-and-quarter-of-a-jar-of-mayonaisse sandwich and half-a-bag-of BBQ potato chips. Oh yeah, you also listened to ****in' Fred."
Billy and I named the voice over the scanner Fred. For some reason, it caused everyone to laugh hysterically and it stuck. To this day, whenever he talks about that ******* scanner, someone says, "Oh yeah, what did Fred say?"
Billy and I talked for a long time, reminisced about the past and talked about how we're doing. I think we're getting dinner soon and that makes me happy. Yeah, he's married but I'm getting my partner-in-crime back.
After I hung up the phone, I thought about my friend and my cousin and realized something. I don't do a real good job of telling people what they mean to me. So, let me start here: There are a great many of you here who take time to swap e-mails and IMs and PMs. A lot of you took time when I was depressed to offer advice and a sympathetic ear or a joke. I cannot thank you enough and I love you.
HB
Story one:
---
Last week, I talked to a friend that I hadn't spoken with for awhile. This person has always wanted me to be happy and to be well, and to be completely honest, has been a better friend to me than I deserved.
We talked for awhile and we are cool now. I hope my friend is happy that we're talking again; I know that I am as that person is important to me.
-----
Story two:
On Saturday, after I got home from covering the shut-in convention that is the NFL Draft, I received a call on my cell.
"Hi, XXXXXX, this is Cindy!"
Who?
"You know, Cindy!"
I don't know a Cindy.
"Who is this?"
This is HB.
"Oh, I'm sorry." As she hangs up the phone, I hear her say, "I called someone named HB."
Thirty seconds later, the phone rings again. It's the same number. I answer it.
"Hey dude, it's Billy! How ya doin', bruddah?"
It was my cousin Bill. We hadn't talked in a long time. A couple years. The last time I saw him was after my grandmother passed away.
A little history, if you'll let me: Billy was my favorite cousin growing up. We're the same age. We're share the same lack-of-maturity. I lived with him, his mother (my father's older sister) and his father. We were running buddies who terrorized my extended family.
Once, after a snowstorm, my uptight aunt asked us to shovel the driveway. We said, "Woman, make us grilled cheese sandwiches. Two each. And then, maybe, we'll think about shoveling the driveway." She looked at us and mumbled in amazement, "One asshole graduated from college and the other is going to college."
Another time, Billy and I were quoting lines from South Park at the dinner table to my aunt and uncle's great annoyance. She screeched that "If one more word is uttered, I'm gonna throw these mashed potatoes at someone." It took about ten seconds before we yelled, "Respect my authority!" in the Eric Cartman voice. Yes, she threw the potatoes. Yes, she had a ******* of a mess to clean up. He and I went out and got pizza, laughing.
She was not alone in absorbing good-natured abuse from yours truly and Billy. My uncle suffered a stroke in 1990, forcing him to stay at home. He forgets and can't write. A man who was born-and-raised running in the streets of NYC is pretty much locked down in a Long Island home.
He's happy as he can be about it. He cleans the house. He plants flowers. He flirts with the mothers. He plays with my his grandchildren. He's sort of like the retired Don Corlone, minus Italian blood and a criminal history.
He also has a police scanner. We bought it for him years ago to keep him occupied. And he listens to that thing every day. One August day, Billy and I came back from the city; he was working at his job and I was doing something. We had been out since 6 A.M. and were exhausted. We trudged through the door and my uncle said, "Youse guys look like ****." It was his way of empathizing.
We mumbled something back. My uncle looked at us and declared, "I had a long day, too."
Something snapped inside of Billy and I. We started running our mouths. "You had a hard day? What the **** did you do all day? You sat here, read Newsday, ate a ham-and-cheese-and-quarter-of-a-jar-of-mayonaisse sandwich and half-a-bag-of BBQ potato chips. Oh yeah, you also listened to ****in' Fred."
Billy and I named the voice over the scanner Fred. For some reason, it caused everyone to laugh hysterically and it stuck. To this day, whenever he talks about that ******* scanner, someone says, "Oh yeah, what did Fred say?"
Billy and I talked for a long time, reminisced about the past and talked about how we're doing. I think we're getting dinner soon and that makes me happy. Yeah, he's married but I'm getting my partner-in-crime back.
After I hung up the phone, I thought about my friend and my cousin and realized something. I don't do a real good job of telling people what they mean to me. So, let me start here: There are a great many of you here who take time to swap e-mails and IMs and PMs. A lot of you took time when I was depressed to offer advice and a sympathetic ear or a joke. I cannot thank you enough and I love you.
HB
