Well…that happened

I got to say, the Blue Jackets Playoff debut at least turned out better than the last time one of my teams made the playoff’s. It still sucked, but at least our star player didn’t get dragged away on a golf cart after two plays, and no players tried to punch a coach. I’m writing this one up as either a tie, or a moral victory. Not sure which one just yet.
If you watch or listen to any hockey talk, you would have known that the Wings were going to try and get the Jackets to react to their style, as opposed to playing their own game, and that’s pretty much exactly what happened. Oh well, it’’s a 7 game series, and I’m not shaving or cutting my hair just yet.

I do however, either need the Jackets to start stepping up, or get into shape, really quickly. In my excitement for Playoff hockey coming to Columbus, I did what I try to never do, and that is bet on my team. This time, I thought I would mix it up. I did not bet actual currency. Instead, I allowed myself to get talked into one of those “crazy” bets you hear people on morning FM radio doing. The bet is, the loser has to mow the others yard, on a day of the winners choice, in an outfit of the winners choice. I thought this would be a fun way for two friends to spice up a playoff match, that most of the outside world dosn’t even know is going on. I thought, sure, why not, there will be beer either way. Even if I lose, I’ll be drinking someone else’s beer, and if I win, I get someone else to mow my yard (and I will not clean up dog crap for about 3 weeks beforehand if I do win). It’s a win-win situation either way. Right. Well, as my team was getting their ass handed to them on a frozen puck, I realized something. My friend knows chicks who work at Hooter’s, and his one neighbor’s kid will be having a graduation party this year. This might be bad for me. The best case scenario, is that he makes me mow his yard in a Michigan football jersey, and that just can’t happen. We need to pull this one off boy’s. As much as I always wondered what I would look like in a Hooters waitress outfit (and who hasn’t), I have no desire to let large groups of strangers see my in all my spandex glory. Those poor little orange shorts don’t stand a chance. Perhaps an even worse scenario, is if I like how I look, and start my own tranny landscaping company, that idea might actually take off.
The only choices I have to save my dignity, my career, and maybe even my marriage, are as follows:
1. Kill my friend, ensuring that this bet can’t ever be paid off.
2. Make it so I look pretty damned awesome in that hooters outfit, and mow that grass with my head held high. With the right footwear, I can pull that look off, no problem.
3. Some how, some way, will the Jackets on to victory. I already have gone months without cutting my hair, I haven’t shaved since Tuesday, and I have a brand new Margaritaville frozen concoction maker to use to invent a good luck hockey drink. What else can I do?

God, if you’re out there, and you’re not too busy, please throw me a bone on this one. Seeing my friend push around my mower, while wearing a waaaay too small Ohio State cheerleader’s uniform, and stepping in dog shit, would be so awesome. I need this one buddy. I really do.