I belong to a splinter group they call chair-breakers
Scintillating. Exhilarating. Thrilling. Exciting. Nerve-racking. Stirring. Astonishing. Breathtaking. Action-packed. Heart-pumping. Awe-inspiring. Dramatic.
replica tag heruer watches There are a lot of words in the English language, but none seems to capture the magical feeling we, as a nation, experienced Wednesday night when our Olympic men's hockey team obliterated the Russians 7-3.
So I've come up with my own. Here it is:
Chair-breaker (noun) 1. a person you invite into your home to watch a big hockey game who, purely by accident, destroys a prized piece of furniture. 2. an unusually high level of excitement, as in: "Wow! That game was a real chair-breaker!" (adj.) chair-breaking: How good was it? It was chair-breaking good.
I coined this word when I joined a group of guys to watch the game at my buddy Dan's house. It was a typical Canadian tableaux: A handful of middle-aged guys wearing ratty hockey sweaters and a couple of overexcited children staying up way past their bedtime.
Excited? Forget it. We were jacked. We were pumped. Like the rest of the country, we were on the verge of a nervous breakdown. This wasn't just a hockey game. This was Canada versus Russia. This was Crosby versus Ovechkin.
Fortunately, I came prepared. I brought a wide array of healthy, non-greasy snacks such as fruits and vegetables cut into attractive bite-sized pieces.
Just kidding! It was guys only at Dan's that night -- other than his daughter, who is cute as a button, but much smaller -- so, to ensure acceptance amongst my tribe, I brought beer, chips, dip and enough bratwurst to choke a small horse.
links of london Dan, along with being my buddy and an award-winning political journalist, is also the consummate host. I was prepared to sit on the floor in front of his big-screen TV, but he insisted I make myself comfortable on an elegant chair plucked from his dining room.
I sense you sense where this heading, so I'll cut to the chase. I'm not sure exactly when it happened. It might have been after the third goal. Maybe the fourth.
The point is, after we hammered another puck into the back of the Russian net, I leaped into the air, all 280 pounds of me, shrieking with manly joy, then plopped back down to a resounding CRUNCH. This was the sound of the chair's agonizing death throes as it crumpled to the ground, along with me, in a shower of varnished splinters.
I lay there, stunned. There was a moment of silence, then my friends rushed over to see if I was alive. OK, that happened in an alternate universe. In this one, my buddies expressed concern by howling with derisive laughter.
The same thing happened when I played in a charity softball game with a group of guys who, after I tore my Achilles tendon at game's end, bravely abandoned me because they wanted to get autographs from the NHL stars we were playing against.
So I picked myself up off the floor. I was fine. Unfortunately, the chair's injuries were fatal. Dan dragged its shattered remains away, pausing to give me the kind of look you would give your dog if it had just thrown up on the living room carpet.
Thomas sabo charms I was comforted by the fact my friend's lovely wife was not home to see what had become of her matching dining room set.
The point I want to make h
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