Black Socks scandal was “afoot” at LIT banquet.
The Luther Invitational Tournament’s banquet began on a Saturday morning at 9:30. I arrived, punctually, at 9:32.
Upon entering an expansive room at the Queensbury Convention Centre, I noticed that people were giving me strange looks — which is anything but a strange phenomenon, when you happen to be mess that is me.
Nine out of 10 experts believe that my looks compare unfavourably to those of an aardvark.
“And what is that after-shave that you’re wearing, Rob?”
Raid.
At the LIT banquet, however, people looked even more horrified than usual. I figured that they were giving me that “he’s going to devour the entire buffet before our table is even called” look.
But it was worse. Much worse. I got to our table and sat beside Luther College High School’s learned principal, Dr. Mark Anderson. “Ooo,” he said.
What? What?
“Ak,” he elaborated.
Whaaat? Whaaat?
“There’s blood all over your collar.”
Huh?
I pulled out my iPhone6 and went into selfie mode so that I could resourcefully use the mobile device as a mirror.
Oh, the humanity.
In my haste to get to the banquet without being more than two minutes late, I had shaved furiously, unknowingly creating a divot on the lower left side of what some people may charitably describe as a face.
I then put on my suit, which will soon be available at a garage sale near you, and scurried out the door.
Amid all the panic, I did not notice that I was bleeding profusely.
The left side of my shirt collar was crimson. Eek! What to do?
“Perhaps you should go to the bathroom and tend to this,” Luther vice-principal Shawn Stieb suggested.
“Go away,” everyone else in the room was thinking. “Please leave.”
So I sat there, dabbing at the wound, waiting and hoping for the miracle that is coagulation.
I also thought of my father, Alan Vanstone, and wondered what he would have said.
Flashback to 1981: Dad and I were watching hockey Canada’s Cup. The telecast included one announcer who clearly had experienced some adversity while preparing for his working day.
“That guy looks like he shaved with a Toro,” Dad noted.
He would be so proud of me today. It should be noted that the shaving mess wasn’t my only faux pas of the day.
I was late for the banquet because my black socks — the one pair that I own — were not anywhere to be found. Not even in the back seat of the car, where I usually keep them.
I tore apart my non-estate, looking everywhere for the black socks that would so tastefully accompany the black shoes and black pants. No such luck.
Ergo, I showed up at the LIT banquet wearing white socks.
I thought THAT would be the problem.
Silly me.
I should know better by now. Flashback to 2013: I showed up at the Saskatchewan Roughriders’ practice just in time to miss the entire workout. Head coach Corey Chamblin had just finished addressing the players. The media-availability session was about to commence.
I waddled over to the pack at that point and was greeted by gasps. What? What?
“You don’t know?”
No.
“You’re bleeding.” Really?
“Really.”
I had lacerated myself just below the right ear — which, thankfully, was still attached.
One compassionate soul handed me a tissue, which I pressed against the wound.
As this was happening, Roughriders quarterback Darian Durant was walking toward a gaggle of reporters. I felt duty-bound to join the scrum.
Problem: What about the TV cameras? What if I am shown in the background while, to use the parlance of Jay Onrait and Dan O’Toole, scrum-lurking?
Strategically, I stood on the far right side of the scrum. Nobody could see the disaster I had created.
Another problem: Once the scrum had dispersed, Durant walked by my ravaged right side, stopped, and began to chat informally with someone else in the scrum.
Suddenly bracketed, I was in trouble. Regardless of the direction in which I turned, there was the notinconsiderable risk of somebody noticing whatever it was that was occurring on the right side of my face.
Demonstrating remarkable composure, I escaped. I race-walked toward the west-side tunnel and hung the first right, determinedly approaching the nearest washroom.
I looked in the mirror and, well … er … (sniffle) … I simply can’t go on.
Fast forward to 2018 and the LIT banquet. The bacon was delicious, as were the hash browns, and everyone had a lovely time.
Thank goodness they didn’t serve shaved ham.