Worth the bruise

Stanstead Journal - - sports -

Well, in the split sec­ond it took to de­cide what I would an­swer to that, it was re­mark­able how many thoughts went through my mind. After all, there was a crowd and tv cam­eras be­hind me. I im­me­di­ately won­dered how em­bar­rassed I should be at this junc­ture, as ev­ery­one is now notic­ing that I am ac­tu­ally sit­ting down in cen­ter ice. Se­condly, I asked my­self if I wouldn’t ap­pear more dig­ni­fied if I were to de­cline the prof­fered hand and rise on my own. Im­me­di­ately fol­low­ing that thought was an ugly men­tal im­age of my failed at­tempts to rise lead­ing to my un­cer­e­mo­ni­ously wip­ing out, and then hav­ing to be hauled up by help­ing hands any­way.

I took the hand of­fered me and was able to stay on my feet un­til I left the ice. Brise­bois later ap­proached me and, smil­ing, he said ‘As soon as I saw you come onto the ice with those shoes I knew you would fall.’ I told him I had a sneak­ing sus­pi­cion I would also, but had hoped for the best. I hadn’t known I would be on cen­ter ice. The bright side of the whole or­deal was that I had the pres­ence of mind to take a very orig­i­nal photo of a hockey leg­end…. from the ground up while he sported a sweetly con­cerned look on his face for my very cold rear end.

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