Sam Malone, that make-believe character for the ages, cagey Red Sox vet, survivor of the bottle, once suggested “Well, you know what I always say, there are no bad boys, just boys with bad haircuts.” That’s good writing, no?

And he wasn’t wrong. And picking up from my recent post from just last Friday, here we are again, Friday night, post-hockey, with yours truly at the keyboard trying to make sense of it all.

At the risk of being a little on the dramatic side with respect to things that don’t really matter, this was a tough week. In the W, my squad lost both games. Monday was close, 3-1 for the bad guys, with an empty netter closing us out in a squeaker. Or was it? I can’t remember getting a sniff, nor my mates, but perhaps I can right that off as just being a Monday. Does anyone like Mondays?

Thursday night came and I was ready. Connor McJesus ready. I know he got this thousandth point last night but I have the benefit of more miles on this rig and counting backyard shinny games, Bonnerworth on Sunday afternoons in Peterborough back in the day, the Grand River league here in the k-dub a few decades back, I think he has some work in front of him to catch up to me in terms of points. But I digress….

So…when the puck dropped, it was game on. Short shifts, full bore, playing the game right, playing on the right side of the puck, 180 foot game. We lost 4-1. No empty netter needed. Zut alors! Still, it was a great skate and we’ve been on a run in the W until this week. It’s a long season. On to the next town…er, rink.

Which brings me to today. Friday. Off to the rink for a little redemption cuz’ eventually, everything reverts to the mean I am thinking. Holy heck balls. It made last night look like a win. We got schooled. Pete on the other team was a spiteful player, gobbling up every giveaway from us and making us pay. Billie, his wing man, competing for winner of the chief inflictor of pain award. Rob on the blue line is just mean. He doesn’t want us to have even an ounce of fun. (Kidding, great dude but for the love of all things holy, I wish he’d blow a tire every once in a while just to give us hope). And I’m not even sure Eric was even trying. Good thing they had Brodeur in net just in case one of us got a shot through.

So here I am. Back from walking Gus, with my love, a Lunenburg Ironworks Distillery whisky with a dash of coke for colour taking the edge off the pain of losing. There’s no way around this. It’s a slump. What to do? These things don’t end on their own. As my grandma used to say, “Get some gumption!”.

And suddenly full circle, Mayday Malone floating in the background, the answer appears. A haircut. It’s time for a haircut. The real kind and some equipment adjusting too. So…tomorrow – the clippers will come out and I’ll get my love to take my locks down to the wood. Gotta be done. Every degree of slipstream advantage is what I’m looking for. And I may take an inch or two off the lumber as well, as I used to do when I was a youngin’ in a slump.

Sunday night will come soon enough. I will be lighter, shorter, and better looking. I guarantee a win. (But it’s shinny so I’m gonna throw on the same colour jersey as Pete just to increase the odds a bit).

@Bernie1976 – get your ass to the W this week. You are overdue and I could use a wingman with a good haircut.