So the Edmonton Oilers lost the Stanley Cup. Merde! I'm not a rabid hockey fan, but I feel disappointed a Canadian team couldn't bring the Cup north of the 49th parallel. Yes the Carolina Hurricanes are full of Canadian players, their star goalie a young man from Fort Saskatchewan (mere minutes from Edmonton), but does anybody really think people in Raleigh, North Carolina really know anything about hockey?

Two gentlemen conversing as they fire off rifles on one of the many Raleigh shooting ranges:

"Hey there, Billy Bob, what there's a Stanley Cup?"

"Dunno, Jebediah. Maybe it's a fancy spittoon them rich folks use."

Okay, I'm resorting to the cheap stereotype of the inarticulate, right-to-bear-arms-loving-Southerner, but I'm a poor sport, so deal with it. I can handle losing, but it sticks in my roiling guts when Canada loses to the USA in hockey; it's our pastime, dammit. Any American hockey fan who disagrees can freely use the (not-so) stereotype of the Alberta Redneck as a rebuttal.

But let's remember: it's mid June. I'm sitting on patios drinking frosty pints of lager while men race around on ice chasing a puck. High time for hockey to pack its bags and make room for somebody else, namely Canadian football and my beloved Saskatchewan Roughriders. Aye, it's football season now, so let's relish grown men in tight uniforms tackling each other--maybe it's a homoerotic thing?

So the Edmonton Oilers lost. Big deal. You don't know losing until you're cheering on the Saskatchewan Roughriders. Now that's adversity, baby.