I live in a small town in Northern Ontario. Everybody knows everybody. And I hate everybody. Naturally, hockey reins king, which means going out to the local sports bar is always a disappointment. Our games are never shown. So, I made my own place the place to be, after purchasing a 43 inch flat screen by the sweat of my brow.
And so, every Sunday since the basement became sacred. Yelling in anger, exhaling in relief, the basement has seen all the emotions in the world. Flanked by my brothers, it was the only place in the city where I could have a healthy football related conversation.