We used to get together, a couple of fellow truckers and myself, in Herbert’s Corners, south of Ottawa, and play a lot of cribbage. Drink beer and play crib. The wives would huddle in another room and talk about kids and jobs and all that real life nonsense, but we’d play crib. It was beautiful, because beer and crib go together like Cheech and Chong, John and Yoko, Nazem Kadri and Richard Simmons. Just perfect.
On one certain evening when the beer was flowing and the turntable was burning up, talk again got around to who was the better crib player.