RA here checking in after the most epic Spittin Chiclets Stanley Cup Final roadie that will ever exist.
13 flights in 20 days.
5 of 7 Stanley Cup Final games.
Some inadvertent viral moments.
And you know what?
But look, Im a big boy.
There were no guns to my head.
I own it all.
The good, the bad, and the ugly.
No arrests (cuffed & stuffed once at 15 but no record).
I got along with everybody, best buddies with cops and robbers alike.
Frat boys and independents.
I was having a blast when I was paryting.
Always had a fun time and enjoyed college to the fullest.
And it stayed that way for a long time.
Up until a couple of years ago.
But by then, even Hans Moleman could see what was going on.
What was always associated with fun times and great memories very quickly became a crutch.
And for a guy with more vices than a shop class, it starts to take its toll eventually.
Even so, I did arelativelygood job of keeping it together.
I was doing the opposite of what I should have been doing.
And I was fully aware.
Some of us just have to stick our finger in the socket to really learn our lesson.
But the other shitty part of that?
Being lost in the sauce meant I wasnt doing my job the way it needed to be done.
I feel like shit for that and I deserve the pee-pee whack.
I love you boys.
I also remember what four different aspects of the hockey community did for me when I was in Vegas.
Im not dumping on other sports because Ive only ever covered the NHL.
Life throws curveballs at everyone.
Unfortunately, and unsurprisingly, I could never hit a curveball.
So I finally made an appointment with a batting coach to hopefully rectify that.
Better late than never.
But you know what?
Ill dust myself off.
I love you guys and gals.
[Whether your words were harsh or kind, I appreciate you listening and continuing to support Spittin Chiclets.
Thanks for your time.
