Whose (You Know) Is She (You Know)?

WHOSE "You Know" IS SHE "You Know"?
by: Matthew Terry
FACEBOOK : https://www.facebook.com/tplxwrestling?fref=nf
TWITTER : https://twitter.com/UrSpitngImg

E-Mail : yourspittingimage@gmail.com

Have you ever been watching a television show that you, probably, have never seen before and in the act of watching the show you see an actress that catches your eye. Then half way through the show you cannot help yourself. You must sit up, point at the screen and say "Whose (You Know) is she (You Know)?"

To try and spend time with a young lady that I wanted to spend time with, I started to watch a soap opera called Passions. She wanted to watch Passions, so I wanted to watch Passions. Some guys will get what I'm talking about. To those saying "You watched a soap opera to get next to a woman?" I say, first off, yes. Second, Passions had a witch, a little boy that turned into a doll, a mind reading girl and a blind priest that could sense evil, so if there was a soap opera to be watched, this was it. One of the girls was Charity, played by Molly Stanton. If I remember correctly, she was the mind reading girl that was in love with Miguel but didn't think it was fair not to tell him about her secret power and therefore refused to allow herself to be with him. Remember, I did say it was a soap opera. Now Charity was a focal point of Passions, which is all fine if myself and even the young lady I was trying to court were not looking at the screen and saying "Whose (You Know) is she (You Know) to be on this show?" Yes it was a soap opera, but even by what I consider soap opera standards her acting was way over the top and stuck out so far from all others on the show that you could not help but wonder whose (you know) was she (you know).

Fast forward several years and I see a commercial pass across my TV screen. This commercial was for a show called Do Not Disturb. And within this commercial I saw the (you know) girl. I had no idea what her name was at the time. In fact, I didn't know her name until the idea for this blog came to mind and I found it online. So, the (you know) girl is on Do Not Disturb. I have no real interest in watching the program. No aspect of the commercial made me want to watch it. I was not simply turned off by the fact that (you know) girl was on it. That being said, one night while looking through the guide I came across Do Not Disturb. With lack of better options I decided to try it out. I remember thinking when I started the show "Maybe I'll like the show. And as far as (you know) girl, maybe soap operas were not her strength. Maybe she would excel more in a sitcom/comedy type of environment." I also remember finishing the show and thinking "Good for her, she's still (you know) someone's (you know)."

Fast forward several more years and I am watching one of my absolute favourite series, Law & Order : SVU. And who should appear on my screen, but Molly "You Know" Stanton. I will now take this opportunity to appologize to any Moly Stanton fans who disagree with my assesment that Ms. Stanton cannot act. I will also appologize to Molly Stanton because I may have been harsh with my words insinuating that she (you know) anyone's (you know) to garner the roles that she has achieved. Her perfromance on SVU was bang on. She did not seem out of place, she did not overact and she played her part perfectly. She played someone that was under arrest. For doing what you might ask? You know.

Shin Kicker says take the Q-Tip out of your ear.

That "Whole Other Blog" 2

That "Whole Other Blog" 2

by: Matthew Terry
FACEBOOK : https://www.facebook.com/tplxwrestling?fref=nf
TWITTER : https://twitter.com/UrSpitngImg

E-Mail : yourspittingimage@gmail.com


This entry derives from UNEMPLOYED PIECE OF GARBAGE - http://yourspittingimage.blogspot.ca/2015/07/unemployed-piece-of-garbage.html

My friend, the one who is unemployed actually, called me one day and told me that I needed to get BBM. I have no clue about new technologies or software or services of any kind. My mindset is still back in a day when having two phones, in one house, was a luxury. Now, I almost feel embarassed to carry around a mini computer that can also make phone calls no matter where the heck my fat butt is standing. But I digress.

He tells me that I need to get BBM. I ask him what that is, and as I'm sure 100% of you already knew, it is a messaging system that at one point was apparently exclusive to Blackberrys. He tells me that I can now download BBM onto my I-Phone and him and I can message back and forth. My response to this was that my name is attached to a home phone, a cell phone, a business phone, an e-mail address, a FACEBOOK account, a TWITTER feed, something called SNAPCHAT, Instagram and Pinterest. That is nine different forms of communication. Most of which is, thanks to my phone, at my fingertips at all times. If he is having difficulty getting a hold of me at any time, he just is not trying hard enough. However, he explains to me that for instant contact BBM is best for him because it doesn't count against his long distance, his cell phone minutes or his text limits. So, I download the damn BBM.

Now, I told you all of that so I could tell you this. I hate answering machines. As lyrical as I can be, I always feel like I freeze up or stumble when it comes to the answering machine. Not to mention that I am the streotypical "Is that what I actually sound like?" when I hear any type of recording of my voice. So, it's a self conscience thing. But it's also a "I don't need to leave a message thing too. There are so many forms of communication today that if I really need to contact someone, I can figure out some way to contact everyone. Yesterday I wrote about how I left a "funny" message on my friend's answering machine, only to have him call back and say that he had not listened to the message, he simply saw my name pop up on his call display. Why the heck should I need to leave an answering machine message when when 99.9% of phone owners have a call display function? Now, my friend needs to take the time to call his voicemail box, listen to my message, which he already knows what it says, then delete it. That may not sound like much, but that's time consuming. (Not really, but I'm trying to vent here.)


There are days when I want to take my cell phone, laptop and tablet and just lock them away in a closet. Just give them up all together. But owning my own business and needing a line of communication for outside bookings, in this day and age, requires that I have these things to try and keep up with the competition. I guess in my perfect world, a glitch that no one saw coming. That not one single technical marvel could foresee. That two that shows up inside of those zeros and ones would come along. For whatever reason every cell phone loses signal, every Wi-Fi is gone offline and every web site is completely useless and all the brilliance in the world scratches their head's and says "I just don't know."

Even for a day or two. I think it would be good for everyone.

Shin Kicker says take the Q-Tip out of your ear.

Dedicated to Mom who always complained I never left messages on her answering machine. Miss you.

Unemployed Piece Of Garbage

UNEMPLOYED PIECE OF GARBAGE




by: Matthew Terry
 FACEBOOK : https://www.facebook.com/tplxwrestling?fref=nf
TWITTER : https://twitter.com/UrSpitngImg
E-Mail : yourspittingimage@gmail.com

A good friend of mine has recently become unemployed. By no fault of his own, mind you. He simply wasn't able to meet the quotas that were put in front of him. Which may sound like fault of his own, but allow me to clarify. Without getting specific, my friend not making his quotas equates to someone saying they will pay you $1000 to move a large pile of sand down one block using only a wheelbarrow, and you have twenty minutes to do it. The money is good and they have given you the right tools, but you know going in that the task is near impossible. He gave it a shot, but couldn't get the sand moved in time. He's okay with it because he saw the hopelessness going in. Now, he's unemployed and I still haven't gotten to the main point of today's blog.

I called him the other day, two days after his release (so everyone can follow along), and got his answering machine. I'm a little odd with answering machines to begin with, but with good friends, it's beyond that. As soon as I heard the beep I proclaimed "Hey, you unemployed piece of garbage. It's two o'clock in the afternoon. Get your a** up and actually do something." Which doesn't sound nearly as funny reading it back at this moment, but at the time, hilarious.

He called me back a couple minutes later, without hearing the message. He simply saw my number and called back. Which is a whole other blog two*. I told him what the message said and in the moment. he laughed. Not hard laugh, but laughed. Okay, maybe it wasn't that funny in real time either, but that's not the point. The point is that I said it and it got my brain thinking.

What is the timeline allowable for making jokes about an unemployed friend simply to try and cheer them up and help them not get down on the situation? Can I make a joke two weeks from now? The severance will start coming in, so he'll still have an income. How about two months from now? Knowing him like I do he'll be pretty squirrely by then from not being able to lock something down. How about six months from now? Resources can only bring you so far, and the well may be close to dry by that point. Can you make a joke while the guy is carrying his TV to the pawn shop?

I can say all this because he's my very good friend. This blog, in and of itself, is to try and cheer him up and help keep his chin north of his breast bone. He is very good at what he does and can adapt to a new environment if he truly needs to. I certainly do not foresee him without work six months from now. If he is, I'm going to have some explaining to do. Because that won't be funny.

Shin Kicker says take the Q-Tip out of your ear.

* - Foreshadowing

I Am Not A Man

I AM NOT A MAN


by: Matthew Terry
FACEBOOK : https://www.facebook.com/tplxwrestling
TWITTER: https://twitter.com/UrSpitngImg
E-MAIL: yourspittingimage@gmail.com

I am not a "man". Emphasis on the quotation marks.

I am male, yes. And no, this is not me admitting who I truly am inside. Although, I suppose it is me proclaiming something that I have known for a very long time. I am not a "man". At least not by majority's definition.

I don't do the strip club thing. I have been to strip clubs. I have outwardly enjoyed strip clubs. However, inside I have never really enjoyed strip clubs. The first time I patrionized a strip club a naked woman danced in front of me. No surprise. Awkwardness, but no surprise. Then ... another naked woman danced in front of me. Little less awkward. Then ... another naked woman danced in front of me. Less awkward. After that naked woman danced in front of me, another naked woman danced in front of me. By this point I'm just grooving to the music and wondering where my rum and coke is. Point being, I know that this woman, or that woman or the women that bookended those two women, are not looking to date me or even come home with me. Boiled down it's a form of entertainment. Ladies and gentlemen dancing for your enjoyment by literally shaking what God gave you.


I don't hunt. Maybe you don't need to be the definitive "man" to be a hunter, but I think it certainly adds to the enjoyment of the whole thing. Actually, I digress, I do like to hunt sometimes. I like to do the Elmer Fudd tiptoe through the woods carrying a .22 rifle, and find things to shoot type of hunting. But tree blinds or crouching down inside a bush, while staying completely silent and remaining 100% focused on the salt lick or crab apples you have left as lure, is in no way enjoyable to me. I lose focus five minutes in. I cannot sit still for a long period of time doing absolutely nothing but focusing on one single task. Although, I do enjoy fishing, which is odd. Then again, if I cast out my bobber and stare at it to the point of boredom, I can look around at other things and check on the bobber every once and a while. Heck, I can walk away and get something out of the car, cook some food, take a pee in the bushes (hopefully not on a hunter) and still come back and see if that bobber is still ... bobbing.

I don't own a pickup truck. Oh man, the pickup trucks. To supplement my income I umpire softball. There are ladies leagues, there are co-ed leagues and there are, of course, men's leagues. Of the three, my preference certainly goes Ladies, Co-Ed and then Men. The ladies are my favourite due to the fact that they generally just want to have more fun playing than caring who's winning and who's losing. That and they look alot better in ball pants. Although the women may disagree on that point, but that's to be expected. At the opposite end of the scale, the men's leagues are nothing but sausage casings of testosterone and pickup trucks. The need to win and win convincingly is first and foremost on all of their minds. Even if it plainly says in the league name "Fun League". And finishing up for the night is always trying to find my vehicle in what basically amounts to a Dodge Ram dealership. Folks, I drive an SUV and I have issues finding my vehicle in a forest of oversized half-tons, three quarter tons and whatever other designated weight those things come in. But I know they need to be heavy. I saw it with my own eyes when a player bought himself a new truck and was showing it to his "buddies" only to have them say "that small a** piece of s*** is not a truck. It's a matchbox toy." Apparently "My truck is bigger than your truck." is a game "men" like to play. I don't play that game, so I guess that's another check in the "You're Not A Man" tally.

So, in an effort for everyone to get to know me a little better, I'm not a "man". Sometimes I can adapt to my surroundings like the chameleon I can sometimes be, but it doesn't take long for the pride to sniff out the pretender that I am trying to be and shunning me from the herd. You'd think I'd be upset or feel inadequate by not being what I suppose I'm bred to be. To be honest, sometimes it does cross my mind. Then I remember I am how I am and I still go home to my sexy wife in my beautiful home and I think to myself "Who cares?"

Shin Kicker says take the Q-Tip out of your ear.

That "Whole Other Blog"

THAT "WHOLE OTHER BLOG"
by: Matthew Terry
FACEBOOK : https://www.facebook.com/tplxwrestling
TWITTER: https://twitter.com/UrSpitngImg



When I blog about someone, I'm always worried I'm going to offend that person. Even if I'm writing good things. Words and their meanings are subjective. "You have a beautiful wife." "You want to screw my wife?!" It's all in how you interprut the words that are said or written. I told a very good friend, talking like guys do, that he had a very hot girlfriend. His response was "Ummm ... we're not swinging if that's what you're getting at." Which, I wasn't. Although in hindsight ... Point being, Kevin Smith, the subject of this "whole other blog", won't care in the least, no matter what I say because Kevin Smith feels that if you have less than three hundred followers, your opinion means nothing. So, I fall way under the wire on that one. Whew. Pressure gone.
First, the term "whole other blog" comes from yesterday's blog where I profess my new found admiration for Marc Maron -(http://yourspittingimage.blogspot.ca/2015/07/pleased-to-meet-you-mr-maron.html) Within that blog I state that I have theories about Kevin Smith's anger but that is a "whole other blog". Please note, these are theories. Not facts, not educated guesses and not any kind of opinion based on personal or professional interation with Kevin Smith. Kevin Smith and I have never met. I have reached out to him, he has not responded. I have professed my love of his work to him. Nothing in return. I have written e-mails, tweets and facebook messages to Kevin Smith and have seen not one single response. Kevin Smith ... wait, starting to sound a little bitter. Save that for later.

What is my theory to Kevin Smith's anger? It's the weed. It is my humble observation that when Kevin Smith "chain-tokes" or is able to smoke freely in his environment, he either gets very giggly, or gets very angry. Emphasis on the verys. Check out Smith's Smodcast with Chris Jericho (http://smodcast.com/episodes/smod-is-jericho/) and you will hear giggly. Check out Marc Maron's WTF Podcast that I referenced yesterday (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a56YGrR8w9o) and you will hear anger. There are other examples throughout, especially the SMODCAST library (http://smodcast.com/channels/smodcast/). In just about every single episode of that particualr podcast, I find Smith either annoyingly giggly or annoyingly angry. However, when I check out Smith's other podcast ventures, like Jay & Silent Bob Get Old (http://smodcast.com/channels/jay-silent-bob-get-old/) or Hollywood Babble-On (http://smodcast.com/channels/hollywood-babble-on/), I find Smith very entertaining, charismatic and funny. The difference between the former and the latter is that Smith can continueously toke away while doing SMODCAST or being a guest on WTF, but on Get Old and Babble-On, Smith admittingly "gets baked" immediately prior to the show and then reports to the stage. Where, of course, he cannot indulge out in public.


Now seems like a good time to once again state, these are opinions. These are theories. These are thoughts in my mind. I concern myself with entertaining you who read this blog. I don't concern myself with Kevin Smith because Kevin Smith is admittedly not concerned with me. However, I would like to say to each and every person reading this that you are appreciated deeply. The fact that sometimes as many as forty people read this amazes me. Even the offerings that garner ten or less views make me smile because someone is reading it. Someone is entertained by what I offer.  I don't care how far below three hundred I fall, you all mean something to me.  (There's the bitterness.)

Shin Kicker says take the Q-Tip out of your ear.

Pleased To Meet You Mr. Maron

PLEASED TO MEET YOU MR. MARON
by: Matthew Terry
TWITTER :     https://twitter.com/UrSpitngImg
FACEBOOK : https://www.facebook.com/tplxwrestling
E-MAIL :         yourspittingimage@gmail.com



People may have noticed that I've been a little different as of late. My writing has been different. My thought process has been different. In fact, I'm writing alongside that thought process. I found something that smartened me to the fact that, "I can do that? I can write the same way I think? I can dispense my thoughts rapidly? The exact same way they fly through my head." I have Marc Maron to thank for that.

I actually found Marc Maron a little while ago. I saw him on television doing stand-up at the Montreal Just For Laughs Festival. He was sitting on a stool and just talking. Not really making jokes, just talking. And I loved it. However, when watching Just For Laughs without a PVR, you need to take note of their names as they come on stage, it flashes on the screen for about five seconds, because otherwise, there is no going back. I wanted to know this guy's name, but there was no going back.

Then, Barack Obama dropped the N-Bomb on a podcast. I hate the N-Bomb. I hate people saying around me, even if I don't hate that person. Really, I didn;t care if Barack Obama used the word, but it was news, so I wanted to hear it in context. So I found it, like most things in the GOOGLE age, really easily. The photo that came on had Obama and that guy from the stool. I now knew he was Marc Maron. I listened to the Obama podcast. Loved it. Listened to a selection of the other podcasts. Loved them too. Bought "Attempting Normal". Read it, read it to my wife and am reading it again. Then, while looking for other podcast treasures, I found WTF Pocast With Marc Maron : Kevin Smith. This is where things got nasty. I should have known.

You see, I used to be a Kevin Smith Guy. I was a Kevin Smith Guy when I found Marc Maron. To put it into perspective, in hindsight, Maron was a woman I met and really fell for, but I was married to Kevin Smith. I kept thinking about Maron, but I was loyal to Kevin Smith. Then, I ran into Maron again, still had those head over heels feelings, but I was still married to Kevin Smith. Now, oh God, Marc Maron and Kevin Smith were going to be in the same place at the same time. This is intriguing, yes, because I haven't done anything with Maron, but at the same time, you know this can't be good. And it wasn't.

For the first three quarters of the podcast, everything was wonderful, my man Kevin and my mental mistress Marc are on point. They're funny, they're witty, they're telling stories. Then, we get to the whole "Too Fat To Fly" thing. Being a Kevin Smith guy, I had heard about it, of course. I compare it to that one thing that you hate bringing up with your wife because you hate how angry it makes her. Unfortunately, everyone wants to talk about it. So, Kevin goes off on his usual tirade and tells the "I am TWITTER. I'll show you." story. Which is a little pompous, but I don't blame the guy for using the resources at his disposal. Then, it got bad. For me anyway. You see, I always found Kevin Smith more "I was someone no one liked and I made good regardless." While at the same time remembering and respecting what not being liked meant. Still very relatable. However, during the podcast, Smith went over the top. For me anyway. He started into "I am Kevin Smith, who the f*** are you?" Lines like "If you don't have 300 followers (you mean nothing to me.)" "So what, I'm fat. I can f*** your wife. And if I can't f*** her, I can buy her." I have my theories about Kevin Smith and his anger, but that is a whole other blog. Plus, what do I really know about Kevin Smith? I've never interacted with the guy. Which is odd because I have reached out several times, especially on TWITTER and the TWITTER Whore (I mean that in a good way) has never acknowledged me. I still like Kevin Smith's work. I truly do, I just don't really like Kevin Smith. Which, to me, sounds like a great deal for Kevin Smith. "So, this guy likes my work, keeps giving me his money and I don't need to meet him on a personal level? Awesome."

WANT TO HEAR THE PODCAST? : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a56YGrR8w9o

So, I have entered into a trial separation with Kevin Smith. I'm pretty sure he's fine with it. I'm probably more heartbroken then he is. But Marc seems nice. He treats me better. He relates to me better. He talks a lot nicer to me.  Do I blame him for exposing this side of Kevin Smith to me and ultimately causing my estrangement?  No, I think it would have happened anyway.

   I think we might be happy together as long as things progress nicely. I'm sure he's okay with me still checking in with Kevin every once and a while, just to see how he's doing. I think everything is going to be just fine.

Shin Kicker says take the Q-Tip out of your ear.

Meet Marc Maron ...
Website:              http://www.wtfpod.com/
Twitter:               https://twitter.com/marcmaron
Facebook:           https://www.facebook.com/WTFPodcast?fref=ts

Bitter Feelings

BITTER FEELINGS
by: Matthew Terry

We're selling a bookshelf/cabinet type piece of furniture. This isn't an ad for that. In fact, it's probably no longer available while I write this. In another fact, the fact that in fact it's no longer available brings me to the fact I'm trying to cover. Someone sent me a message asking if it was still available and that they could pick it up at my convenience. Here's my response.
Yes, it is still available.

As far as convenience, if you'd like it today, I will check with the availability of my wife. She's on vacation while I go to work (Yes, a little bitter). Tomorrow, we can do it anytime after seven. Keep in mind, it's not light. Happy to help move it out, but may need help.

-Cheers
So, now may be a good time to explore the bitter feelings that I seem to have about my wife being on vacation while I find myself at work. Keep in mind, I'm not bitter with my wife. Hopefully that becomes clear as you read.

My wife works for the YMCA of Niagara. She's a Child and Youth Specialist. I call her a very glorified babysitter. I say that, we laugh (I laugh). She watches children all day at a daycare. A very good daycare with a very good program to help educate and help develop children. She is also very good at her job. She has a very good education and has a very good reputation within her field. So, bottom line, my wife is a very good employee for a very good employer. As I already suggested, she gets vacation time. Well deserved vacation time.

I, on the other hand, own my own business. Well, we own our own business. Okay, in the interest of full disclosure, there are five of us that actually "own" the business. I don't anyone misinterpruting my statement. That being said, for better or for worse, I am the business. I am the guy that runs the business, negotiates for the business, works every signle aspect on every single day. Literally, every single day. We have owned this business for close to four and a half years and I have been here every single day the open sign has been illuminated. Yet, I do not get vacation time.

See why I'm bitter. I'm not bitter at any one person. Just the fact that the time is not available, the circustances don;t allow it and frankly, the finances won't allow it. For me to take a vacation, I would need to close the store. Thankfully, our business never experiences a true down time. There is no point where we would not busy and therefore, may as well take some time for myself. My partners know little things here and there about the store, but not nearly enough to manage it for a week. And to be totally honest, the store needs to remain open to pay the bills.

Someone once told me that the reward to owning your own business is that your time will come when your older and can reep the rewards that you have built over three or four decades. The problem with that is, with inflation, Cuba won't be getting any cheaper. I've beaten my body up over the years already and I'd hate to see what a 65-70 year old Matthew Terry will be looking like. And most of all, I have a hot wife that I want to show off now, not later.

Shin Kicker says take the Q-Tip out of your ear.

Getting Too Real

GETTING TOO REAL
by : Matthew Terry

My mom passed away six weeks ago. That part has always been real. I believe that that has actually happened. Don't get me wrong, I've said the words "I can't believe she's gone." , but that's just what people say. She's gone, I know that.

The furniture that I grew up with is gone. I know that that is true. My brother and I split everything relatively easily. We had the "You want this?"/"You want that." conversation. We're lucky we get along on a good level, otherwise this could be harder than it already has been. The dining set, the hope chest, the credenza, the wall unit and such have been there for as long as I can remember. The house around it changed, but they were always there. It sounds silly, I'm sure, but seeing those things go was a little tough. But, neither of us had any need or room for any of it, so it needed to be done.

We're driving my mom's car. I know that it's my name on the owndership. I know that it's my garage that it's sitting inside of. I know that it was me that put the money into the safety and car bombing (yes, I wrote car bombing) of the car (Mom was a heavy smoker so they needed to "bomb" the car.) But when I drive it, and when my wife drives it too, I'm sure, it's my mom's car. I know it's legally and literally not her car anymore, but it's my mother's car.

The house has made it too real. Up to this point it has been "What do we ask for it?", "What's out bottom line price?", "Should we pay someone to take over forty years of cigarette smoke out of the house?" Which we did. We didn't need to bomb the house, but it may have been a realistic option. All easy stuff. Things that I had very little trouble analyzing and deciding. Now, there has been interest in the house. Now, someone wants answers about how old the roof is, things about the furnace, the age of the hot water heater. Someone wants my childhood home. The last bastion of my childhood in Osgoode, Ontario is close to no longer being in the Terry family.

I want to keep my childhood home. I have all along. I can't. Financially, I think I could manage it. Geographically, not so much. I live in Welland. My wife is born, bred and apparently rooted in Welland. I can't live in Osgoode and I can't afford to move the house here. This may sound grandious, but it's reality inside my head. I'm trying to think of options that allow me to keep the house. I know I won't keep the house. It's better if I don't keep the house. It's better if I let the house go. It's better if someone takes the baton from here.

I told my brother I would much rather a young couple starting out would be my prefered choice for a buyer, rather than someone who simply wants to flip the house and make a dime off of it.

Fingers crossed.

Shin Kicker says take the Q-Tip out of your ear.

Definition Of Courage

Definition Of Courage
by Matthew Terry

the ability to do something that frightens one.

"she called on all her courage to face the ordeal"

strength in the face of pain or grief.

"he fought his illness with great courage"





It's all subjective. It's all a matter of opinion. You can say that a hockey player suffering a cardiac episode, then getting up and wanting to get back into the game is courageous. But definitively, to me, that's wrong. To be courageous is to face a fear. To be courageous is to attempt to conqueur with the knowledge that odds are not in your favour. This man was felled by his heart. He was revived. He was brought back to conciousness. Then he demanded to be allowed back into the game. Despite his fear of dieing on the spot he wanted nothing more then to ... play hockey. Participate in a game that meant very little in the standings of the league. Participate in a game that by the time he "courageously" demanded to return to, was long since postponed by the league. What fear did he face head on? What mountain did he demand to conquer?

Do you remember the jock in school? The guy who was on all the teams. The guy that seemingly could do anything. The guy that when he won the annual awards, you said "Of course he did." That guy was the freaking man. You wanted to be him. You wanted to be looked at like him. You wanted to be revered like him. At least for an hour of a day, if not the full twenty-four hours. Now, picture him telling you "I think I want to be a woman." Doesn't even need to be school. Take the guy that excels in the beer league. Baseball in the summer, hockey in the winter and golf when he can find the time. We all have one. Even if you are one, you hang out with your same ilk. One night, he looks at you and says "I think I'm really a woman." How scared is someone to say that? How scary is it to admit that? How scary is it, knowing that it's not going away. Day after day after day after day ... it's there.

Good on the hockey player who's heart stopped. Day by day he has gotten better and better. The man that is now a woman? His heart stops every morning. Her heart stops when she walks out the front door. Their heart stops every time they look someone in the eye.