Hamiltonians have weak bladders?

First thing's first.....GO LEAFS GO!

I'm the first to admit, the whole NHL lockout was a ridiculous farce, with the players ending up with less than they started with, but it was a necessary evil to correct a system spinning out of control. Regardless of the hooplah of last season, I am anxiously awaiting the start of the new season and anticipating a sucessful year for my team- the Toronto Maple Leafs, and on a lesser scale - the Calgary Flames.

Having just returned from a pre-season Toronto-Boston game at a rare Hamilton venue, my hockey appetite is sufficiently whet. Although my favorite player- Tie Domi- did not take to the ice, I got to watch the talents of the new roster showcased effectively in a 5-0 shut-out.

My beef is with the unbelievable classlessness (is that even a word?) of Hamiltonians. I am one, so I qualify this statement by saying it is obviously a generalization and not meant to apply to one and all, but in this instance to the majority of those in attendance at the game. Not only did they collectively begin to boo the U.S. National Anthem (ok, granted it was being sung by a warbling Michael Burgess- of whom I'm not fond either), but I have never seen a bunch of bandwagon fans who were less interested in the game they had paid money to watch. Thankfully, the mild applause at the end of the Stars & Stripes was somewhat redeeming. That said, it was a good thing that the tickets were only $38 rather than the normal game prices at the ACC in Toronto, because the so-called fans spent most of their time running between concession stands and the washrooms and missed half the game, causing those of us who were actually watching to be interrupted every two minutes to stand up and let them out of the row.

The two gentlemen (and I use the term quite loosely) who were seated beside me, didn't even have the courtesy to show up until half way through the first period. No sooner had their asses touched the seats, they were off to the concession stand to double-fist foul smelling beer from plastic cups, spilling it all over the floor in the process. Repeated bathroom runs started in the second period. The icing on the cake was when these "gentlemen" caused us to miss the final goal of the period. Replays are just not the same when you PAID MONEY TO SEE IT LIVE! So when they got up one last time at 1:34 left in the game I just shook my head. If you hadn't seen the beginning of the game, why wait to see the end I suppose.....

The funny part was they were in the majority. I never knew that Hamiltonians had such weak bladders. I guess I should feel sorry for them...they'll never know what a great game it actually was for those of us true fans who savored every minute.

Obsession?

Obsession: "the domination of one's thoughts or feelings by a persistent idea, image, desire, etc."

I like to call it a hobby, but in actuality, it probably fits the above definition. It's not in the forefront of my mind all of the time....but enough to prompt me to actually look up the definition of obsession to see if I require professional help yet.

My obsession is Stargate.

It started with the movie. I fell in love with the concepts it presented; religion, wormhole theory and space/time physics, and archaeology. As a student of all three, I was fascinated. The idea that the Egyptian pyramids were created by aliens, who took the form of the ancient gods themselves, seemed actually plausible when brought to life on the movie screen. And it didn't hurt that James Spader and Kurt Russell were the lead actors either. I wore out my poor VHS copy of the movie from overuse.

Then came the television series: Stargate SG-1. This combined my budding Stargate obsession with an older, well established one. Richard Dean Anderson. As a MacGyver fan, I had grown up with RDA, learning to abhorr guns and to value the mind above brute strength. Life lessons were gained from every episode. Many times my friend Susan and I tried to duplicate the latest "MacGyverism": creating booby traps in the neighboring farmer's hayfields, and trying to see if pinecones really would explode. When it was learned that RDA would be cast as the illustrious Colonel Jack O'Neill, Stargate SG-1 was on the favorites list even before the first episode aired.

I have been there from the very beginning. From the pilot that was met with much criticism and not-so-great ratings, to the upcoming and much anticipated 9th season finally showing here in Canada, and all the awards and acclamations in between. I have faithfully collected the DVD sets, gathered autographs, gone to conventions to meet the cast, visited the sets in Vancouver, and now administrate 2 sites devoted to fan roleplaying based on the Stargate franchise. I have dabbled in fanfiction, labouring over pages upon pages of storyline. I expect that I will be there until the end, which hopefully isn't anywhere on the horizon just yet.

I hope you will bear with me, perhaps joining me in some of my neurosis by checking out my sites, and reading the things that I will inevitably post here. Label me a "Gater" if you will. I will accept the title gladly.

Feeling introspective...

I must be overtired, overwhelmed, or just overly critical. It's times like these that I tend to look inward, and although I can't put my finger on it, there is something just beyond my reach that gnaws at me. It's that little feeling like you've left your keys somewhere, but haven't noticed it yet. The anticipation of the inevitible catastrophe waiting around the corner. Funny how crawling into bed in the dark seems to be the logical deterrent for what looms. As if the passing of time staring at the ceiling will ward off the anxious feeling, when it really enables it to grow and fester, fuled by the random thoughts of an idle mind. Hours later the first rays of light creep in from the sliver of space at the top of the curtains, and the feeling finally slips away.

.......The slate is washed clean.