EDITOR’S NOTE: I originally reported that the Canes were playing the Penguins that night. I remembered there being a goalie controversy that night involving Tim Thomas and confused the appropriate teams of the Penguins’ Marc-Andre Fleury and Boston’s Thomas…the opponent that night was actually the Boston Bruins. The story has been updated to reflect this error.
I’m a crier and it’s time those who read this blog knew it.
My friends at the Citizen found this out in July when I busted in to their offices sobbing and asking if I could work for home, but the true proof of it came exactly a year ago today.
The Hurricanes were playing the Bruins that night. I remember because after Peggy photographed the game we were hitting the road to go join “our” friends at Oak Island for our Saint Patrick’s Day festivities.
I say “our” friends because although we now share joint custody of those friends, it’s important to note that the individuals down at Oak Island were my inner circle – the friends I wouldn’t be alive without and in whom I confided everything that needed to be confided.
So when Peggy came over before the game and it was clear she couldn’t be talked out of covering the game (Boston is her “second-favorite” team) I gave up on getting to the beach early and proceeded to start an argument.
I have no clue what the argument was about, or even if I started it, but this argument was the nth in nth days, so when I asked, sarcastically, if Peggy was going to break up with me over it…she nodded her head yes.
The crying started here. I remember everything about that moment: Where she was, how her face looked, how slowly her head bobbed up and down…but this post isn’t about that moment. It’s about everything that happened following it.
She went to her game and I lost it. How could she do this…and with my closest friends 2.5 hours away!?
So I got into my car and drove…talking to Farrell and Jessica and Richard in shifts on the phone the entire way. Between sobs I would listen to music. I remember this song played.
Anyway, they promised that as soon as I got to Farrell Manor, everything would be fine.
They were right. When I arrived, Farrell poured me a half a Solo cup of rum. I remember pulling him aside and telling him that I wanted to hurt in the morning.
I was wrong. I showed up at about 9:30 p.m. and was passed out in my bed by midnight. I woke up at 7:30 a.m., right as rain, and went to the grocery store for green food coloring, beer, pesto, eggs and ham. I also stopped by a tourist store to get a green T-shirt (I had left my house at the same time Peggy did, bringing nothing but the clothes on my back).
So we had green eggs and ham for breakfast, with green pancakes. And Peggy came down later for Black and Tans, which quickly became Black and Greens.
And somewhere Saint Patrick was smiling because there really is no modern equivalent of driving out snakes from a village, but a day when friends give support when it’s needed and alcohol brings people together is a day worth celebrating.
Happy Saint Patrick’s Day everyone!
One thought on “My Saint Patrick’s Day Anniversary”
Oh, I love breakup stories. Also, you have the weirdest taste in music ever. So wait, was this exactly one year ago? I’m confused about the anniversary itself.