I know we’re in the middle of the playoffs and everything, but I need to share. A funny thing happened on the way to Canada a couple of weeks ago. I just moved up here permanently from Boston’s North End, and to the uninitiated it’s a heck of a tough neighborhood to maneuver anything resembling a large truck through. When I arrived at my favorite automotive equipment leasing establishment (hint: it rhymes with RuPaul,) I discovered my reservation for a 10 foot truck had somehow translated into a 14 footer that wouldn’t be ready for an hour. By the time I finally got back to the North End from Dorchester not only was I an hour behind schedule, but I had serious doubts about whether I’d be able to back the behemoth down my little street that was of course designed for horses 300 years ago.
Luckily my copilot, Sean – the Bear to my BJ (that’s hot) – got out of the truck and helped me navigate backwards through the planters, pedestrians and fire escapes that litter Cleveland Place. We got the bugger in and we got it almost all the way to my front door when I noticed a man on a cell phone walking towards the truck in my rear view mirror. At the time, I thought he looked familiar but I was far too engrossed in not flattening Italian children to pay it any mind. And then Sean shouted his next direction my way:
“Cut the wheel to the right, straighten out past the lamp post and be sure not to hit Stanley Cup winner and Hockey Hall of Famer, Ray Bourque“.
I hit the brakes and turned around to look out the windshield as Ray heard his name, turned and waved at us. Had he not been on the phone, Sean swears he would have asked him to help load the truck so we could get a picture. That would have been quite a momento to leave Boston with. Still, it was very exciting to have almost squashed Ray Bourque that fateful morning. I’m not a fan-atic in a Mark David Chapman sort of way, but I’m starting to see where the fat bastard was coming from.
By the way, this is a hilarious story.