Tom Renney made a crack yesterday about Brendan Shanahan’s age when explaining why the right wing sat out practice with a sore back.
Everyone had a good laugh, but maybe I should have contained myself.
I am roughly six years younger than Shanahan, and I’ve always liked to think I’m in reasonably good shape for my age. And yet here I am the morning after a late night pick-up game, when a handful of college kids were buzzing around the net all night, and I’m forced to blog with a heating pad on my back.
It’s all downhill from here, folks. First it’s the heating pad. Then it’s the multiple Advils after every game. Pretty soon you’re reverting to your days as a squirt, when you need someone else to tie your skates because you can’t even bend over.
Shanny has always had my respect. But never more so than this morning.
Meanwhile, a brief programming note: I’m tied up with a golf assignment today, meaning Josh will be making a rare appearance out of the bullpen (OK, wrong sports metaphor). Here’s hoping he doesn’t use the blog to reminisce with Chris Drury about all things BU (“Remember when you scored that goal against UNH? That was awesome”).
Either way, I’ll check in later…