It snowed in Calgary yesterday. Just a wet snow that vanished soon after, but snow nontheless. Winter’s on its way in cowtown, and soon people will be freezing their pistachios off scurrying from the Saddledome parking lot to the ticket takers inside.
I lived in Calgary for seven years, was a semi driver there, and once in late October, after a raging snowstorm had hit the night before, I dropped a trailer at a frozen meat warehouse and was bobtailing back in my tractor, I began to brake for a train crossing an icy industrial park road, and although I was only going about five miles an hour, slid right into it. How many people do you know who have hit a train?
Another time, while driving my truck in a major snowstorm south of Calgary, with a white-out so thick I couldn’t see even the hood, I crossed the medium into the northbound lane and didn’t know it until I got out and started walking around.
I ruined my knees skiing in the area. My first marriage ended there. I froze my pistachios often.
Calgary brings back bad memories. And on top of that, there’s Flames fans everywhere. Snow, ice, whiteouts, and Flames fans.
So the plan for the Canadiens is, get in, win, don’t get hurt, and get the hell out before anything bad happens.