We used to get together, a couple of fellow truckers and myself, in Herbert’s Corners, south of Ottawa, and play a lot of cribbage. Drink beer and play crib. The wives would huddle in another room and talk about kids and jobs and all that nonsense, but we’d play crib. It was beautiful, because beer and crib go together like Cheech and Chong, John and Yoko, Brad Marchand and Richard Simmons. Just perfect.
On one certain evening when the beer was flowing and the turntable was burning up, talk again got around to who was the better crib player. I told them that I indeed was the King of Crib. They laughed. But wait, I said. There’s even a big billboard when you’re coming into Orillia that says “Welcome to Orillia, Home of Dennis Kane, King of Crib.”
They laughed again.
A few days later I phoned my father, who was a sign painter, and told him about the King of Crib thing. I also asked him if he would make up a little sign, about two feet square, which he did. Then I attached a couple of wooden sticks to it, put it in the ground on the side of the highway, and took a picture of it close up so it looked like a big sign.
I presented it to my fellow truckers shortly after. They believed me for days, right up until they discovered the other sign I had my dad make which I planted near their homes. It read “Welcome To Herbert’s Corners. Home Of The World’s Two Biggest Fish.”