Useless Thread MMX: Capitals are worthless divers un-appreciation thread



Title: Garage Therapy with Deer and Roy


Paul stormed out of Jackie O’s, still fuming from his confrontation with the quiet, unbothered Michigan fan. He muttered under his breath as he got into his truck, still picturing that smug "Scoreboard" smirk etched on her face.


By the time he pulled into his driveway, the chill of early evening had set in. He didn’t bother going inside—he stomped straight into the garage, his sanctuary. The space smelled faintly of motor oil and dry leaves. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. His old La-Z-Boy waited in the corner, right under the mounted heads of four buck deer, each frozen mid-glory with glass eyes and weathered antlers.


Paul slumped into the chair, cracked a fresh beer from the mini fridge, and turned on the little TV he kept on a tool shelf. A rerun of an Ohio State–Wisconsin game from 2019 was playing. Back when things made sense.


He stared up at the largest mount—“Big Al,” a ten-point buck he’d bagged in '08—and let the memory drift back. Cold morning. Frost crunching under boots. The thrill of the hunt. And afterward—oh, the meat. Venison burgers, thick and peppered, grilled right there in the yard with the game on in the background.


Paul sighed. “They don’t make Fridays like that anymore.”


As if summoned by deer-god telepathy, his phone buzzed. Roy.


Paul picked up. “Yeah?”


Roy’s voice came through, warm and animated. “Man. You ever think about deer meat?”


Paul blinked. “Funny timing.”


“I was just talkin’ to this guy at the park who grilled up some venison sliders,” Roy said. “Tasted like freedom and cholesterol. I thought of you.”


Paul chuckled. “You always did like it more than you thought you would.”


“I was suspicious, man,” Roy admitted. “Thought it’d taste like tire rubber. But that lean bite? That earthy kick? I respect it now.”


There was a pause. Paul stared at the wall, eyes resting on “Lil Rick,” a buck with only one antler and a bullet scar in the shoulder. “I got three pounds left in the freezer. Was savin’ it for a special day.”


Roy let out a low whistle. “That is currency right there.”


“I was thinkin’... deer burger night next week. Bring Quint. He can gnaw on a venison nugget. Builds character.”


Roy laughed. “Bet. You grill. I’ll bring beer. Maybe real beer this time—not that Utah root water.”


Paul smiled for the first time all day.


“Yeah,” he said. “That’s a real Beer Friday.”


They hung up.


Outside, the sun dipped behind the trees. In the garage, Paul cracked another beer, raised it toward “Big Al,” and whispered, “You’re feeding us yet, old boy.”


The TV played on. The deer heads watched in silent agreement.



 
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Again…I’m over a foot taller than you.

Christ I was taller than you by 5th grade FFS….
at least you own jerseys

I'll say you,sega and me are the only jersey owners here. everyone else takes a "iz too poor to buy" approach.

I mean certain people win the title congratulations but didn't buy any shirts? 😂 How you supposed to celebrate without affirmation shirts to get dapped up in public?
 
As much as I disagree with Sega's thoughts on vaping and e-cigs I will admit he has good sense to have a Hutchinson jersey

Some people who shant be named do not own jerseys and just wear normie shit to the very few games they attend. Then they sit in their "suite"boxes at Soldier field instead of hanging out with gen pop :laugh:

We weren't in a suite, but they were club level tickets. Sorry we're not poor and can afford something better than nosebleeds, I guess?

My wife was also pregnant at the time but willing to go to a game and getting in and out of Soldier Field is a long walk both ways and uber isn't really an option. I got club tickets so she could sit inside in a comfortable chair or in the event the weather was bad. Sorry for being a considerate and good husband though, I guess?
 

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