Local Matter

I received a forward of an email from a teammate on Friday night addressing a purely local matter. The czar, or czarina in "his" particular case, who runs our local hockey league administration, decided that our team had not signed in for enough games over the spring season, and should therefore be banned from the playoffs, effective immediately. The little czarina's rationale for our untimely demise was a failure to sign in with enough frequency during the season. Now, coming from the neanderthal in charge, this could only have been done via cave painting or some other means of pictography which his limited intellect would be able to grasp. So, one can imagine that we were a little space and time constrained, during a full season of skates, to meet the infant in charge's demands. Further, if we were unable to meet the little czarina's demands for fully actuated initialing of our regular presence, I can only imagine the difficulty this must have presented to a number of the teams we found ourselves playing this season, as I am not sure they have begun teaching cursive in elementary school (ah, yes, there is an age restriction in our tier within this league which is seemingly open to seriously flawed interpretation, but not which meets with the czarina's criteria for sportsmanship or competition).

By means of further back round, and to give more detail to my grievence, one should have a better picture of the contrite, little empress. By nature, the despot of our league has only managed to attain the titular post of "assistant rink manager". To me this harkens a number of other autocrats, dictators and general morons with whom find ourselves bemused on a daily basis by their rantings on the world and local stages. Take the "great" Colonel Chavez of Venezuela, for example. He clearly attended the same school of self-promotion as another global leader - the crazy Libyan - unable to achieve a satisfactory measure of his own merit, as he has been unable to rise above the rank of colonel despite being the titular head of state. At least the cigar chomping former head of state in Cuba managed to promote himself to Generalissimo.

So back to (let's just call him Murray) our little colonel of the local over 40 hockey league and his decision. Bravo, El Colonel, for effectively flexing your muscle, spreading your wings, clearing your throat. Clearly, the daily yell at 7 and 8 year olds aside, this decision, as petty as it is, makes you feel like the king and man you are not. Do us all a favor, find the nearest castle tower, and jump.

That would be view from on high (or on a plane).