![]() Garrett chews slowly, a thoughtful glimmer in his eyes. They’re both sophomores, both talented players who deserve to be in the league.īut at the same time, it’s yet another reminder that I won’t be in the league. The Kings snapped up Connor Trayner in the first round, while the Blackhawks drafted one of our D-men, Joe Rogers, in the fourth. ![]() ![]() The NHL entry draft took place a couple of weeks ago, and I was thrilled to hear that two Briar players made the cut. “So how crazy is it about Connor? First round pick-that’s gotta be good for his ego.”Ī bittersweet feeling washes over me. Garrett flops in the chair and reaches for a slice. “Just don’t feel like drinking right now.” I place the can on the dirt and accept the bacon-loaded pizza slice he hands me. So does the taste of bourbon, Dad’s backup beverage once he runs out of beer. The truth? The smell serves as a depressing reminder of my childhood. ![]() My friends know I don’t drink beer unless it’s the only option available, but I’ve always claimed my dislike for it stems from the fact that beer is weak and tastes like shit. ![]()
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