Sometimes things work out and it feels like it was meant to be somehow.
A school buddy called me last Friday afternoon and said he was coming to town from the coast to deal with his late father鈥檚 property and inquired about getting together.
I鈥檓 not always a generous guy, but I thought he might be on his own so I said he could break bread with us as I had smokies thawing on the counter at home as we spoke. Not exactly steak and lobster, but he bit at the offer anyway, and I was pleased.
He didn鈥檛 mention it, but I knew there was a Vipers game that night, the last home game of the season actually, and I was on my way to the Morning Star office where sometimes they have extra tickets for the asking.
You see, my buddy鈥檚 dad was a huge Vipers fan and had been a longtime season-ticket holder, and Bruce had been to town on a couple of occasions recently and asked about catching a game together but alas, it never came to be.
So I headed to see the editor, who was extremely busy, but always has time for a chat. Plus, I was armed with Timbits.
We shared a few war stories from the trenches when I noticed three Vipers tickets casually strewn across her desk.
鈥淎re those spoken for,鈥� I quietly inquired.
鈥淣o, they鈥檙e yours,鈥� she generously responded, while explaining she was going to go to the game with a friend but the friend didn鈥檛 want to go after all.
That is so cool, I offered, as I鈥檓 kind of asking for a friend too, but I鈥檓 pretty sure he鈥檒l want to go when I tell him.
I texted my buddy the good news that I got tickets he didn鈥檛 even ask for, and the price was something his rather thrifty father would have appreciated.
Bruce arrived at Chez Mitchell a little late, but luckily, the entree didn鈥檛 take long to prepare and after a rather tasty meal, including fries and a tossed salad (I don鈥檛 want you to think we鈥檙e total barbarians).
We were off to the game in time for the beginning of the second period. The wife and son declined to take the third ticket鈥攍ikely sensing a male bonding exercise in full flight.
It was a good-sized crowd and a 2-1 lead for the home team, the action was fast-paced and playoff positioning was on the line. It felt good to be a part of it and we both confessed it had been too long since we鈥檇 been to a game.
After the period, I insisted we go for a walk and find the 50/50 people and we鈥檇 only gone half the loop around the arena when we heard a familiar refrain right behind us: 鈥淕et your 50/50 here.鈥�
They were following us. I pulled out a $20 bill, Bruce pulled out a $10 bill and he got us both a $5 strip. I swear I didn鈥檛 do that on purpose. He immediately said we share any winnings, we fist-bumped on it, and I asked the young ladies selling tickets who the money was going to.
鈥淥kanagan College Alumni,鈥� they said. Bruce and I looked at each other. 鈥淭hat鈥檚 us,鈥� I exclaimed. 鈥淓xcept, when we went, it was in the army barracks.鈥�
They didn鈥檛 look that impressed for some reason.
We continued our walk and he hooked up with a friend of his dad鈥檚 for a long chat. Bruce is a teacher like his old man. We then settled in for the third period.
You can probably tell where this is going, but it was still quite shocking when they announced the numbers and Bruce looked at his ticket, and then at me, and proclaimed, 鈥淲e won.鈥� I was glad he said 鈥渨e,鈥� but I was also beginning to think this night was working out so perfectly for him and the memory of his dad that maybe I should let him have it all. (Actually, no I didn鈥檛, but isn鈥檛 that a nice thought?)
We stumbled into the Vipers office to collect our $1,500 to round out a pretty neat chain of events.
A phone call, an offer of dinner, a gift of tickets, a vow to share 50/50 winnings and, for one night at least, karma was king.
It was either that or they really should mix in those tickets that are bought before the third period a little better.
Nah, let鈥檚 go with karma.
Glenn Mitchell is a former editor of The Morning Star.
