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Just Off-Camera

"They respect you if you write. The dumber the world gets, the more the words matter." -Dan Jenkins

Friday, March 25, 2005

The Chicken Sandwich Of Victory Redux

Faithful readers of Just Off-Camera (very faithful readers - hi, Mom) might remember a post from over a year ago entitled "The Chicken Sandwich Of Victory." It was an ode to the free Chick-fil-a chicken sandwich for which you could redeem your Flyers ticket stub if the Orange and Black scored four or more goals in a game.

That chicken sandwich had a special condiment - an intangible condiment, if you will - the special sauce of winning. Well, usually. If you score four goals in today's NHL, you usually win. Actually, I should say last year's NHL. Friggin' lockout. But I'm rambling. The point was that it was no longer simply a delicious Chick-fil-a sandwich. It was more than that. Everyone knows free food tastes better, but free food courtesy of a win is superior even to that.

Why am I bringing this up when the Flyers haven't played all season and I'm living in L.A. anyway? Well, it just so happens that back in February, I ran a 10k (and did damn well, if I may say so myself - I finished in 48:44). When you run a race, they always give you a bag of goodies. The bag mostly consists of things like flyers for future races, maybe a PowerBar, and random items from the race sponsors such as notepads, pens, and water bottles. But the Redondo Beach Super Bowl 10k gave me a coupon for - drumroll - a free Chick-fil-a chicken sandwich.

I nearly soiled myself when I found that in the bag. Fortunately, I was too tired after the race and too nervous about the Eagles playing in the Super Bowl later in the day to actually do so. I suppose it would be a misnomer to call it a Chicken Sandwich Of Victory, because I didn't win the race. However, I earned that free sandwich. I ran 6.2 miles for it. It will be just as sweet as any chicken sandwich the Flyers could have given me.

Anyway, so I've been hanging on to this golden ticket for six weeks now, but I haven't gone yet because the closest Chick-fil-a to me is in Redondo Beach, where the race was. In order to get to Redondo Beach, I have to brave the 405. So the coupon has been sitting on my desk for over a month, taunting me, making me salivate, while I sit and look at it and think about moron drivers cutting me off without using their signal.

Late last night, however, I looked at the coupon. "Valid through 3/25/05." I could not possibly let this rare West Coast opportunity to have a Chicken Sandwich Of Victory (I don't care if I didn't win the race; it was a moral victory) pass me by. However, I have a flight to Minnesota to catch this afternoon. What to do?

Well, my friend offered me a ride to the airport. And I'm going to tell him that I'm driving myself to the airport because I don't want to bother someone with having to pick me up when I return at 1:10 a.m. on Monday morning. That's partly true. However, I really wouldn't have a problem with bugging someone to come get me in the wee hours. The truth is, I'm going to drive myself to the airport so I can go a little out of my way and make a stop in Redondo Beach for my well-deserved Chicken Sandwich Of Victory.

If nothing else, it'll be a good omen for the Cornell hockey team.


Speaking of good omens for the Cornell hockey team, I bought a few books for my flights this morning. One of those books, which I will read on my way to Minneapolis, is The Game, by Hall-Of-Famer/hockey legend/member of Canadian Parliament/role model/former Cornell standout Ken Dryden. It's supposed to be the best hockey book ever written. And it doesn't hurt that it was written by the man who was in net for Cornell's first NCAA championship in 1967. (Contrary to common belief, Dryden was not the goalie for the 1969-70 championship team that is still the only undefeated, untied team in NCAA hockey history.)

The other books that I got are Sex, Drugs, And Cocoa Puffs, by Chuck Klosterman, and The Art Of War, by Sun Tzu. I'm really getting into reading for pleasure again. I kind of lost that interest during my undergrad days, but I've already read five books on my own in the new year, and I've rediscovered the joy of a good book.

By the way, those books were Night Fall, by Nelson DeMille (predictable ending, but still a good read), The Best American Sports Writing 2004 (every year's edition is worth reading), Friday Night Lights, by H.G. Bissinger (now I don't want to see the movie for fear that it won't do the book justice), I Am Charlotte Simmons, by Tom Wolfe (flat-out nailed the various male personalities at any American undergraduate institution), and State Of Fear, by Michael Crichton (confirmed my theory that lawyers are the good guys and environmental scientists are evil).

Not to get all fifth-grade teacherish on you, but reading really is fun. I stayed up until 5 a.m. one night reading all of I Am Charlotte Simmons when I should have been working on my memo, and I did the same thing a week later with State Of Fear when I should have been working on my law review write-on. It wasn't the end of the world. I finished both and handed them in on time. Maybe I lost a little more sleep than I should have. I can sleep after I'm dead. I think I'm better off for having taken time for myself to read a couple of good books.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have a chicken sandwich to eat, a flight to catch, a few books to read, and hopefully two Cornell hockey games to attend.


  • At Sunday, March 27, 2005 12:57:00 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    Go Big Red!
    (And forgive the pithyness of the comment, but I do have more sense than to try and compete with your wit and aplomb. Besides, I'm more from the "reading" camp than from the "writers" guild. And us readers do appreciate a good read far more than wrestling with putting pen to paper ourselves) Your very faithful reader :-), MB

  • At Monday, March 28, 2005 6:29:00 PM, Blogger AP3 said…

    "The Game" is a great book. I'm SOOOoooo bummed that Minnesota beat Cornell. What a heartbreaker! *sigh* Well, we still have the ECAC championship.


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