There’s something cathartic about riding a bike naked on the streets of Montreal. But that is yet to be determined as we enter our sixty-ninth minute of this ride.
I sat at the edge of the hospital chair, laughing and crying, and watched my husband’s face as he bolted up, shouting for joy when his beloved team scored.
“Protect yourself at all times.” It’s 11:33 pm on Saturday, January 18th at Montreal’s Bell Centre, but for competitors Jean Pascal and Lucian Bute, what matters in that day is the last half hour.
“How much can you know about yourself, you’ve never been in a fight?” asks Fight Club’s Tyler Durden, viewed by many as a celebration of corrupted masculinity. For others who see a loss of a masculine identity in today’s postmodern consumer society, there’s something deeper, all-inclusive, whole – an awakening from the despotic machinery that had controlled its members lives.
Inside the Mile One Centre in downtown St John’s, the sight lines are great no matter where you sit. The pregame entertainment is simple – two grown men smiling like 6 year olds bounce onto the ice and take their place at a row of pucks as an MC in a sweatshirt encourages them to aim for the net. Their success rate is about 2%. The crowd roars.