“Holy shit! You’re a Lamoreux?”

Thank you, Joy, for telling me I should post tonight.
I thought about just going to bed tonight at a reasonable hour, but then I heard the words of the sweetest honey biscuit ring through my ears. “I posted tonight, you should too.” Well, there was no way I was going to post completely sober, so I walked down the street from my hotel and ordered a Samuel Adams. I bullshitted with the guys at the bar long enough to know who was worth chilling with, and who was just trying to sound awesome, in the vain hope that a local slut would overhear and put out. After a while, I thought I was done. I had learned a lot about patriotism and cigars, so I was ready to call it a night.

Then, out of nowhere, someone mentioned LoneStar. I piped up, “You mean that shitty beer brewed in Fort Worth?”

“Yeah, in the 70’s I lived in Dallas and all the dingy bars had LoneStar on tap, and it was cheep!”

We talked, while some up and coming businessman bought us drinks, and we swapped stories about Texas and local brews. Shiner was not big back in the day, so my slightly inebriated self jotted down the man’s address. I told him that before he could diss
Texas beer, he had to try Shiner. I’ll send him a few bottles this week. He wanted to return the favor, so he asked for my address. I gave him a business card.

“Holy shit! You’re a Lamoreux?”

Apparently, Hokey is as big in the Dakotas as Football is in hick Texas towns. Listen, my children, this is your future! Years ago there was a Lamaoreux, and he was virile. He moved to North Dakota and started fathering sons. He had six, in total. All of them were gods on the ice. Apparently, minor league hokey is overrun with Lamoreux’s and it is a household name in the Dakotas. It’s a strange and awesome world that we live in.