Olympic fever

Last night I came up to our office to do a little noodling around on the interwebs.  I found the Great Guy I Married ensconced in out nursing-glider-turned-tv-and-video-game-chair, his PS2 arrayed before him, clicking happily away on one of those super-detailed sports games.  Hockey, to be exact.  I guess he was practicing up in case he was called to the ice in today’s US v Canada gold medal match.

As I was surfing, I heard the sound of his clicking escalate to frantic speeds.  Ah, I thought.  The game is reaching a crucial moment.  Perhaps it’s a power play.  They’re storming the crease!  He might need to take out the goalie! (Yes, that was the full extent of my hockey jargon.  Why do you ask?). I turned around to see what was transpiring.

Two fake players were fighting.  Gloves off, pounding each other.

I’ll never understand boys.