Nanaimo Squash Club

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Captain Backhand
Favourite Watering Hole

The NSC lounge bar has long been one of your Captain’s favorite watering holes. The service is excellent, the price is right and the fine ales, after a grueling match on court, slip down with remarkable ease. Back in the days of monthly bar tabs, Captain Backhand was a regular “high achiever” and his commitment to the bar’s success has, over the years, been unwavering. The infamous “Thursday Night Sessions” are forever etched into the lore of the club and, for that matter, the livers of the assembled members. Happy times indeed and confirmation of the Captain’s view that there is no finer company than a gathering of slightly inebriated squash players

"There is no finer company than a gathering of slightly inebriated squash players."

 It was after one such night of revelry, having bid farewell to the usual suspects, (gentlemen, you know who you are), that your Captain clambered aboard his bicycle and set off on a meandering course for home. On arrival a small problem with keys and lock ensued, but within the hour he was through the door and embracing the blissful quiet of a slumbering home. You know how it is, cherubic children tucked up in bed, a thumping wag of the tail from the family dog, embers glowing in the hearth, and the beckoning warmth of Mrs. Backhand, stirring gently in the matrimonial bed

Yes it was with a contented sigh that your Captain sank into his favorite armchair and enjoyed a short nap before donning nightshirt and cap and heading for the WC. It was then that matters took a decided turn for the worse. True, the combination of fine ales and fatigue had taken its toll on the Captain and his passage to the bathroom was a might unsteady. That said the house was dark and how could he possibly have known of the approaching hazard, namely a large, strategically placed fire truck belonging to his three year old son and heir.

To say that your Captain’s little toe connected with said truck would be to greatly understate the facts. Indeed toe and truck connected with such venomous power that your Captain claims to have experienced a brief moment of calm as his nervous system gathered itself in preparation for the storm of excruciating pain that followed. The expletive filled wailing, when it came was colossal, and within moments your Captain, in addition to wave after wave of searing pain, was contending with screaming children, barking dog and berating wife.

Perhaps his timing was slightly off, but it was the next morning, with family breakfasting around him, that your Captain chose to float his famous theory about toe stubbing being the second most painful experience known to mankind, well ahead of a passing kidney stone and coming in a close second to childbirth. He made his case with some authority having paced the corridors of NRGH while Mrs. Backhand endured nos. 1 and 3 on the all time list, and therefore felt particularly well placed to make this assessment.

Mrs. Backhand's reaction was, shall we say, less than supportive, and your Captain had his stay in the doghouse extended by a full week. A controversial theory with the finer sex, perhaps, but your Captain has gathered up more than a few nods of agreement from the assembled chaps at the NSC bar, that famous bastion of the free thinking world.

Aye yours,
Captain Backhand

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