Tattoo Ru?

does she or doesn’t she?

Playoff pools make mercenaries of us all. Mostly. Even on pain of death, I will not pick from the Bruins, Islanders, Rangers, Devils or Red Wings. If I don’t like ’em in the regular season, I won’t pick from ’em in the post. But I know guys who openly loathe Philadelphia, yet won’t hesitate to name any number of Flyer forwards to their fantasy team.

In the 2010/11 playoff season, I called one of my fellow poolies on this behaviour. Mercenaries don’t try to deny that they’re mercenaries, so he was hardly penitent about it. In fact, for a few months, he was as hardcore a Flyer fan as I am. The deeper they got into the playoffs (it was the year they squared off against Chicago in the final … and %^$#*ing lost), the edgier our banter became. Finally, I openly accused him of being a fake and challenged him to a stupid dare. “If the Flyers win the Cup,” I said, “you have to get a tattoo of their logo.”

He chuckled and said, “Noooo way.”

“Come on,” I said. “I’ll get mine retouched at the same time.”

Idle conversation around the cubicle promptly died. A few heads popped up to see where this was going. My poolie chum gave me a long, speculative look, then rocked back on his heels. 

“You don’t have a tattoo,” he said, smugly.

I smirked. “Just because you can’t see it is doesn’t mean I don’t have one.”

He gave me a quick once-over while trying to appear like he wasn’t and I swear I glimpsed a bead of sweat break on his forehead. “Nah,” he said, shaking it off. “No way.” He started to stroll back to his office. I called after him:

“The day after, buddy: you, me, tattoo shop!”

The office manager gaped at me in astonishment. “Ruthie, do you really … ?”

Since the Hawks won the Stanley Cup that year, no one knows for sure.