Picture it: all your life, you try to catch a puck, like the one that some bitch stole from you at a game when you were six - first five, then ten, then twenty years ago. The years tick by as you attend game after game, hoping against hope that that once in a lifetime opportunity will find you once more.

Finally, one day, you attend a hockey game at a local school (which Facetious_Atom happens to attend) to spend time with this cute teacher you've been seeing. All of a sudden - you couldn't have painted a more beautiful shot - a puck hit hard at just the wrong angle goes sailing over the goal and up, up into the audience - right at you! The only feeling stronger than the pain in your abdomen, where the puck tried and failed to burrow into you, is the inexpressible joy you feel. You've made it! You did it - no one can take this moment away from you.

Suddenly there's a hiss running through the crowd - "Booo - give it to the kid!" No! It can't be. Not now - not at this moment, when your life finally came together again. You can't. The boos grow louder. You look in vain to the cute teacher you've been trying to impress, only to see her scrunch up her face in disgust. No. They can't take this away from you. You try to make a break for the exit, but the crowd closes in on you. "Give it to the kid!" You cling desperately to the puck, but the hands come at you from all sides, clutching, grasping, pinching, scratching. Suddenly it's gone - the puck is gone! While you were defending yourself from the blows of indignant parents, it'd been snatched out of your hands by a snot-nosed kid who bears eerily resemblance to the overweight bully who used to steal your lunch in grade school. Your cute teacher is apologizing to the kid's (single, studly) father, and won't even look at you.

...

Hardly anyone attended the man's funeral after he threw himself off the overpass. But they knew one thing - it was always the best policy to "give it to the kid."