Bucky has been one of my best friends for more than 20 years. So long, in fact, we used to argue baseball, and whose team was better...his Cubs or my Buccos. We used to wager $50 a year on who would win more games (yeah...I actually used to care about the Pirates). Not like we ever paid each other...we just kept a running tab. I remember that I used to be up for awhile. From what I hear, though, Bucky might be winning by now. But who's counting?
Like a few of my other pals in high school, Bucky was also a hockey player (stress on was). I used to sneak a couple of brews into Ridgeland Commons and watch their home games. For you smart folk putting 2 and 2 together...yeah, I had a couple of brews while I was under age in high school (I blame a primitive 80's society that deprived us of iPods). Anyways...I think I was Oak Park Hockey's biggest fan. One player's mom used to sit behind me, and constantly yell, "SKATE! SKATE! SKATE!" Much like I do now at Pens games, I also used to yell at the players on the ice. My biggest saying was, "PASS THE PUCK, BUCKY!" Bucky thought he was Wayne Gretzky with one slight difference...the puck never left his stick until he was knocked off it. The term "assist" didn't apply to Bucky's stat line. He either put the puck in the net, or ended up on his ass (more of the latter).
Bucky and our crew of pals did everything together back then. Before adulthood and responsibility was invented, summer days consisted of playing sports and eating gourmet foods (tacos, Italian beefs, hot dogs, burgers, gyros). Nights were spent bragging to each other about the latest band we "discovered" on 120 Minutes over some cold soda pops. Occasionally, when we were able to escape all of our female fans and there was nothing better to do (no parties to attend), an all night Nintendo tournament would break out, again over cold soda pops.
Like many of my close pals in those days, Bucky was like a brother to me. Some of those brothers have become a footnote in the brotherhood memoirs (or perhaps a friend on Facebook). People change, they move on, they become increasingly disinterested with your increasing amount of interests. It happens. But Bucky has been a true bro, through and through.
Similar to many close pals, Bucky and I had our share of bitter moments. Like the time we shared an apartment in Forest Park, and Stiffler pooped on his pillow (they say dogs are great judges of character). Yeah...Bucky was pissed. And I don't blame him. No one wants to come home after a night on the town (drunk), and find poop on their pillow. But we hugged it out. And that's what good friends do.
In all seriousness, and sometimes this is hard for dudes to express to each other...I love Bucky. There. I said it. I love Robert "Bucky" Buss.
note to self: don't be the first one to pass out at the camp fire.
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