After a stray elbow to the face in a ball hockey game left me with a painful scratched cornea, I took a bit of time off from the sports scene to heal a bit. I was quite pleased to return to ice hockey in my goalie's caged mask, protected from flying objects around me. The following Thursday I returned to indoor soccer, which generally has a lesser risk of injury.

A week and a half after suffering my first eye injury after years of sport, a soccer ball kicked with high power from close range smacked me right in the other eye. Twice. At least fate was trying to balance its injuries.

This past Thursday I returned again, somewhat weary after the improbable streak. I was rather relieved that our team was considerably stronger than our opponents, so I had a rather quiet - and safe - time tending our goal. I only faced three shots that posed any sort of difficulty the entire night.

Unfortunately, one of them hit me in the eye. I gotta start wearing goggles.

NHL hockey is finally back up and running, and we've had a week and a half to get a preview of who's strong, and who's going to need some work. Despite the doom and gloom predicted by Toronto's overly-critical media, the Leafs are starting out all right. With only one legitimate loss in their first five games, they've been improving each night, even with Captain Mats on the sidelines battered and broken. Last night's 9-1 thrashing of the Thrashers showed what kind of power this team can be, if they manage to stay healthy throughout the year, which is a lofty goal as it is.

In other news, the housing market in Toronto right now is stupid nuts.

Also, I am going to be an uncle. "Fun Uncle SPU", I shall be. I will teach the child many techniques for dunking Oreos.

I am the youngest of a large generation. Two older sisters and a sleighful of first-cousins that are practically like brothers and sisters to me means two things: 1) I will always be the baby of the family; and 2) I am a part of lots of weddings. To date, I have been a ring boy once, MC twice, and groomsman three times.

This past weekend, the last of my cousins got married, finally taking that step after 12 long years with his girlfriend. Of course, one of the most cherished pasttimes of weddings (at least by inquisitive aunts) is asking the single ones "When's your turn?" For years - particularly during my sisters' weddings one and two years ago, respectively - I was able to pin the responsibility on someone else. "No, no, Michelle's next!" and "Nelson is 11 years and counting without buying that ring!"

When this cousin announced the engagement a year ago, and after a few joking reminders of my place in line, one of my other cousins said to me in all seriousness "Wow... you really are the only one left."

It struck me that he was perfectly right. I no longer had a scapegoat on to whom to deflect harassment. I would have to find my own witty rebuttals. I rehearsed my replies of "When I'm good and ready", "Whenever they let me back into Vegas", and "When Andrea Corr dumps that Shaun guy and comes back to me".

And so, I walked down the aisle, pretty (but taken) bridesmaid on my arm, and awaited the barrage.