So we've flown out to FI's former stomping ground of Calgary for Sunday's Coupe Grise (and boy are our arms tired - ba-dump-bump).
It's kinda nice to shake off the fetters and take our show, such as it is, on the road, and to hit another distinctive society, where the hats are tall and wagons covered.
The burdens of travel have also meant that the lazy truants we left in charge yesterday to provide your daily dose of pithiness felt emboldened enough to slack off entirely.
Those responsible have been sacked.
But we digress.
So Cowtown is alight with This-Is-Our-Leaguers, who have created a robust black market for tickets to Riderville - the must-attend carousing venue this week.
In our ongoing commitment to public service, we popped inbriefly last evening to see if any players were slipping curfew, but Vos Oiseaux were nowhere to be seen in the festive village.
Today the Alouettes held a closed practice, and then left devastation in their wake at the buffet table during their Grey Cup media luncheon.
And unlike the compulsive and superstitious folks here at French Immersion - getting on a plane requires a 15-minute ritual, but don't worry, we've gotten off that whole sacrificial chicken thing - the Als don't believe in such credulousness. So much so, that almost all the players mugged with the actual trophy. And even - gasp! Horror! - touched it.
No one has yet turned into a pillar of salt, but if they somehow slip on a banana peel this coming Sunday, we'll know why.