That was the central question going through my head as I was gut shank-snaked on a little left peak by a North County shaper with a Jesus dove on his board. Now, I'm all about forgiving and forgetting but heck, I didn't even get a playful over the shoulder, I'm-gonna-rip-you-off-just-cause-it's-small-out-here nod. I'm used to getting cut out like that, that's an easier burn to swallow. No way, this was a stone cold assassin move. It had been practiced. Maybe perfected. At Cardiff.
Or maybe he just thought I was going right.