I like summer. OK, that's an understatement. It's like saying bears like honey. Or your wife likes shoes. Or guys like to watch a "little" football on Sunday. "Little" being defined as 12 straight hours with occasional beer, pork rinds and bathroom breaks. No, I don't LIKE summer...it's pure LOVE between me and that lovely season. And I can't seem to let it go. Even with the cold, I still spend more hours in the man cave than I do in the bathroom. And for a guy, you know that's a lot.

All through the summer I hosted man cave parties almost every Saturday night. That's what my garage is. The man cave. At one time it looked like a garage. There probably was even a car in there at sometime. Not since I bought the house, of course. The car would displace the ping pong table. Or the hot tub. Or the stereo and TV. Or the sports memorabilia. Or, god forbid, the beer fridge. My Harley can live there. It's too cool to look at to move out of the man cave. But the car? Forget it.

So there we were, a group of friends and I hanging in the man cave Saturday night. November 7th in northern New York. It was 39 degrees outside the man cave. It was 39 1/2 degrees inside. You see the man cave is not heated. It's against the law to heat a man cave. I believe it's a felony and I'm pretty sure it breaks international law and probably some treaties. But I can't put the "Closed For The Season" sign up.

Never mind that when I took the cover off the hot tub the 102 degree water created a fog bank thick enough to reduce visibility to 1/2 an inch. Never mind that the beer pong players had to blow on their fingers to warm them up enough to get the proper grip on the ping pong ball. And so what if I had to break a little ice off the top of the Diet Pepsi before I poured it into my bourbon cup. We were reliving summer in the man cave! And it was good. Even if a friend’s ears became bright red enough to guide in the 10:55 flight at Watertown International.

And now as I think about it, maybe I'm not the only one who can't let go of summer. After all, there were a bunch of other people shivering with me. Why can't we move on? Is it because we didn't have much of a summer? Is it because winter claims too much of our time and attention and this is our way of fighting back? Is it because my friends are as brain damaged as me? I don't know, but at the end of the night on Saturday we made a plan to reconvene at the man cave soon. Like around Thanksgiving, if not before. However it was suggested I quietly sneak in a heater. Even if it breaks the law.