OK, here's the thing ... I went to see "Hellboy" on the weekend. Interesting enough premise for a "let-your-mind-go" movie, but just a few too many shots of tentacles for me. I think one or two or less of those would have allowed the movie to flow a little more and bog down a little less. Anyway, after that visual treat, I headed to Tim Horton's for a taste treat. NOBODY MAKES PLAIN ole' JOE BETTER THAN TIM'S! It's hockey playoff time, the Leafs and the Sens are battling it out, I've just been to an action flick, and in walks this guy wearing a jersey from some other team! Every other team logo on the place is a Leafs' logo and then there's this dweeb. My mind clicks into overtime. I see ... the entrance to Tim's is guarded by a muscleman who brings new meaning to the concept of pecs. His shirt is in imminent danger of splitting over his array of biceps and triceps. I walk by with my Leafs' jersey, and he smiles benignly. Others follow in their jerseys and jackets and his features crease into a grin each time. THEN ... up walks this fool in the WRONG jersey. Not a word escapes Mr. Muscle's lips, but his right fist snakes out in an action so fast' it's blurred! Mr. Wrong Allegiance flies backward through the parking lot, his body in a straight line with his head leading the way. He crashes straight through three vans before finally coming to a halt with just his head still stuck inside the fourth van, and the rest of him protruding from its side, his body still in a rigid line. No-one gives him a second look, as the guardian of the gate goes back to gently smiling at those of us supporting the right team!