“Men” often enjoy mentioning when it’s Groundhog Day because it’s a Bill Murray movie and maybe because they themselves share the same grotesque physical qualities and personal habits as the hole-dwelling animal (oh yeah, and then there’s the “hole-dwelling” that subliminally calls to them since it’s their sole purpose in life to stick their scant appendage into something else).
But what about the more important commemorative element of February 2nd? That element being the death anniversary of Sid Vicious, whose entire essence holds a special place in the month of February. His passionate nature led him to an early demise as a result of that cold, drug-addled morning back in October of 1978 in the Chelsea Hotel, where he proved he could only take so much love from Nancy Spungen by noting, “I stabbed her, but I never meant to kill her.” After making bail for the crime on February 1, 1979, Sid would overdose on heroin in the early hours of the next day; his mother later found a note in his pocket that read, “We had a death pact, and I have to keep my half of the bargain. Please bury me next to my baby. Bury me in my leather jacket, jeans and motorcycle boots Goodbye.” Gumption like that ought to warrant February 2nd being Sid Vicious Day, not Groundhog Day. Any “bloke” who says otherwise simply hasn’t got the dick.