When we were 11, our Webelos leader wouldn't let us cross the great golden bridge of fire or some sh*t because he had a beef with the old man's old man.
He took out said beef on us and said we hadn't done enough to warrant walking into the brave new world of Boy Scouts.
Of course, we translated that to mean we were too heavy and the sumbitch thought the great golden bridge of fire would collapse when we trounced over it, ol' Vern-feet a-stompin'. But we're over that now. Maybe.
Either way, clearly he's to blame because we're not quite as brave, clean and reverent as we really ought to be. Bastard. You'll pay.
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