I once read a story in a flying magazine about an organization called the Coward's Club. The guy writing it was about to fly in deteriorating weather. When he expressed misgivings at the small airport office, someone said something along the lines, "Wazzamadda, chicken?"

The guy reaches into his wallet and pulls out his Coward's Club membership card. "Yeah, buddy, I am, and here's the proof!" He didn't fly that day. Reminds me of that old Irish saying: "It's better to be a coward for a minute than dead for the rest of your life."