(I sincerely hope these pants are the result of a lost bet)
The thing is, from nine rows back, you kind of can smell them a little bit. And that ain’t never a good thing. Now, the reason I was nine rows back at last night’s Bruins’ game to begin with is because Deb is awesome and she had won tickets and didn’t want to go and, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’ve got a bit of a reputation as a rabid sports fan. So the tickets became mine. Amy and I headed to the GardenFleetArenaBowlWhatever after work and took our $85 seats. Yup. $85. “Come for the overpriced Molson, stay for the Stench of Defeat!”
But still, a free hockey game is a free hockey game and I, despite all my better judgment, love hockey. Especially with beer. Especially with Canadian beer. After all, I’m French-Canadian, attending a hockey game without sucking down a few watered-down Molsons is surely enough to get me kicked out of the family.
And nothing amps up the experience quite like being seated in front of Massachusetts’ pride and joy. You know what I mean. Like Fitzy there, over on my sidebar. Like my dear friend Butchie and his friends, the sheet metal workers of Local something or other. You know those guys. I LOVE those guys. So when Alberts absolutely leveled a Hurricanes player into the boards directly in front of us and some bleached blond princess screamed like A-Rod when Walgreen’s is out of his Plum Passion lipstick, the dude behind me called out, “First game, honey? Don’t worry, that’ll happen.” And when the ‘Canes cleared the zone and the puck barely lifted over Chara’s head, the same dude yelled out, “Chara! You’re fuckin’ seven feet tall! Reach for the fuckin’ thing!” Point, indeed. Because it’s been said before but it’s worth saying again, Chara is a fucking PLANET.
Not that having Captain Planet on their side helped the Bruins remember that THE SECOND PERIOD ALSO COUNTS AND GOD WHAT IS YOUR DAMAGE? The nine-year-old boy behind me wearing the Bruins foam mask and sporting those foam fingers shaped like claws was BEGGING them to put in Hannu after Thomas let in three goals in the span of about two minutes. I swear, it was like looking into the future and seeing my own progeny, harassing professional athletes. Sometimes, I swear, they all need a severe talking to. Which is obviously why hockey players smell so bad. I’d never be able to get close enough to give them the tongue lashing they so richly deserve.
But, like I said, free hockey is free hockey. And it was certainly something to do as we count down the seemingly interminable days before pitchers and catchers report.
Oh, and one more thing because it must be said. Lenny Clarke was in attendance last night and I’ve become quite the “Rescue Me” fan of late so I was stoked. And while he managed to control himself and didn’t start ranting about the lack of Jewish hockey players (making Kevin Youkilis very proud, indeed), it was, quite honestly, rather hard to pay attention to what he was saying considering that he seemed to be wearing the large, and not quite dead pelt of a wild animal.
I called Marianne immediately. “I just need you to know,” I said, “that Lenny Clarke is here. And he appears to be wearing Chewbacca.”
“OutSTANDING,” she said.