bags, hatties, and mints
Yesterday I got surprise hockey with Dave. YAY. And then they won. MORE YAY. And Ryan Malone got a hat trick. EVEN MORE YAY.
To give full sports-superstitious credit where it is due: Badger really is good hockey luck. Keep being entertaining, darlin'.
Going to hockey with Dave is always an adventure. Doing anything with Dave is an adventure, but hockey doubly so.
Related, though it won't seem so at first: I got a new bag. It's neat. It's a Soviet gas-mask carry-bag, and the 2.0 sent me a link to the website where they sold it, because there was a hell of a sale. I got it for something like a buck fifty, and after the sale the original price was revealed to be twenty-two dollars.
Cute, no? Also, the pin that won't photograph (really, it REFUSES) is a Lightning logo inside a goalie glove. I likes it.
On our way up I dug through said bag and offered Dave some mints. I always carry mints around and 75% of them get nommed by Dave. I don't know how this got started, but he is a mint junkie and always expects me to have them. He is sad when I don't. So I always carry mints around.
Now. Dave hates it when I bring a bag to hockey, because then you have to go through what he calls the Girl Line. You wait in a line to put your bag on a table and open it and have someone with a weird metal poky-stick stuck to a flashlight poke through the things inside the bag. I guess to make sure you're not bringing improvised explosives or something.
Once we found parking, I dug through said bag, transferring the Emergency Pill Kit (never go without!) and wallet to pockets, and slung Vera over my shoulder. When we got to the Ice Palace, Dave was very pleased: "You didn't bring a bag!"
... if you're thinking that, halfway through the second intermission, he asked me for a mint, you are right.
INDI: "They're in my bag. Which is in the car, because you hate it when I bring a bag."
DAVE: "But mints are tiny! You could've brought them in your pocket!"
INDI: "I barely have pockets in these stupid girl pants."
DAVE: [jams his hand in his pocket up to the elbow, gives me a Look]
INDI: "Oh come on. If I started pulling stuff out of my bag and telling you to carry it you'd give me hell."
DAVE: "Not if they were mints! Mints are small! I don't mind holding small things!"
INDI: "Fine, then hold my wallet."
DAVE: [realizes he's set himself up for this and takes it with an Eyebrow]
And this is why he is my honorary brother.
Over the summer there was much talk about how the guy in the Thunderbug suit got fired and then they hired a new one. I can't see the difference, because IT'S A GUY IN A SUIT, but... New Bug dances a lot more. He/it also does this thing where he/it grabs his/its big sticky-out metal hoop stomach and moves it around in a circle. Cree. Pee. Though really, all a person has to do in a mascot suit to creep me out is stand there. (Oh god. A person in a mascot suit holding totally still and then startling people. OH GOD I WOULD PUNCH IT.)
Anyway! This year, the Bug dances a lot more, and also they gave him/it a drum. It's not a particularly big drum, perhaps two feet across, made of what looks like wood and leather, but it's surprisingly loud. We noticed the sound when he/it was banging the drum clear on the opposite side of the arena from us -- and we sit behind the goal, so I mean the opposite side lengthways. It was much louder when the Bug came into our section and banged said drum RIGHT ABOVE OUR HEADS. That hurt.
Also, the goal horns got a lot louder since Thursday. They shake the floor now, which is as it should be. They ditched the smoke cannons too.
Dave's new seats are nice. They're in the second row of the nosebleeds -- apparently the first row of the nosebleeds is twice as expensive. Dave didn't go to Thursday's game, so he was all excited about checking out his new seats and meeting the neighbors, so to speak, since in the season-ticket areas you're sitting with the same people all year. His neighbors last year were awesome: two guys who never talked to each other and never made any noise at all. They'd go refill on beer during the intermissions, and they always left with ten minutes left in the third. Dave's theory was that their girlfriends/wives were friends and had Bought Sports For The Menfolk. I didn't have a theory, beyond some vague mutterings about "so closeted they're in Narnia." Dave's new Hockey Neighbors include a married couple with a Boy Scout kid (who came to the game in uniform), to the side. Below us were a pair of guys who felt duty-bound to lean over the glass, so that our short selves had to perch on the edge of our seats and lean a lot to see anything happening around the goal.
Victor Hedman is a delight to watch. He really is. He reminds me of Marty, more than anything, which at first seems odd because you would not think a gihugeous defenseman has much in common with a small sniper of a forward. But they play the same: they make sure they're in the right spot, and then they wait. They wait like sharks. You know shit's gonna go down, and when it does it'll go down fast, you just don't know when.
Konopka got into a scuffle, so he's averaging one per game. I told Dave about the guy's pet.
DAVE: "Look at Konopka, always gettin' into something."
INDI: "He has a rabbit."
DAVE: "Like a..." [here he pantomimed this, it was hysterical] ".. pat the bunny?"
INDI: "Yep! He has a bunny!"
DAVE: "Those tough guys are always such big softies."
INDI: [dopey grin, swoon-face] "Yes. Yes they are."
DAVE, WHO FORTUNATELY MISSED THAT: "Dunno why, they're just all like that."
INDI: "Er, yeah. Hey, look, Hedman!"
Tanguay and Lecavalier have not yet found their groove. Vinny's still training him, says Dave. I think they should swap Downie over to Stamkos's's's line, because they worked well with Roberts last season before Downie was sent down and then temporarily lost his mind. Then Marty can go back with Vinny where he belongs. I love the Vinny-Marty Hivemind. It's one of my favorite things in hockey. (I still miss Prospal, too.)
Speaking of Downie, Dave tells me that Tocchet said in an interview (how's that for convoluted) that he and Downie had a little talk. The way Dave tells it, Downie was given strict and specific instructions: if he gets a penalty, for any reason, he is to go immediately to the box. He is not to argue with the refs or even look at the other team. He is not to pass Go and collect two hundred dollars. He is to head straight for the box. Whatever else happened in the talk, I don't know, but it seems to be working - he picked up a goal and seemed remarkably filled with self-control. I still have hope for the kid; if anyone can hammer some sense into his head, Tocchet can. He was like that when he got started, too.
When Malone got the empty-net goal towards the end of the game, the whole arena went WOHHHH because we could see the puck sliding lazily towards the goal with nobody around to stop it. If you'd filmed me and Dave, you'd see us do the exact same thing: half-standing, arms halfway up, waiting for the red light and the sirens.
You don't celebrate until you know it's in.
To give full sports-superstitious credit where it is due: Badger really is good hockey luck. Keep being entertaining, darlin'.
Going to hockey with Dave is always an adventure. Doing anything with Dave is an adventure, but hockey doubly so.
Related, though it won't seem so at first: I got a new bag. It's neat. It's a Soviet gas-mask carry-bag, and the 2.0 sent me a link to the website where they sold it, because there was a hell of a sale. I got it for something like a buck fifty, and after the sale the original price was revealed to be twenty-two dollars.
Cute, no? Also, the pin that won't photograph (really, it REFUSES) is a Lightning logo inside a goalie glove. I likes it.
On our way up I dug through said bag and offered Dave some mints. I always carry mints around and 75% of them get nommed by Dave. I don't know how this got started, but he is a mint junkie and always expects me to have them. He is sad when I don't. So I always carry mints around.
Now. Dave hates it when I bring a bag to hockey, because then you have to go through what he calls the Girl Line. You wait in a line to put your bag on a table and open it and have someone with a weird metal poky-stick stuck to a flashlight poke through the things inside the bag. I guess to make sure you're not bringing improvised explosives or something.
Once we found parking, I dug through said bag, transferring the Emergency Pill Kit (never go without!) and wallet to pockets, and slung Vera over my shoulder. When we got to the Ice Palace, Dave was very pleased: "You didn't bring a bag!"
... if you're thinking that, halfway through the second intermission, he asked me for a mint, you are right.
INDI: "They're in my bag. Which is in the car, because you hate it when I bring a bag."
DAVE: "But mints are tiny! You could've brought them in your pocket!"
INDI: "I barely have pockets in these stupid girl pants."
DAVE: [jams his hand in his pocket up to the elbow, gives me a Look]
INDI: "Oh come on. If I started pulling stuff out of my bag and telling you to carry it you'd give me hell."
DAVE: "Not if they were mints! Mints are small! I don't mind holding small things!"
INDI: "Fine, then hold my wallet."
DAVE: [realizes he's set himself up for this and takes it with an Eyebrow]
And this is why he is my honorary brother.
Over the summer there was much talk about how the guy in the Thunderbug suit got fired and then they hired a new one. I can't see the difference, because IT'S A GUY IN A SUIT, but... New Bug dances a lot more. He/it also does this thing where he/it grabs his/its big sticky-out metal hoop stomach and moves it around in a circle. Cree. Pee. Though really, all a person has to do in a mascot suit to creep me out is stand there. (Oh god. A person in a mascot suit holding totally still and then startling people. OH GOD I WOULD PUNCH IT.)
Anyway! This year, the Bug dances a lot more, and also they gave him/it a drum. It's not a particularly big drum, perhaps two feet across, made of what looks like wood and leather, but it's surprisingly loud. We noticed the sound when he/it was banging the drum clear on the opposite side of the arena from us -- and we sit behind the goal, so I mean the opposite side lengthways. It was much louder when the Bug came into our section and banged said drum RIGHT ABOVE OUR HEADS. That hurt.
Also, the goal horns got a lot louder since Thursday. They shake the floor now, which is as it should be. They ditched the smoke cannons too.
Dave's new seats are nice. They're in the second row of the nosebleeds -- apparently the first row of the nosebleeds is twice as expensive. Dave didn't go to Thursday's game, so he was all excited about checking out his new seats and meeting the neighbors, so to speak, since in the season-ticket areas you're sitting with the same people all year. His neighbors last year were awesome: two guys who never talked to each other and never made any noise at all. They'd go refill on beer during the intermissions, and they always left with ten minutes left in the third. Dave's theory was that their girlfriends/wives were friends and had Bought Sports For The Menfolk. I didn't have a theory, beyond some vague mutterings about "so closeted they're in Narnia." Dave's new Hockey Neighbors include a married couple with a Boy Scout kid (who came to the game in uniform), to the side. Below us were a pair of guys who felt duty-bound to lean over the glass, so that our short selves had to perch on the edge of our seats and lean a lot to see anything happening around the goal.
Victor Hedman is a delight to watch. He really is. He reminds me of Marty, more than anything, which at first seems odd because you would not think a gihugeous defenseman has much in common with a small sniper of a forward. But they play the same: they make sure they're in the right spot, and then they wait. They wait like sharks. You know shit's gonna go down, and when it does it'll go down fast, you just don't know when.
Konopka got into a scuffle, so he's averaging one per game. I told Dave about the guy's pet.
DAVE: "Look at Konopka, always gettin' into something."
INDI: "He has a rabbit."
DAVE: "Like a..." [here he pantomimed this, it was hysterical] ".. pat the bunny?"
INDI: "Yep! He has a bunny!"
DAVE: "Those tough guys are always such big softies."
INDI: [dopey grin, swoon-face] "Yes. Yes they are."
DAVE, WHO FORTUNATELY MISSED THAT: "Dunno why, they're just all like that."
INDI: "Er, yeah. Hey, look, Hedman!"
Tanguay and Lecavalier have not yet found their groove. Vinny's still training him, says Dave. I think they should swap Downie over to Stamkos's's's line, because they worked well with Roberts last season before Downie was sent down and then temporarily lost his mind. Then Marty can go back with Vinny where he belongs. I love the Vinny-Marty Hivemind. It's one of my favorite things in hockey. (I still miss Prospal, too.)
Speaking of Downie, Dave tells me that Tocchet said in an interview (how's that for convoluted) that he and Downie had a little talk. The way Dave tells it, Downie was given strict and specific instructions: if he gets a penalty, for any reason, he is to go immediately to the box. He is not to argue with the refs or even look at the other team. He is not to pass Go and collect two hundred dollars. He is to head straight for the box. Whatever else happened in the talk, I don't know, but it seems to be working - he picked up a goal and seemed remarkably filled with self-control. I still have hope for the kid; if anyone can hammer some sense into his head, Tocchet can. He was like that when he got started, too.
When Malone got the empty-net goal towards the end of the game, the whole arena went WOHHHH because we could see the puck sliding lazily towards the goal with nobody around to stop it. If you'd filmed me and Dave, you'd see us do the exact same thing: half-standing, arms halfway up, waiting for the red light and the sirens.
You don't celebrate until you know it's in.