I missed the first and half the second period last night; I blame my husband, who picked me up at work and went around half the frakkin’ planet just to get to the Cook Out on Western Boulevard when he could have just gotten off on Wade Avenue and taken 440 to Western.
The score was tied. The Canes finally realized that they were in the playoffs and bothered to show up–as opposed to Game 1, where only Cam showed up. The defense was much tighter, and Pitkanen actually showed a little fire–it resulted in some less than stellar penalties, but it was nice to see him showing a little anger out there.
I will be honest: I almost had a heart attack during the pre-OT intermission, when ChuckandtheletterK was replaying David Martin’s goal from the first period–which, I guess, is what I get for focusing more on WoW and less on the game. Bad AQ, no smoke. I did pay closer attention in OT, though, and got so excited when Tim Gleason scored that I accidentally dismounted from my bronze drake at 30,000 feet over Icecrown.
And I’ve got tomorrow off, so if I can’t score a ticket and a lift to the game* I’ll be camped in front of my computer grinding dailies and listening to Chuck.
*:My car got taken out in a traffic accident back in November.
I am, however, apparently blonder than Ziggy Palffy (and that is some kinda blonde, yo). I totally forgot that I had gotten my ticket for the game last Friday night, so I sat in the lobby getting all upset for most of the first period–until I got hold of my friend Brian, who sits in 332.
“Hey Brian,” I said. “Look–you’re the only person in 332 whose cell phone number I know. Can you look down in the handicapped section (two rows down) and see if there’s a skinny white d00d with glasses and a mustache and a hat on sitting where I usually sit when I’m up thataway?”
“Yeah, he’s there.”
“Can you ask him if he e-mailed that ticket to me? I’m stuck out here in the lobby.”
“Sure–call me back at the next media timeout.”
So I call him back at the next media timeout. He’s down with my friend Nate.
“Would you like to talk to him?” Brian asks.
“Please.” Brian gives phone to Nate. I ask Nate, “Dude, did you e-mail that ticket to me?”
“I gave it to you last Friday at Chad and Ami’s.”
“Yeah. Don’t you have it?”
And then I looked in my coat pocket, and sure enough there it was–a little crumply, but intact and scannable. “Oh for….I’ll be right up.”
So I got in the door and made the trek around to the Locker Room (the little bar outside 111), because it was close to the end of first period and I was going to meet with friends during intermission (Dave, sorry I missed yer). I totally missed seeing the Serene Master put Erik Cole in a headlock and wind up in the box, but I did see Hands of Feet score that nice goal at the start of the game (thanks to the TVs in the lobby outside the box office).
Got back to my seat shortly after second period started, and IMMEDIATELY joined in with my buddy Tim, who was hailing on that virulently festering pustule on the ass-end of humanity known as Brendan Shanahan. Ripping on him will never, ever get old. I hate him so much more for the way he shit all over Hartford than I do for 2002–isn’t that something?
Anyway. I saw the Serene Master’s second penalty and the exchange that followed:
Master: “Republic Credits will be fine.”
Ref: “No, they won’t.”
Master: “Republic Credits will be fine.”
Ref: “No, they won’t. What do you think you are, some kind of a Jedi waving your hands at me? I’m a referee, mind tricks don’t work on me! Only an eye chart.”
Master: (as he goes to the box) ….
There was one pretty flagrant boarding of…..Whitney? I want to say it was little Ray-Ray, but I’m gapping. But it was funny seeing His Serenity look at the ref and say “This isn’t the defenseman you’re looking for”–and the ref, of course, just said “You can go on about your business. Move along, move along.” I decided, at that point, that the wise course of action was to leave my coat on and remain “incognito”. The guys behind me were getting drunker and more irate, and I didn’t want to wind up having a beer shower (or worse).
Overall, the game was fun. My freaking right leg felt like it was having a blowtorch held to it while electrified needles were being jammed into my skin, but I still had a good time (even if I did feel monumentally stupid for forgetting that I had the damn ticket. Oops).
Request for Canesvision: After each goal, please play the following snippet from “Don’t Bogart That Joint” by Little Feat:
“Rrrrrrrroll me another one,
Juuust liiiike the other one…..”
Because really, that would be very cool.
edit: Since I don’t have a big neon sign for benefit of The Chief, here’s a link to the blog’s concordance: http://acidqueen.projectremains.com/glossary/