And Spinning Ninny was sad.
I am extra glad that I got to go to the game, relax, drink beers, talk trash and eat a hotdog. It was rather magical, I'd say. My good friend Christine and I headed over together after happy hour...for better or worse. We got there, parked, trekked our way up to our seats and commenced the drinking. We made some friends...and enemies near our seats. Christine had never been to a hockey game, which is a tragedy. I tried to explain what was going on to the best of my drunken ability...and with the help of our new friends Reed and Garth (yes, his name was Garth), I think she had some semblance of what was going on. We, in our section of RBC, were looking for blood - it could have been on the ice, or it could have been up in the nosebleeds. We were surrounded by a rowdy, rowdy crowd...and they were most certainly my type of people.
(Quotes of the night include, but are not limited to: "Your mother's a baker!" "I'd donkey punch a bitch." "Sit down Napoleon, I've got at least an inch on you." and lastly, my favorite, "Whatever dude, everyone knows gingers can't fight.")
That all being said, the Canes were soundly outplayed...again. I'm concerned that they won't get it together for Game 7, but who knows. I do have faith. And I do believe in miracles. We'll see how far a little faith and love can get us.
After the game...rather than simply going home and sleeping off the alcohol. We headed to the bar. I love this place, I love the bartender (who is also a massage therapist and is more than willing to share that talent), and apparently I love playing Corn Hole. I am not good at Corn Hole, but I do enjoy a rousing game or two or five over beers and fried pickles. I can tell you that I do not like when a guy offers me his number while using the word f*gg*t in the same sentence. What can you do, I guess? I was at a bar with a bunch of idiots. I'll just add it to the other numbers on the wall of shame and fortune.