There is no crying in hockey! (part 2)

There is no crying in hockey! (part 2)

So if you read part one of this, you know that I like love am obsessed with hockey.  After following the Dallas Stars pretty much since they came to Dallas, I have developed hockey crushes.  Not like My Matt crushes, but “oh-my-gawd-that-check-was-awesome” crushes.  The sound of the players slamming into the boards makes my heart race.  The sound of a puck hitting the goal post and not going in (for the other team) makes me giddy.  Seeing the mouths of the players as they talk smack makes me want to get right into it with them.  Lady like behavior during hockey?  I think not.  (Which is probably why (a) my doctor limited my hockey watching privileges while I was on bedrest pregnant and (b) why Clint never got me season tickets.  Who knows what I would or could do.

Until this season.

This season we shared partial season tickets with a co-worker of Clint’s.  My first real live action game was this season.  Of course, we were on the third level in the 300’s, but any seat in American Airlines arena is a good seat.  You can still hear the board slams and the hockey puck being whacked clear across the ice.  You can even hear the sound of the quick stops the blades make on the ice.  I thought it was the best it could be.  I mean, those of us in section 300 are rather rowdy.  We yell as loud as we want.  It isn’t like Mike Modano is going to hear us.  We can boo the official.  He won’t hear and throw us out.  Hell, we would moon the other team and probably not be noticed.  Did I mention I love hockey?

And then we were gifted.  Gifted with seats just 7 rows behind the penalty box in the 100 section.  Where the big dogs sit.  (They appear much more sedate at first, but get the game going and get a few penalties and there are some fired up people.) You see, the area we were sitting in was like a little club.  They all pretty much knew of each other if they weren’t actually friends. I totally did not mind crashing this party.  Walking DOWN the steps to our seats (as opposed to up up up like normal), my heart began to race.  When we found our seats, I nearly passed out.  Oh sure, they seemed good, but could I really see the action as well as I thought I could?  I could not sit still.

I kept hitting Clint in the arm I was so excited.  Our conversation went about like this:

*hit* Oh My God. 


*hit* Holy Crap! 


*punch* I mean, really Holy Crap!

Stop it!

And then, they started the skate around.  I nearly fainted.  I am pretty sure I peed my pants.  I mean, they skated RIGHT THERE.  I could see their chin stubble.  I could see their expressions.  At one point when my favorite hockey player since he was a rookie (now captain) skating right in front of us, I pulled that “oh so cool move” where you point at them as if to say, “You are SO the bomb.” And he gave me that cool sports guy nod.  Brenden Morrow NODDED at ME.  I, of course, punched Clint.  DID YOU SEE THAT??! 

I might have passed out then.  I don’t remember.  But I got to see all of my favorites skate right by my face.  Modano!  Zubov! Turco!  Morrow!  Right there.  I could hear them shouting at each other.  At this is just the skate around.  The game hasn’t even started and I am about to have a heart attack (or an orgasm…one of the two).

Then they began their skate out to begin the game.  First out, Turco.  Ohhhh my lovely Turco. This is how close I am to the ice without any type of zoom.  and Exhibit A and then Exhibit B.

And then it happened.  This happened.  This awesomely, glorious, hockey-riffic moment occured:

And….and…I cried.  Yes, I cried at a hockey game.  You got me.  Wept.  Cried.  I felt like the chick on American Idol who wept over Sanjaya (except mine was for a GOOD reason).  The Stars…they were so close.  They were Right There.  The energy was high.  And I could see the whites of their eyes.  It was a moment worthy of tears, cheers and probably more enjoyment than is legal is about 27 states.  I might have even thrown my panties on the ice.  I am not sure.  And I am not ashamed to admit it, either. 

Although, Clint’s arm did get quite a beating the entire game.

*punch* Did you HEAR that?!  Oh my holy hockey hell!  I just heard him smack talk and it was BAD! They used words that are banned in English! I am SO loving this.

*smack* GOAL!  GOAL!  GOAL!

*whack* Did you see that fight?  Did ya? Did ya? It rocked.  Did you see all of those gloves thrown down.  Oh my gawd this must be the next best thing to sex ever!  (I said NEXT best.  I am not crazy!)

And we won.  6-0.  Oh yeah!  The only thing that did not happen that would have made me pass out, wet my pants and cry is if Brett Hull showed up.  The freakin Ambassador of Fun would have made my dreams come true.

I told Clint to tell the person he works with that hooked him up that I will so be his beyotch if he ever gets tickets like this again.  In fact, I may have to put this game in a tie with the awesomeness that occurred during the hockey game I talked about in Part One of There is no crying in hockey.  Okay, maybe birthing my child was a bit more awesome, but still this is a very close second, my friends!


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