Before the slaughterHow sweet! The Bruins made sure to put in an especially wretched performance during their Friday afternoon game against Carolina! They must have known that it was my first Bruins game in Boston.

It was bad. Really bad. Pitifully bad. A two-goals-within-nine-seconds kind of bad.

It didn’t really matter to our crew — it’s just gave us more reason to be goofy. I even occasionally donned the foam bear hat T had informed me that I needed for my first game at the TDBNG.

(His amused decree — after I’d worn the hat — that “the only people who wear those are children or drunk, hopefully not drunk children” led to a member of the crew buying me a beer. Nice! At least someone on the hometown side managed to score a victory.)

“THE BRUINS ARE NUMBER ONE!” T bellowed from our perch in the highest section of seats. “I AM WAVING A LARGE YELLOW FOAM FINGER THAT SAYS SO!”

“HIT HIM! FIGHT HIM!” I chimed in. “CAUSE HIM PAIN AND DISCOMFORT!”

“Those kids are cheering for Carolina. What the hell,” T said loudly. “YOU WERE BORN AND RAISED IN MELROSE. YOU’VE NEVER BEEN TO EITHER CAROLINA.”

“I DIDN’T COME ALL THIS WAY TO HAVE YOU NOT GET IN A FIGHT,” I commanded. “MAKE ‘EM CRY!!!!”

P and M just sat back and laughed at us. The score was ugly — 5-1 — and there was nary a scuffle among the teams (although the ref falling backwards into the Carolina bench was pretty cool) but my brother and I gave the folks their ticket prices’ worth of entertainment.

Hockey was fun; I’d forgotten how much I enjoy attending those games. It’s no baseball, of course, but who knows? They could provide me more fun during the winter months I loathe so much. When I’m actually there, able to watch all of the aspects of play, there’s an excitement I fail to recognize during those rare attempts I’ve made at watching games on television. Within my family, there’s a history of hockey lovers: my brother now and my mother, when she was my age (my Red Sox = her Bruins, although admittedly, she was able to enjoy the team when they were brilliant). Perhaps, with a little research into the game and the players…

Who knows.

After the final buzzer sounded and the several thousand disgruntled Boston fans began to shuffle their way out of the facility, I turned to my left and saw Jess and Erin of “Still, We Believe.” Which was decidedly strange, as I’d only watched the documentary the night before.

Which, of course, made me wonder how things might have gone had I seen, say, “Pirates of the Caribbean” or — better yet! — “Donnie Darko.”

Hey, a girl can dream.

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