All posts in Hockey

I love hockey. You may have gleaned that by my utter lack of writing about anything else except for hockey. Oh, and Brett Favre. But, mostly hockey.

Right now, there is no hockey and that gives my heart a sad and makes me more than just slightly unbearable in daily conversation. So, when my husband-to-be-I-completely-hate-the-word-fiance and I bought our season tickets this year, we were stoked to hear about open house. You get to go and have pretty much free run of the arena, find your seats for the season and make an ass out of yourself in the same place your beloved team plays your favorite game.

Since we are super high- falutin’ we sit here, where noses bleed. The players can still hear me yell.

I am slightly concerned, now that I am a full-fledged season ticket holder that when I talk crap, they will totally know where to find me. Since I was wearing totally ridiculous shoes and had already tripped 7 times while finding our seats, the only logical thing seemed to go walk around on the ice….before they put ice on it.

Nothing says high quality journalism like handing your significant other the camera and hoping for the best. Here I am, blurrily in the sin bin, voicing a protest. Or, having a convulsion.

Also, yes. I wear sequins to the hockey arena. Suck it.

4th line for life, yo! Here we are riding the bench and me almost being inappropriate with my hands.

I am always impressed with line changes, how players make them look so totally effortless. So I asked him, I asked,  “hey, let’s do a line change, won’t that be fun?” To which he promptly replied, “yeah, why don’t you fall directly on your face? Won’t that be great?” Also, no. I don’t know what’s going on with my hair in that photo, it was very rude of you to ask.

Jeeves, be a fine chap and get me a scotch, would you?

On our way through the player’s tunnel and into the home locker room, we passed the immensely fancy Toyota Club lounge. Which, strikes me funny because to afford the tickets that allow you into the lounge you would have enough money to drive something a wee more high-end than a Toyota. I mean, I drive a Toyota. My happy ass is not sitting in that lounge. The inequity. It burns.

Missing Stanley.

Our trophy case. *le sigh*

Wow. My livingroom> this player’s lounge.

Now, I am almost entirely certain that there is more to the player’s lounge than these rockin’ 80′s couches and the enormous TV that isn’t pictured here. Because, this looks pretty stingy.

I should work here. Partially because I am a kick-ass massage therapist and partially because there are naked hockey asses on these tables.

Because of my profession, I was actually super excited to see this room. I literally said “oooooo” at all of those beautiful supplies. These guys are incredibly well taken care of.

Compete like a champion and STILL get swept in the first round!

Inside the workout facility, ponytail lady is stealing Coyotes water. Have some class, people! All I did was rub my ass on the recumbent bike. Let my decorum be your guide.

Keith Yandle #3. He has touched this. I may need a moment to myself.

My boyfriend hangs his stick here. Take that however you’d like.

As we exited the Coyotes locker room and facilities, we sneaked back across the iceless ice, to the visitor’s facilities. Apparently, we were not supposed to be there.

Gary B Bettman, president of EARTH denies you access to these areas. We went in anyway.

However, our rebellion was short lived as a man in a very white polo with a very stern expression gave us the stink eye until we felt self conscious. Then, our transgression adequately reprimanded, we left.

But now, I want hockey. I want it so bad I can taste it (it’s really salty). I have lost all interest in football, and all I can think of is putting on my gear and losing my voice at a game. I want the excuse to wear the cutest pom-pom hat known to man, to eat hot pretzels with loads of salt and to watch athletes who are not only physically amazing, but who play for love of the game.

Come on, hockey! Hurry up!