My first hockey game was an experience that I will never forget, especially now that I am writing this down. But back to the hockey game: It was a cold November day, less than a week after my sister’s wedding. The hockey game was to take place in Xcel Energy Center, which is a stone’s throw away from the site of the nuptials, the Landmark Center.
To go to the game, I had to skip school, which was fine by me, though the educators who were paid vast sums of money to inculcate in myself the lessons which would be of a superior sort of use to me in my next lifetime (post education), were not exactly happy campers, considering, of course, the fact that the camping season was over, the temperature being closer to zero than thirty.
We got to the arena in plenty of time to get lost, but admired the apartment buildings which make up the St. Paul skyline while trying to find our seats. Eventually, we found them, and they had little towels draped over them, presented by Wells Fargo. (They were just like Homer Hankies, but smaller and actually able to be used as towels. Hankies are only usable as pieces of cloth which are waveable whenever the urge strikes one. Or two, but we won’t get into the schizophrenic part of life).
The actual game, a 4-3 Dallas Stars victory over the luckless Minnesota Wild, was punctuated by two 20 minute intermissions, each having a trip into the beautiful bathrooms (much nicer than in Target Center, where the Timberwolves and Lynx play, or the Metrodome). The game featured a third period comeback, which fell short in the final seconds.
After exiting, (one thing about the exiting scheme in Xcel: It is brilliant. There are staircases all over the place, painted with the team colors, with which one may exit the arena post-game, quickly efficiently, and quietly; unless of course the fans are drunk which they often are) the stadium with a brand new Wild cap, courtesy of the father figure, we got into the car, and went to Fishman’s for dinner.
The food there wasn’t exceptionally amazing, but filled my stomach like corn fills a chicken gullet. Or how it should fill an avarian belly, if the fowl isn’t anorexic, or alternatively, hasn’t been done in by some fowl play. (grooaan). My next game was just as exciting, but missed the exhilaration which can only be found in a first experience, and, alternatively, in the foibles of an imperfect memory.
Post Script: Any overused expressions were put in here to facilitate the readers imagination, and were probably intended facetiously. If not, then it sure is not my fault.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009