My Happy Place: BustedApril 26, 2011
No one wants to talk, read, think, blog about or acknowledge Game 6 vs. the Flyers. It’s just too painful. The mere mention of it makes me want to go to my happy place. (No, not the hot tub, my mental happy place.) Buuuut, I feel it is my blogger-istic responsibility to say SOMETHING about it, so here are Six Things about Game 6 and One Thing That is Funnier.
1. As soon as the Round 1 schedule came out I texted Kate to ask her if she wanted to go with me to “Game 6 if necessary.” I kept cheekily referring to it as “Game 6 if necessary” right up until the stupidhead Flyers won Game 3, at which point it became “Game 6 damn well better be necessary.”
2. When Kate got into my car on Sunday afternoon, I was so filled with anticipation and delight and so happy to be sharing this day with her that I blurted out, “I was thinking on the way here that there are people I would want to go to this game with AS MUCH AS you, but there is honestly no one I can think of RIGHT NOW that I would want to take to this game MORE than you.” As you might imagine, Kate was understandably
confused miffed flattered.
3. In the weekend-long afterglow of the Sabres Game 5 victory, in NO WAY did I envision them losing this game. In fact, over Easter brunch I predicted an 8-0 Sabres victory! Once it was announced that Peter Purple had tapped Michael Leighton as his starting goalie, my morning prediction seemed almost conservative. Not only was I NOT referencing “Game 7 if necessary”, but I had NO CLUE when Game 7 even WAS.
4. Over the past week, on the internet and in the local media, there was much criticism of the home crowds at Game 3 (too quiet) and Game 4 (too boo-y). Not only did I take all of this random commentary personally (my friend calls me the “World’s Biggest Button”) but I was (somewhat sarcastically) hopeful that the Game 6 crowd would get it juuuust right. Kate and I are not at all boo-ers, and in our boundless optimism for our team we literally cheered our ASSES off. The intensity in the Arena was as great as I have ever seen it–we cheered goals, we stood up for hits, did the wave after successful PKs (not really!), we gave the team standing ovations after they were scored upon (so their fragile egos would not feel shame), and we screamed that Mike Richards should die a slow, horrible and unspeakable death. (OK, maybe that was just me, and would explain why the little boy a few rows ahead of me kept turning around and looking at me, wide-eyed). Bottom line, the Game 6 crowd brought it and we deserved to win.
5. During the game the Sabres blew leads of 2-0, 3-1 and 4-3, before losing in OT 5-4. But oddly I wasn’t angry with the Sabres AT ALL. It appears that the Flyers might be pretty good at hockey, and the Sabres DO have to keep replacing key guys in the line-up as the Flyers pick them off
like a gang of mass expletive murderers. (Ryan Miller’s words, not mine.)
6. Game 6 didn’t make me angry, but it did make me sad. And when I get sad, I don’t feel like traipsing around the Harbor Club, running into people I know. Like any girl, I want to curl up in my fleece PJs and eat metaphorical break-up ice cream. Kate describes in her post how we agreed that some bad eating could cure what ailed us, and we went our separate ways, only communicating via text pictures our choice of comfort food–pizza for Kate, a burger and fries for me.
Busted: Confessions of a Hockey-Lovin’ Mom
Friday night after Game 5, and after the hot tub, my friends and I may have allegedly engaged in a
tipsy celebratory battle with Thing 2’s extensive Nerf gun collection. (Good, clean, unexpected fun.) All the next day I was finding Nerf bullets in the oddest places at the HTH, but I thought I had pretty much covered my tracks. NOT SO. When Thing 1 and Thing 2 returned to the house on Sunday night and walked upstairs, it was like the Three Bears returning home, except the two baby bears were SUPER PISSED. From downstairs I heard Thing 2 roar, “What the EFF happened here? (he literally said “Eff”, he was that angry.) I cowered in my chair, offering up an unconvincing “Something wrong up there?”
Thing 1 came downstairs and sat next to me, whispering conspiratorially, “Just tell me what happened, and if you tell the truth, maybe we won’t be so mad.” After some ineffectual stalling I finally admitted that some friends and I had used the guns for a teeny tiny battle, at which he snorted, “Mom! What were you THINKING!” As soon as Thing 2 found out what I had done, he huffed like a wronged parent: “You know, you try and have nice things around here, but NO!” After I apologized profusely and promised to replace any broken guns or missing bullets, we ascertained that there was no permanent damage and uneasy peace was restored to the HTH. (Only after I promised to keep my hands off the Nerf guns.)
See, didn’t my irresponsible behavior make you forget all about that silly Game 6? You are welcome. Glad to take one for the team.
Also? I don’t want the ride end. Bring on Game 7.