Pens vs Kings

My favorite sport, aside from riding horses, is hockey. I could not believe when, for my birthday, my husband surprised astonished me with tickets to a Penguins game. Not just tickets - that really doesn't do it justice. Fifth row from the glass, just to the right of the goal where the Pens would be shooting twice. I. Lost. My. Shit.

I have only been to Pittsburgh a few times, and two of the three times were spent driving through, wondering what in the bloody fuck whomever was in charge of mapping out the road system actually had in mind. Seriously, someone had to have had meetings, several options, and then chose ... this?

Luckily, I was not driving. We stayed with my daughter, Gena, in her apartment, which so wonderfully nice - not only was I going to a Pens game (my first ever), I was getting to spend time with her and her roommate, Albert. Albert knows how to drive in Pittsburgh. I wish I knew how to be a graceful, grateful passenger in Pittsburgh. We drive big ol' four-wheel drive trucks down long winding roads that divide fields and timberland, cross gorges, and only have other trucks parked alongside during buck season. In Pittsburgh, there is no such thing as "no place to park." Every street is lined with cars, nose to tail, usually. Sometimes they get a little more innovative. So as Albert scuttled us through this maze at an amazingly fast speed, I felt a tad uncomfortable. I kept thinking of The City Mouse and the Country Mouse. When we arrived (whew!) at Mellon Arena, I thanked Albert, but also mentioned that I felt a little bit like I was in The French Connection.

What a game! Having never been there before, I was trying like hell to not look like a damn tourist (which is why I didn't take any pictures), but I am hoping someone knows what those lines are hanging from the ceiling, the ones with appeared to be testicle-shaped fishing weights at the ends? I just could not figure those out at all.

And just in case you have never been to a game before, if you get up to use the bathroom during the period, you cannot go back to your seat until a whistle is blown. Apparently, they take this rule very seriously. Being completely ignorant of this rule, I started to walk down to my seat, past the lady who was, I now know, guarding the stairs against people just like me. She actually scrabbled at my jacket, simultaneously grabbing me and nearly pushing me down the cement stairs. After I regained my balance and a little bit of my dignity, I stood off to the side where the security guard kept eyeing me up like I was going to make a break for it and run amok through the stands, blocking everyone's view.

And I must give anyone living in an apartment props for, well, living in an apartment. Everyone was very nice, and I should have felt so much safer because the German Shepard on the floor above us was VERY CONCERNED about every single noise or movement on the street. Concerned enough to try to bring everyone else's attention whatever he saw or heard. Who knew that so many people got up during the night to use the bathroom? Or had to leave so early in the morning? In stilettos?


It was an amazing night, an incredible game, and fabulous to spend time with my daughter. My only question is, how is my husband going to top this?

Another little fact I figured out: I was confused because Sydney Crosby looks so pretty in all his interviews but when he plays he has this wicked overbite, so I was wondering about camera angles when I realized, yeah, he's totally got a mouth guard in.

just duh.