Using the Capitals’ generous season ticket exchange policy, I traded in five unused tickets for a block in my section (426) and then gave the tickets to five coworkers–two of whom had never attended a hockey game before.
I asked the hockey novices what they knew about the game, if anything. One replied, “Well, I know that players fight a lot, and that the puck can fly into the audience.” I assured her that given the seat location (Row P of the 400 level) she’d be safe from puck-related harm. But really, that was the full extent of her hockey knowledge.
My other coworker was excited about the fighting as well; she wished other sports allowed it. “Oh well, I guess hockey and boxing will have to do.” So I was intrigued as to what their reaction would be, and was hoping for an exciting game — including a fight or two as well to keep my friends happy. For all the horrified outcries against fighting heard from the MSM, it sure seems that pugilism remains a strong draw.
They both expressed concern about the dental condition of hockey players — unsure as to why they “always hear the ladies going crazy for hockey hunks.” I directed them to the Caps’ website for photos, where they immediately locked onto Matt Pettinger as their favorite. Sorry Brooks!
We spent pregame at Bar Louie and discussed what they could expect on the ice. I warned them that not every game contained fights (much to their dismay) but that both teams are considered among the more exciting in the league.
So after a few brews, we headed into the arena for the anthems. My plan was to spend some time with the crew, explaining the game and high-fiving for the goals (of which there were many, thank you Alex), but Section 426 was burdened with a surprisingly surly usher who prevented me from moving up to the cheaper seats. Seriously, I went up to join my friends, was chastised, and returned later to be chastised yet again. It was an odd experience, especially considering that the group had already moved down to better seats — one would have thought they would have been told to move back up to Row P, but no, I was told I had to return to Row A lest I incur the wrath of the ushering gods.
But I digress. After flipping through the Caps’ yearbook I provided, Alex Ovechkin, Olie Kolzig, and Dave Steckel joined Pettinger on my friends’ “Hey, he’s cute” list. As the game progressed, though, they seemed genuinely enthralled by the action on the ice rather than just by the attractiveness of the players. During one of my brief and stealthy visits to their seats, I explained the red light that indicates TV-timeouts (”Oh, that’s why they stopped playing!”) and a couple other tidbits before the usher’s evil eye forced me back to my own seat. So other than running over for post-goal high-fives I didn’t get as much in-game opinion as I’d hoped.
While disappointed by the lack of fights–after the Kovalev high-sticking on Ovie to open the game I was convinced, incorrectly, that at least one fight would ensue–they loved the bone-jarring hits and the laserbeam goals.
The Capitals obliged by providing a thrilling finale to a game many hockey fans hoped would have ended in regulation — but as another friend said (one whose last in-person Caps game was at the US Air Arena), “It was worth that goal in the last thirty seconds for such an exciting win.” While I would have preferred a 4-3 victory to the ulcer-inducing end of the third period, I won’t argue with the excitement spawned by Ovechkin’s fourth goal of the night.
Later, as we sat sipping Guinnesses (Guinni?) at the Irish Channel after the game, everyone expressed their happiness with the evening’s experience, as well as a strong inclination to recommend the live hockey experience to friends. The mood was bouyant, with all in attendance waxing rhapsodic about the game, and their intention to attend another one again, soon.
The next day, as my friends learned of Ovechkin’s broken nose, they were even more impressed. “That game was a blast! But [Ovechkin] scored four goals with a broken nose? That guy is amazing.” Or, as another put it, “He’s a beast!”
I couldn’t agree more. The game was a perfect introduction to hockey (and to the Capitals); Ovechkin’s heroic performance and an inspired team effort helped convince these hockey first-timers of what we already knew: that nothing compares to seeing a hockey game live. Welcome to the sport, friends; I hope you enjoy the ride.
The Irish are unfairly maligned as a drinking culture. In point of fact, they are a chugging one. Tonight was a Wednesday in a non-holiday week of work for the Irish, with a “football” match between England and Croatia televised. Every pub in Galway was packed, every pub table larded (blessed!) by a preponderance of pint glasses. Ever filled.
His is not a lone act of rebellion. We passed a Guinness tanker or three on our bus ride from the airport to the train station. They are identical in appearance to oil tankers, except their cargo is mother’s milk. Ten million pints of Guinness are brewed every day. A fair number are consumed here.
