Puck-er Up

Going to a sporting event with your girlfriends always seems like a good idea. You think; fitted jersey, chugging beers. Very Kate Hudson in How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days. But, as it turns out, the reality of it all is far less adorable.

Earlier this evening, I went to a Rangers game on a whim. After turning down Knicks tickets on Friday, part of me truly felt like I should engage in some good ole’ athleticism.

Now, of all the major league sports played in this country, hockey reigns supreme with regards to my level of clueless-ness. Baseball, basketball. I can at least hold a relevant conversation. But my NHL aptitude is a complete and utter joke.

So when I arrived at Madison Square Garden this evening, I witnessed this crazy microcosm of hockey fans that I never knew existed. And, in addition to my initial alienation, I was forced to sit next to the biggest Rangers fan in the house. But I’m not talking take-you-top-off-and-paint-your-chest-blue Rangers fan. This guy was solo-flying-carefully-concentrating-hating-any-distractions fan.

Therefore, when I attempted to catch up with my newly-single friend’s active love life, the coals of hell burned deep in his eyes. I never felt so hated in all my life. I tried to lower my voice. Concentrate on the game. I even stood up and cheered when they scored.

But, the jig was up. And as if our fan-tastic fabrication wasn’t already written all over our faces, the stock-broker type in the pink shirt behind us fully called us out. But not, of course, before he tried to ask us out. Eww.

Final Word: I still have faith in girls night out at the arena, we just have to pick a better sport. Because honestly, who watches hockey? Definately not me.