For a while there when we were teenagers my brother and I got tickets to see the Dope City Canucks hockey team from our uncle and aunt who lived there. That was in the days before ticket prices got to be higher than the average stock broker. The games we got tickets to were played right about now. January. The heart and soul of the hockey season.
We would take the bus in to the East End of the city where the then new hockey rink was. We would go down real early so we could smoke up what ever we had before the game. The Canucks were so bad in those days you had to get burned right out to watch them. Not much has changed since then. The only difference is the whole fan base of their team is so ripped on dope they actually think they have a good team most of the time.
Canuck fans in the '70s were the Lawrence Welk audience of hockey. A crowd of people around a funeral pyre in India had more life. One time when the Canucks fluked into the playoffs a bunch of us Slivervillians got tickets up in the rafters to see them play the Kings and Marcel Dionne. We thought the idea of a play-off hockey game was to get pissed like you were going to see Motorhead and pull for your team in your loudest voices. We ended up with our very own usher watching over us threatening to boot us out of the rink if we kept up our raucous ways. We ignored him. The rest of the crowd made an audience at a Pink Floyd show seem animated. Marcel Dionne scored the winner. Marcel was magic.
By 1994 Canuck fans had figured out how to loosen up a little.
Once we had smoked all our supplies except for one or two in case we had to wait for the bus me and Axel would head into the rink. Underneath our clothing we would have a baggie or two full of dad's scotch or whatever we had not already sufficiently watered down. One time I poured part of a bag of scotch into a paper pop cup. The scotch disintegrated the paper cup and it spilled all over my balls. At first this felt pretty fucking good. Then real quick it burned like fire. My balls were on fire!
Too bad the Canucks' play was not as hot. They stunk out the rink every time we went down there. At the end of one game during which they were thrashed like Keith Moon's drum sets by the Boston Bruins Axel stood up and yelled out, "What a bunch of fucking losers!" No one batted an eye. The crowd were all thinking the same thing.
The bus ride back home was like being on a bus leaving a horse race track. Everybody felt they had been cheated except for me and Axel. We got our tickets free. It was kind of a waste of dope and scotch though.