It has been ten long years since I bought a ticket to go see the Dope City Canucks. My old mate Hank from England was visiting the Coolest Motherfucking Country on Earth for a few weeks so I got us tickets to a couple of games. The English do not know shit about hockey and the Canucks do not know shit about hockey so I figured it was a perfect fit.
Hank had been to a few games in England where they have a little bullshit league. Before we saw the Canucks he said, "The fans are one step down the evolutionary ladder from wrestling fans." That is some kind of statement. If you think wrestling fans on this continent are dumber than a sack of vice-presidents you should see the droolers who attend wrestling matches in England. Canuck fans do not drool so much as they are too busy going "oh, no!", "oh shit!", "oh, fuck!" and "oh, I might as well spend thousands on season's tickets for next year because...oh,shit!"
I think it was the Washington Capitals we saw first. It was my first visit to the new monster ice palace. I told Hank, "You can cheer for the Canucks all you want but if you want to have some fun, cheer for the Caps and feel the pain and hatred of the Canuck fans breathing down our necks as they get their asses kicked, follow my lead." Several beers, oh no!shit!fucks! later and the Canucks were on the losing end of a score yet again. The Canucks are the Chicago Cubs of hockey. Several ushers were assigned to protect Hank and I because the combination of my bright red Colorado Avalanche jersey, bad language and Hank cheering at all the wrong times had us in the sights of the famously violent Dope City sports fan.
Same thing happened when we saw the Canucks take on the Colorado Avalanche a couple weeks later. Hank asked (loudly so all the losers sitting near us could understand even with his diabolical accent), "Are the motherfucking Canuck cunts ever going to score?" A few fans spilled beer on us so we started a "Let's Go Avalanche!" two man chant. Colorado went on to win the Stanley Cup that year. Hank was proud to have cheered for the champs.
Four years ago, seconds after the Canadians had beat the Americans for the gold medal in Olympic ice hockey, the phone rang. It was Hank. "Congratulations on beating those American motherfuckers!" Hank and his buddies had stayed up drinking until a stupid hour to see the Americans lose at something. And not only did the Americans lose, they had their We're So Fucking Great At Everything asses kicked bad. There is nothing the world likes more than watching America get its ass kicked hard. That is the truth. I told Hank, "Any time," and added, "I'll call you when England wins the World Cup in 2006."