The first couple of months of hockey season I can live without. Hockey season ought to run from Remembrance Day, at the earliest, and continue until the middle of April at the latest. Then my life could be split into two seasonal halves: hockey season when I could hit the whisky and horse racing season when I could hit the beer.
I was just about to ask Poops if he wanted to go catch a local Cross Checkers' game when Hunky Z phoned to say,"Kitty scored a couple pairs of tickets to the Giants' game on Saturday night. You and Sonja want to join us? It's teddy bear toss night so all you have to do is buy a fucking teddy bear and have a few beer before the game and you'll be set."
Sonja (and more Canadians than you might think) could give a fuck about hockey but she knows hockey is my heroin and I was overdue for a good hit. Before we got in the car to head into the East End she asked me, "Haven't you been drinking all day? There's roadblocks for fuck's sake. The police were on the news telling everybody to watch out. Plus everybody else on the road is half as pissed as you are."
I had to reassure her, "Fuck the police. I did not have my first beer until lunchtime. Take a pill and get in the car. We have a hockey game to get to."
It takes a long time to get into the East End from Steepleton, especially when the roads are crammed with shoppers that have left their brains in the mall. The cops can detect the faintest trace of liquor in your gut but they cannot detect that you are driving along with your brains still back at Shopper Heaven.
Hunky and Kitty were waiting for us by their car when we arrived at the PNE. A cloud of smoke, bigger than the one our world's leaders just blew out of their ass at us from the Bali Climate Change Summit, just about hid the pair of Giants' fans from view.
I told Hunky and Kitty, "This is a Giants' game, not a Canucks' sleep festival. You shouldn't need to smoke that big of a bomber before the game."
Kitty rolled her eyes and told them, "Don't listen to Beer. He's been drinking since noon."
We walked towards the Coliseum. The cloud of smoke followed right behind us. I dropped into Dope City Downs to pick up the Hollywood form for the next day's races. From the look of things in the pub the slots have already siphoned off some of the horse players. I made it out without making a bet even though it was post time at a bush track in Texas.
The game turned out to be on the dull side. The first dull WHL game I have ever seen. Luckily a Giant goon smashed a Bruins' face into the boards drawing the only blood we would get to relish from our seats five rows away. The only other highlight was the Giants' first goal setting off the teddy bear toss. Our polar bear, which I regret to inform you was made in motherfucking China, joined about 10,000 other toys to be distributed to families who will probably wish the bears were food, drugs or booze. Hunky and Kitty fired five cuddlies over the glass onto the same playing surface Tiger Williams once skated and rollerbladed over.
During the game we had to listen to someone with a louder mouth than mine explain how he thought throwing the perfect Christmas open house was going to fetch him a $15,000 annual raise. He was going to get his mother to come over and cook up a non-stop river of appetizers for his doped up boss and even more doped up buddies. That's the Christmas Spirit asshole.