Oh, the Shark, Babe, Has Such Teeth, Dear

This post is in honor of Chip. As I watched the debacle that was the end of the Washington Capitals mighty President's Trophy (a jinx as deadly as an SI cover) winning season, I only had thoughts of Chip. The Chip who considers himself first and foremost a Red Wings fan. The Chip who probably gets all of his hockey knowledge reading John Buccigross. The Chip who lectured me nigh on 2 months ago on the Red Wings lost season ("they won't make the playoffs" he said), on the Red Wings roster ("their time has passed" he said), and on the future of the NHL ("the Capitals will win the Stanley Cup this year" he said). Well, Chippers, it's Thursday April 29th and the Red Wings are in San Jose getting ready to face the Jabberjaws (okay, I stole that reference but I love it) and the Capitals are polishing their golf shoes.

Did I ever mention that I love Bobby Darin?

Bring on the Dancing Arses!

First, allow me to apologize for a lack of pictures because most of them were either too dark or blurry and it's not because I was tipsy either!

The night began early with a couple of Raging Bitches (that's the beer not us) and after some dallying on Kirby's part, we arrived downtown around 7:00. The doors had just opened and there was no line so I knew it would be a light crowd. Awesome. As we head down East 4th on our way to Flannery's, walking towards us (or Euclid Avenue) is a motley group of three rather British looking blokes. The two on the outside are tall and thin with bedhead, pencil leg jeans and pointy shoes. The one in the middle is short and stout with a big nose and a blunt hair cut. I announce to the group that the gnome is none other than Will Sargeant. Kirby says, "Oh, they were looking at us". Of course they were. Will knows me.

As we enter Flannery's (specifically after 7:00 to avoid the Cavs crowd), we see Bob at the bar and notice that the Cavs game is on. As the play moves to the basket area we see "BULLS" emblazoned on the court. Glad we avoided that crowd. Flannery's is without much excitement (other than Kirby scaring the bartender - seriously chick, grow a backbone) so we head to HOB around 8:15. The bastards don't card me! The one time I bring my ID and the bastards don't card me. Stacey flirts with a guy and his wand and we enter.

We head upstairs to the bar and get in line. In front of us is this chick. Stacey and I discuss whether or not there is some female code that requires us to put her tag back in, we feel that there is but then decide not to abide by it because it's funnier this way. As we take our drinks, we notice the opening band is on. It's some annoyingly pretentious dude from NYC (are there any other kind?) whose name I can't remember and have no urge to look up. I can say that he was bald and at some point wrote a song when he was living in Detroit and I yelled out "Let's go Wings"! Hey, it is the playoffs bitches.

As his set is winding down or over, Christine and Tom show up (Tom is wearing a hoodie and this is important so remember it) I head to the bar to get Patron to cheer Kirby up (he hates opening acts) and I end up talking to some guy about hockey. Don't ask me how we got to hockey because we started out talking about how shiny the opening act dude's head was and this led to a discussion on the merits of hats. In any event, he became a Calgary Flames fan after visiting a bar in Calgary devoted to all things hockey and all things Flames. He heard me yell "Let's go Wings". He was a nice guy and we said our good byes.

After depositing the drink, I head to the floor to find Bob and his friend. As I work my way through the crowd, I see Fat Abby and by Fat Abby I mean an obese version of Abby, the forensics chick from NCIS. It's not pretty. I find Bob and pass on by. There is boredom and then the lights go low Joe (well, it is the Bunnies) and we hear Gregorian chants. There is dancing (Mac is dancing a lot tonight as well) and singing and smoking if you are Mac because apparently it's okay if he smokes in HOB but nobody else. There is also some strange nose picking going behind the drums (I'd so hate to be that guy's roadie). The set contains all the classics and one new song, Whatever You Want or whatever because no one really cares. Do It Clean, The Cutter, Killing Moon (sounds awesome), etc. I tell Tom he should shout something to piss off Mac because to this point, there has been no tiff with any member of the audience. This can't continue. He asks me what he should say and I say "request a song he has refused to ever play again...request All My Colours" and then I head to the bar. As I stand there I hear the melancholy notes that are the hallmark of All My Colours. I laugh and say "Zimbo, zimbo, zimbo, zimbo, zimbo".
Then as if by magic, we arrive at that point in time when "it" happens. Someone shows Mac something he has seen before and he tells whomever is showing him their whatevers that not only is he not impressed, but that those are quite possibly some of the worst whatevers he has ever seen. Yes, Mac is still the prat we know and adore. In between all the awesome songs there is Bring on the Dancing Horsemen and of course, Lips Like Drippy Poppy Sugar. They work "Walk on the Wild Side" into the encore. Sweet.

As we get ready to leave, we are instructed by Christine that we must leave together because they don't know how to get back into the BP garage across the street. It is tricky but we wait nonetheless. As we work our way towards the exit, Christine and Tom stop by the bathrooms. A portion of these activities escape Stacey and she approaches some tall thin guy in a hoodie and hugs him goodbye. Kirby and I look on in amazement as does the "hug-ie". Stacey then realizes it's not Tom as Tom has just shown up. As we leave, she then attempts to get re-scanned by the HOB security dude with the wand. She's 0 and 2 at this point but it's not her fault. The fail is all on the guys tonight.

Once on the street, I see Fat Abby and there is some good light. I stand behind this big guy selling roses on the street and ask him if I can use him as cover. "All I want is a shot at Fat Abby" I tells him but he freaks out like he's a'scared of me or something? Like I am going to shoot him or her or something. By then everyone is calling to me as if I lost my way. Would you sympathize? Could you sympathize? (Third lyric placement) So, I have no Fat Abby picture for you and then we listened to Duran Duran on the way home (Planet Earth of course because it is the only good Duran Duran).

Zimbo Zimbo Zimbo Zimbo Zimbo

It is T-4 days to Mac and his Mouth so I've got "All My Colours" stuck in my head. I apparently have a lot of things stuck in my head. If you ever wondered just how many things, this tale may provide some illumination (it'll also explain the Tardis, trust me).

A few days ago, Stacey tells me she bought Armor All (or something that cleans cars) because Kirby's car was so shiny and clean that she felt bad about her car. I said, "Are you kidding me? His car is a mess. It's dirty". No bells.

This morning we had to go to Home Depot to buy a new kitchen faucet. Kirby unlocks the passenger door and I get in. No bells. He starts the car and pushes the key in. Bells. I look at the dash. Bells and bells! There is a screen in the dash and the controls all look different but I entered the Police Box and it looked just like it should but it's bigger on the inside. I say, "Did you get a new stereo or something?" Kirby says "Yeah, something". I say, "Is this the same car? Did you get a new car?" Yeah, he did. When you say? March 31. You can't get anything by me.

The screen displays the Artist List from the iPod that's hooked up in glove compartment, it's got Bluetooth, and you push a button to engage the parking brake. My new faucet is cool too.

And now, I present one of the few Wings who did not piss me off today (I am looking at you, Kronner). I hope Shane "Sucks" Doan is done for the series and that the Wings get their act together.

Of All the Gin Joints, in All the Towns, in All the World...

We'll get back to that shortly. First, behold! The crowd. Keep this image in mind (or scroll back to it) because it's important. It also tells you that we had to walk all the way over to the bar in center field to get a decent beverage. Clearly, it'll be our only one of the evening so I am very glad we spent a couple of hours at Flannery's. As we enjoyed the view and the late evening sun (it rained all day) and wind (it felt like an Alberta Clipper), we were accosted by a charming young man who needed to get 100 people to enter some sort of contest. As we filled out the forms, we chatted. Stacey was a litttle peeved that the prize was not Grady Sizemore but the kid did try and tell her how to get down to the locker room. At that point she was too annoyed by the fact that the form asked for a spouse's name so she kind of missed it. Focus, Stacey. Focus.

As we begin the long trek back to our seats, we make broad generalizations about the young man. I determined that he lived in a trailer in the trailer park along the Red Line near the airport. This grand disputation was interrupted when we were almost run off the concourse by two young women who were holding the hands of a little boy. As they passed by, they mentioned some player and told the kid, "Hurry, this is the best thing that will happen to you in your whole life". I am aghast and yell after them, "Don't tell him that! That is not true". In response, one turns to me with a smile and says, "Yes, it is" and then Stacey agrees. I am overruled. Fight on my young stallion. This need not be your fate.

We sit and the Girl Scout to my right prepares for the buffeting of the North Winds. A couple want to get in our row but then they go to the section next to us. 30 seconds later, they come back. Wrong section. They are in 134, seats 11 & 12 and we are in 9 & 10 but because there is no one here, they move down a seat or two. About 1 minute later, they are asked to move over by some indignant folks who happen to have one of those seats. Of all the gin joints....you get it.

The pregame festivities have a decidedly homoerotic theme what with the Cleveland Pornstache Cop (one of these days I am bringing a camera with a zoom so you guys can see this guy). To get his attention, I did the YMCA dance even though they weren't playing the song. I didn't really get his attention but then there were a lot of boys down there trying to get the attention of the White Sox players. Who could blame them with all this going on?
I am my usual disrespectful self during the anthem and the Indians give up the long ball early. Ho hum! And then, something magical happens in the second. I believe it's off Choo's bat and I think the bat broke and a portion of it went into the crowd and queue the memory (please, do click on the link so you know just what was going on in my head but be patient as it takes a long time to load).

By this time Pink and her entourage have arrived but I can't pick on them too much because they laughed at all my jokes, especially when I make some comment about Gordon Beckham having a nice tight ass but maybe needing a bag for his face (okay, you be the judge - perhaps it was just a bad picture but he's a bit too Prince Hot Ginge to me).

Some baseball happens, Ketchup wins his first race of the season, and then Skylab falls again (although you can't really see it too well here thanks to the lack of a zoom on my iPhone) but trust me, it came down over Lake Erie. It's just to the right of Terminal Tower there.


By the bottom of the 7th with the Indians safely in the lead (insert laughter here - seriously they did win and we didn't miss anything), we bid Pluto Nash adieu (if anyone can explain this, please let me know in the Comments section) and head home. I have 45 minutes before the puck drops in Pa-honix. When I get home, I need a blanket because I am so cold I have the shakes and my teeth are chattering (that might also have been nerves although I refuse to admit that I was nervous over the second game in the first round). After a drab first, the Wings rebound offensively in the second, and then manage to take the lead in the third and play decent enough defense to win 7-4. Hank with the trick and Kronner with a Kronwalling. Shane "Sucks" Doan does score a late goal to tie it up and as the camera focuses on him, he displays some kind of crazy look (a look of crazy hitherto only displayed by those jubilant Christians as they marched into the arena to take their place at the feline all you can eat buffet) but then, he can't resist his innate dickishness and throws another late hit. I say "another" because the two games have been filled with late hits but this time it's called and the PP works. Hey, the PK worked too. All is well in Hockeytown!

Oh, yeah. Abby scored on a beautiful breakaway so the earlier post worked!

Next up: Echo and the Bunnymen on Thursday! Treats abound. Will Mac display his package (he's fat now so I don't think so)? Will we see a purple windbreaker?

Willy's Out, Abby's In

And this is for luck!

I am headed to the Tribe game (hey, they won last night?!?) but have Slingbox on my iPhone just in case I am not home before 10:00 (and the game is not rained out). The Capitals lost to the Lilliputian Canadiens and Sammy scored his second goal of the night in OT to save the Canucks so it's official, this playoff season is nuts!

Hey Shane Doan sucks but we knew that.

Let's Go Wings!

Man, This Dude Sucks!

Pregame: What to wear? Well, the Wings won yesterday so I decided upon my Wings pro-weight jersey and a thermal undershirt as I know for a fact there will be no one else at the game in a Red Wings jersey. What I never knew was there was an Alesci's downtown but apparently that's where Joanna and I wouldn't find Greg Columbus although we did run into just about everybody else in Cleveland and learned that the Alesci's has been there for 12 years! Wow. After obtaining a slice of cheese pizza, we mosey (no, we claw our way) to the bar where we wait for about 10 minutes to order. As I wait, I see something red and white out of the corner of my eye. I then notice it has this big "D" on the front, a small winged wheel on the shoulder, and a "C" on the chest. Yeah, it's a Red Wings jersey. I don't even need to look to know that it's got a number 5 on the back. The Perfect Human. Oh, well. We drink our Smithick's and leave. We figure it'll be easier to get a beer at the Jake...I mean the "Pro" or whatever we are supposed to call it now.
Game: As we enter, I hear numerous "go Wings" cheers and I am happy. We obtain some beer, cash in our first "loaded" ticket, and head to our new seats. One section over (the first two seats in the row) and one row back. Joanna and I promptly fart to christen them (we really didn't - well, Joanna did some time during the 2nd inning - but that's what we're telling Maria). The opening ceremony is decidedly unspectacular, except for the Bob Feller ceremonial pitch and the fact that the crowd boos Chris Perez! I mean, you kind of feel bad because it's opening day but the dude sucks so it's funny. I boo-ed too.

Oh smashing, we have attorneys behind us. Bastards! Everything they said annoyed me especially when they started talking about Japan and how they both knew a "Toro" except the one guy got it wrong, the other guy knew a "Toru" not a "Toro". I tried to explain to him that a "Toro" is either a Spanish bull or a lawn mower but he wouldn't listen. They never do.

Around the 3rd inning, we decide it's time for a quick pee and another beer. As we get in line at the Women's room, there are two chicks ahead of us swaying back and forth. It's 3:55 pm. How can you even come close to being that drunk? The more sober of the two is telling the drunker of the two to pee and then WAIT for her by the sink. Under no condition is the drunker of the two to LEAVE the Women's room without the "sober" one. As the drunker one enters the stall, she decides now is a good time to put on some lip gloss. Most of it goes on that area above the lip and below the nose. As we depart the Women's room, the "sober" chick is calling for the "drunk" chick who is still in the stall. We don't see them again. It is quite possible they are still in the Women's room. There goes the top of the 3rd. We then get in line at the bar to get a couple of brews. This is annoying and takes us through the bottom of the 3rd and the guy can't cash in the second "loaded" ticket because he is a moron. Yeah, service is great at the "Pro". As we leave and head back to our seats, we walk by a "special child" and by "special", I mean "retarded" (I hope Sarah Palin reads this) and by "child" I mean "dude in his late 30's or 40's" (it's hard to tell when they are "special") who yells at me "Detroit sucks". Okay, I know I shouldn't pick on the "special people" but he follows us and keeps yelling at me at the top of his lungs "Detroit sucks". I maintain my dignity by not engaging him or dropping my gloves and return to my seat.

I really don't have too much to say about the game except that I don't know what we'd do without Choo and I don't know why Acta thought it was a good idea to let Chris Perez back on the mound, on opening day, after he got booed. All he did was load the bases with no one out and get booed a lot more, especially by me. I just hate this guy and so does the entire city. It's official. We did get out of the inning only to poop the bed in the 10th but still, he loaded the bases and got no one out.

So, back to the seats and the beautiful people. My favorite couple was sitting one section over. We believe they may have rode in on a Harley. He has a leather Indians cap and she has a pink and white Fat Albert type cap that looks like it is from the 70's. She also has some fabulous boots. What we find most charming is that each of them pine for the other when they are away from their seats, looking back towards the concession stands every 30 seconds until their safe return. Considering it takes an entire inning to get any service, this requires a lot of looking back. I am happy to report that they both made it back to their seats after every jaunt through the dark side.

Later a guy with plaid boxer shorts came down and sat in the seats in front of us (the seats had been inhabited by three old people and one young Adonis who was chosen for a stupid game on the jumbotron and who was massaged by Joanna to loosen him up before the thrilling competition.). I am not sure why he came down but as he left he told me he loved Detroit, hated the Penguins, and gave me a high five. I told him to go kick the retarded guy's ass for me! No, I didn't. I actually just thought of this now. Damn.

Post Game: Really nothing exciting happened except that we saw this guy with his jeans tucked into these red socks. It couldn't go unnoticed or without comment.

Next Game: Friday night against the White Sox. Stacey's on deck.

Hot Shots: Part Deux!!

Most of the remaining snaps in no apparent order.

Bert and the bubble.

Kronner and Mule.

Handsome Jonny.

Big Head Todd and the Anthem

Some views from our seats.













Off to see the Indians no doubt poop the bed this afternoon. Still, it's a lovely day and we've got new seats!

Oh, Columbus!

Sorry, I couldn't resist! They used to be so pretty and it's really a lot better to think about this when you are heading to Columbus. I actually hadn't visited our fine capital in years and I haven't missed much. The only thing separating Columbus from Dayton or Toledo is Nationwide Arena and that only counts when the Wings are in town and the Wings are in town. As are the Seventh Day Adventist Youth Prayer Group, some Pharmacists for a convention, and assorted people wearing chaps, boots, and spurs and they are all staying with us at the Crowne Plaza. Before you ask, no one including hotel staff, know why the cowboys and cowgirls are here or why they are walking around wearing spurs. I've spent enough time in Vegas with the National Rodeo to know that you don't walk the streets or hang out in hotel lobby bars wearing spurs. But enough of them.

Once we check in and determine that Lauren's camera's batteries are toast, we head to the closest eatery and watering hole, a Max & Erma's. Yum. It brings back so many memories of delayed flights in so many airports but it's got food and brew. Our waitress arrives, breathless even though she only has two tables and we are one of them, and proceeds to tell us something. We attempt to ask what's on tap but are directed to the menu. We order and determine that we are either complete heels because she is hearing impaired or her comprehension is limited to 240 characters and emoticons. I quickly learned that I should simply point to my pint glass when I need another.

At this point, it is late enough to head to another bar adjacent to the Arena. Since there is also a good chance that we might be able to more effectively communicate with a different server, we haul ass on over there. It's a decent place filled with Wings fans. I grab a Guinness and Lauren a Stella(!) and sit in the brisk and breezy sunshine to people watch and count the blue 61 jerseys. There are actually a lot more red jerseys. I spot 5, 40, 93, 96, 30 (yes, some guy still wears it proudly), 19, 14, and a 26 (she got the nod as the most original Wings fan) and I determine it's 1/3 to 1/2 Wings fans. There are a couple of Boehner orange, fake nailed, poofy haired bimbos in really tight Wings shirts, leather jackets, and a sign. At this point, I just want in!

We enter. It's a nice place but as we will find out later, there are no vendors in the stands! WTF? I stop and get a draught (you have to spell it that way when it's Guinness) Guinness and the lady cards me. WTF? As we make our way to out seats, we pass the nasty Civil War-ish cannon (which they will happily not be able to fire) and learn from a confused usher that we are in the BJ's end and that means we get the Wings attacking in the 1st and the 3rd. Plus, we are in 117, row K so the seats are awesome (thank you Rick!). We head over to the Wings end for the pregame skate and get almost to the glass (never underestimate the power of the man-crush).

*** Intermission ***

A couple of Hot Kronners....

Pavs & Z

Rafs, Cleary & Bert (for Lauren) - look at the glass, there are the bimbos and no one notices them! We Love Our Wings "Hot"? Seriously? That is the best they could do? I bet they work at Hooters!


Fil (Once the apple of Lauren'e eye, she now only has um, eyes for Lils and Bert!)


Oz (who) and Helmer (for Susan) -

Finally, The Perfect Human

***End of Intermission***

After the skate, we head to the merch booth to buy some things for Lauren's nieces. Unfortunately, this must be BJ attire but we find some decent stuff anyway. It's the last game of their season and fan appreciation night and everything is 20% off. I manage to not speak with my outside voice and we head to our seats. We are in a BJ heavy section. They announce the sell out and then thank the Wings fans (sad). I have a really nice picture from the anthem (no, my hand was not over my heart) but someone's big head is in it so I won't post it here (maybe later as I am finding this interface slightly annoying). I say, "Drop the puck bitches!" and they do.

Rather than a full game recap (0-0 tie that goes to a shoot out despite 45 or so shots on goal by the Wings), I shall just give you some highlights.

• First period, the Wings do a decent job on the attack so we see a lot of them. Second period, classic Wings "suck" and they do a decent job of killing penalties so we see a lot of them. Third period, the Wings do an amazing job on the attack so we see a ton of them.

• The only time the Jackets fans muster up the energy for a "Let's go Jackets" chant, it is to drown out the "Let's go Wings" chant. I then insert other items of clothing to further annoy my section mates. "Let's go Trousers" becomes my favorite.

• During the second period, the BJs almost score but the goal hits the crossbar. A guy behind me (no, not the dude who yelled "yeah baby" in a Dick Vitale/Austin Powers kind of way all game long) said, "Oh, man, they hit the railing!".

• At one point in the third period, Helm is taken down and a ref calls for a penalty shot. Helm isn't real good at finishing on the break-away so I expect him not to score and he doesn't. A 20-something guy two rows ahead of me takes this moment to display his anger management issues by giving Helm the violently thrusting double-bird. He scares me.

• Two octopi make it to the ice at our end, one cooked and one raw. No one around me understands the reference. In fact, the screaming "Jackets" banshee next to me asks me if "my team is the only one that does this". Argh!

I hate shoot outs because we always lose. I hate them even more when the reason for the shoot out is the play of the opposing goalie so obviously we are going to lose. Then an amazing thing happens, we win. Since the Wings are shooting in our end (that sounds dirty and I like it), it's awesome. I can actually see the look on their faces when they shoot. First up was Pavs. He has the face of an angel and scores a lovely goal. I have faith. Corn fed Rick Nash then deposits one in the Wings goal. I no longer have faith. J Willy then goes for the Wings. There is no look on his face and the shot attempt is lame. I think Commodore and his ginger-fro may have gone next, I don't remember. The BJs don't score. Next up, Kronner! Yes, Babs and I think alike. Nice try but no dice. I know that we have now lost but no, the BJs don't score. So, Bert is up. Now, this is a magical moment. Time just about stands still. I know there are a lot of Bert haters out there but I am not one of them and standing next to me is Bert's newest and most devoted fan, Lauren. As if sensing her pure new found love, he charges (well not really it was like a slow-motion charge) in towards the goal. A champion on skates. Lauren waves her scarf and holds her breath (okay, I made that up). We can see his face and he's wearing a devilishly twisted grin, nay, a shit-eating grin. As he approaches Mason (or "Mase" if you are a hip BJ fan) in net, the grin turns into some kind of Dracula-voodoo stare and he does this strange wiggle and then lifts the puck up and over "Mase" and into the net. Mesmerizing! I fully expect Howie to give up the next shot but he doesn't and we win. I almost need a cigarette.

We ended up in the hotel bar with the be-spurred cowboys and cowgirls and some dudes who were later accosted in a cheesy porn movie style way by some young dude in a teal and black plaid shirt. He was later collected by a guy in a Red Wings cap. Odd. We fall asleep to the less than angelic sounds of our 7th Day Adventists not praying in the hallway and get out of Dodge as soon as possible (i.e. as soon as we could ply the garage ticket out of the dashboard with loaned scissors from Apu)!