I have on occasion mentioned a good friend of mine who suffers from the misfortune of being a Ducks fan. I often remind him that he is no such thing. He is a Wisconsin native and therefore a Minnesota Wild fan (for whom he cheers with fervor) and his residency today should not control his allegiance. I have offered to him many times that the Kings and I will accept him as one of our own with open arms – the time will come.
On this wet day, I was invited by this friend to attend the Ducks v. Flames game and since I rarely turn down hockey games, I accepted the invitation. I proudly wore my long sleeve Kopitar shirt and black Kings beanie hat…halfway along our hockey season, I walked as Dante did many centuries ago and strayed off the straight way and into a descent. What awaited me? I shall tell you now.
Upon entry, we faced the first circle – an enormous woman whose ass was the size of a UPS truck. She wore, tucked in, a “Perry” jersey. I am still disappointed in my wife for not bringing a camera.
The second circle consisted of security standing outside the entry doors and forcing people to be frisked, molested and wanded in the rain. Apparently, the arena’s budget cannot afford metal detection machines.
The third circle – Beer with lids – I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried.
The fourth circle of hell presented itself throughout all periods – a neutered crowd that sat silently and watched the action, oohed occasionally at a shot that whistled 4 feet wide or a routine save – a crowd that was drowned out by one Flames fan in our section who proceeded with “Let’s Go Flames” throughout. Any Ducks chant sustained by more than 20 people at a time was a moral victory for all.
The fifth circle shall be known as concessions of concussions. The staff moved, spoke and handled orders as if they had just suffered one.
The sixth circle was less relevant to this married writer – though it is worth a mention that, my group of friends and wife excluded, the only attractive women…were Flames fans.
An extension of the sixth leads us to the seventh and final circle of hell. Women with a “trailer” face and designer jeans. An oddity that makes one question if that may not be the direct work of the Devil himself. Amidst those were what appeared like thousands of men who had highlighted their hair, leaving them with blonde and light brown streaks. Evermore, these Ducks fans will no longer be referred to as men. They are their own species now and shall forever be called “bottle.”
After the game, my friend Tyler skated with his firefighting team on the Honda Center ice and, more entertaining than the preceding game, finished after three periods to a 4 to 4 tie. Tyler was, I am proud to say, the most talented, smartest and hardest working player on the ice…
Now you may ask, who is “Trevor” that I mention in the title of this article? Ah, yes. He was the light among the darkness. An angel among the incubus. After the Ducks game ended and while we awaited the other to begin, I heard a chant across the arena of “Let’s Go Kings!” repeated to five claps of the hand, not once but at least three. I looked yonder. I saw a boy, no more than 11 years old, with his friends bringing this hallowed melody to the ears of the damned. I walked over to him. I asked him his name. He looked up at me and said, “I am Trevor.” I told Trevor to behold, for he walks the righteous path and speaks the truth and I shall write about his courage this night. He thanked me and offered a high five as a symbol of unity and peace.
Categories: L.A. Kings News