Stanley Cup. Game Two.

Red Wings: 2
Penguins: 0


Last night was fantastic. My dad got us tickets to game two of the Stanley Cup in his business suite. We arrived about an hour early and there were already two people there. As we walked into the suite, one of the men, Al, approached the refrigerator and offered me a beer. Al was a short, tan, Hispanic man donning a Red Wings jersey and floating through the room jovially conversing with different people.

Joe and I filled our plates with barbecue and fried chicken, spring rolls, potato wedges and other delicious morsels of heaven left by catering. We took our food to the two rows of bleacher seating overlooking the ice outside of the suite. Mom joined us, found white pom poms and decided to recreate her high school cheerleading routines, much to Joe's chagrin. Dad, who I'm convinced can get along with any person out there, mingled with customers while waiting for the game to start.

The National Anthem was sung my some petite middle-aged blonde with a significant amount of plastic surgery. I know this because she and her family (and mail-order, 20-something year old South American man-slave) were sitting in the booth to the left of us. Joe thought she was "sexy" and somehow ended up with a puck she signed with a heart.

As Red Wings tradition dictates, someone in the crowd threw a boiled octopus onto the ice before the game started. Apparently it served its purpose of bestowing luck upon the team because they slaughtered the Penguins 3-0.

Highlights of last night include:

1. Hanging out with the family and enjoying some of the perks of my dad's job. (We missed Stever though.)
2. My on-demand drink fetcher, Al. I never even asked, he just brought me a steady flow of cold beers.
3. The dessert cart. Turtle Cheesecake was godly and Al made mom and I do Bailey's shots from miniature shot glasses made of white chocolate.
4. Twirling hockey towels to techno.
5. Witnessing first-hand another Red Wings victory in the Stanley Cup.
6. Seeing a fantastic fight that involved several punches to the face and almost every player on the ice. Are those penguins crazy? Don't mess with Osgood.
7. A homemade sign saying something like "Penguins eat their own poop."

On to game three.