Michael DeNicola

02/23/11

 

Let me begin with saying this is not a game review. Simply a tale I must tell you about my attendance to last night's Flyers match up.

It seems that every time I get tickets to a Flyers game it turns into a story. Last night proved no different.

Recently I have sworn off spending money for tickets because I'm saving for a handful of different reasons. So when passes wind up in my hands, they're for free.

I was lucky enough to receive two tickets in the 100-section of last night's tilt versus the streaking Coyotes. About two hours before puck drop, a very close family friend messages me telling me he's left two Suite passes at VIP will call for my friend and I.

My friend, who I brought last night, was my buddy (and personal trainer) Jerome Robinson. It was Rome's 33rd birthday and I figured since the man works harder than anyone I know.....he needed a night out. For Christ sake, the man has to put up with me two days a week for an hour while I bitch, moan and complain through workouts.

When Jerome and I arrived at will-call I began to get excited. I've had the luxury of sitting in Club Box seats but never a suite. The difference is the suite is much smaller but it's personally catered to by an assigned Wells Fargo Center waiter. Immediately we order a six pack of Victory Lager.

The night has officially begun.

 

So Rome and I are the only two schmucks in the suite so far and the game's about to begin. We're wondering where everyone is but not enough to allow it to drag our good time.

As the puck drops and the game's underway, that's when the suite started to fill up. My suite pass buddy shows up with a league of women. Hot women. Like, SMOOOOOOKING hot women.

Just for that statement alone I will be in trouble once I get home, so let me try and save some face by telling you I entertained no thought of flirtation or even conversation with the lady folk. My mind was strictly on having an enormously great time watching the game. 

Just as I twist the cap off my second delicious Victory beer, a couple walk through the suite's entrance.

Now, I do not recall the lady's name but I am 99.9% sure she was a porno star. I don't think that because of the way she dresses, I think that because that's how my Suite buddy rolls; tons of ass.

So let's call this vixon "Lady X".

Lady X comes strolling in wearing clothes tight enough to tie up a heroin addicts arm. A tool shed wears its paint looser than Lady X wore her 'Affliction' gear.

As the night continued it was pretty interesting to learn that Lady X and her husband had moved on from the...ahem...."movie industry" to their own clothing line! It's surprising to discover how normal and cool these people are after so many teenage years were spent watching them make Ancient Roman orgies look like a Girl Scout Club meeting.

Before you start asking me, no, I did not take her picture. For some reason unbeknownst to me, God has not gifted me with such a degree of "not giving a shit" to simply snap a shot in blatant view of this girl. It would create an awkward scene and I'd rather not deal with that crap all game.

But allow me to describe; Lady X was, of course, a bleach blonde with a waist size of about 0 to 2. Her hooters were enormous and she had a candy apple ass covered in yoga pants. She was enough to turn any basement dwelling nerd into a walking teepee.  

 

 

So naturally as you enjoy evening beverages....your bladder continues to flood. I had to pee.

The entourage of vagina that occupied the suite took up the bathroom all game long. I don't know what it is about women, but they have to piss every 10 seconds. The suite's restroom was a one-person only and since it was being used at the moment I decided to take my business in one of the arena's public facilities.

Generally the bathroom is crowded but seeing as it's the middle of the 2nd period, the crowd was in their seats.

I stride up to a stall and unzip.

In the blink of the moment a man who was blitzed out of his mind comes stumbling in. He's holding a beer in one hand and fumbling his johnson with the other.

That's right. The guy entered with his dick out of his pants.

I wish to the heavens I didn't see what I saw but let's just say the guy was sporting a "hoodie" on the end of his member. NOT only does the man take the stall directly to my right, but he tries conversation with me.

"SO! fffffffffffone hell of a game, huhhh?"

"Yea. Not bad."

"CARCILLO!?!?", he yells as he ganders at my jersey, "That guy's a bum."

"I like him."

"You would." ::coughs, spits in urinal::

 

I zip up and exit. Yes, I washed my hands.......okay no I didn't.

But I'd rather try and bang a kicking mule than continue to talk to that lush.

 

Getting back to the ladies in the suite; I don't know what it is about attractive East coast women but every time I tried engaging in conversation with one these girls she gave me short, one word replies followed by an uninterested look-away on their face.

Hey, not every guy is a walking, talking erection. I just wanna know if you enjoy hockey. I have no interest in how you handle a schwantz between the sheets. Christ.

I mean, seriously! I'm not in there to meet women. I have the absolute best girlfriend waiting at home for me and she's more than enough to satisfy my life. You think I want to amuse the impression that I have any absortion in going further than a "hello, how are you"???? I was just trying to make small talk, instead I get snubbed off and I'm back at my 8th grade school dance all over again.

 

Aside from the snob, the shit-talking drunk, and the woman who was once paid to hide phalluses the size of shampoo bottles up her plumbing on camera....the night went well.

Plenty of good food, good drinks, awesome company and seats, and a hockey game to boot. Doesn't get much better than that. So here I am the next morning hurting a little but can't help but smile and shake my head thinking about it all.

Just another chapter in life.