Leaves with no new appreciation whatsoever
By Cara Seccafien, Layout Editor
Growing up in Edmonton, it was hard to miss the whole hockey thing. I was seven years old when the city renamed Capilano Drive to Gretzky Drive. Most of my friends were in baby hockey leagues. When they printed an image of kids playing street hockey on the five dollar bill, it looked like the street outside my house.
However, my parents were oddities (to say the least), and we didnât do any lessons or sports as kids. I wasnât good at running or climbing or reading or talking. The main thing I did to entertain myself was make up imaginary games, draw pictures, and watch TV. So, it wasnât until I was 16 that I reluctantly went to a hockey game. Given my anhedonic teen tendencies, I didnât like it.
In my adult life, Iâve sought out activities where my sole role is to experience pleasure: movies, beaches, taxi cab rides, sex, roller derbies, campfires. With a healthy dose of SSRIs, I was testing the waters of low risk fun. Last week, my friend received free tickets to a Canucks game. Without a second thought, I went with her to sit back and be entertained.
The arena was filled with a lot of people, and they all paid to be there (except us). They wouldnât let us bring in any drugs, weapons, or liquor, so I felt vulnerable from the get go. The arena wasnât dissimilar from a club or a petting zoo, as we were surrounded by loud, jumpy specimen. The men were taller than us, on average, but also seemed to take up more space just by existing. The man to our right spilled beer on my friend every time he jumped up, which happened a lot. The man on my left was best friends with everyone on the team. He kept yelling out to them, âCome on boys! Come on bros!â It mustâve helped because (SPOILER!) we ended up winning.
One thing I learned was that you shouldnât go to a hockey game to see hot men on ice. You canât see the specimens; they are very far away. Plus, they are all wrapped up in their jerseys and gear. Nothing is less sexy than a man in an overly protective uniform. It does look a bit like he is a walking duvet, though, I might lay on him. But I likely would not lie with him.
When you did get a shot of a playerâs face on the mega-tron, itâs all rivers of sweat encased in head gear and missing teeth. They fiddle with their mouth guards using their tongues like theyâre sucking something, which is a bit hot I guess, but mostly just gross.
And lastly, but definitely not least, shout out the mini donuts! The best part of the game was sharing a bag of mini donuts. Mini donuts are one of those foods you can only get if you drag your ass out of bed and go to some damn event. They donât sell them at restaurants or grocery stores, and no one knows how to make them in their kitchen. 10/10 would recommend the Rogers Arena mini donuts. Hockey, however, might not be my thing.
