Hockey and Big Hair

Living my entire life in the south has left me unexposed to the world of hockey though there is a semi-pro team here.  So Friday night we headed out to Charlotte and I experienced my very first hockey game ever. 

I knew enough to know it is a rough sport and often entails a fight or two.  More than once have I heard the saying, we went to a fight and a hockey game broke out. So I expected that there may be a little fightin'. 

What I didn't count on, however, was the nonchalant attitude the refs had about it all.  They were all, oh, you wanna fight...okay, go on ahead. we'll wait. It seemed almost expected by the refs, the players and most of all, the fans.  Those  hockey people are a rowdy bunch of folk. And the demolition duo that is my offspring soaked it all right up. 

I also learned that it is, apparently, customary in the game of hockey to shout obscenities at the other team. Non-stop.

We had no more than taken our seats, several minutes before the game started, when a gentleman (and I use that term loosely) whipped out his megaphone and started shouting, Suck!  You suck! at the other team.

Suck seemed to be the preferred insulting word amongst the fans, especially of the little rugrat directly behind us. I kid you not, this boy could not have been more than 8 years old and he bellowed out the.entire.night. in his best outdoor voice ...

YOU SUCK EGG!  SUCK IT!  YOU SUCK! YOU ARE THE BIGGEST EGG SUCKER THAT EVER LIVED!!!  YOU'RE PATHETIC LIKE THE TITANIC...YOU'RE GONNA SINK INTO THE ICE! YOU'RE GONNA BE SWEEPIN' THE POOP DECK! YOU SUCK! YOU SUCK EGG! YOU SUCK!

Y'all.  I do not lie.  I wanted to jerk that little potty mouthed pistol up and take him to the bathroom for some good ol' fashioned mouth washin'.  His mama was not there.  Just the dad, who, evidently draws the line at ball (as in scrotum) talk because the only time he called him down was when he started in on something about somebody's balls. 

Well, at least there was a line, as faint as it was.

In addition to all the fan enthusiasm, it was 80s night.  So they played 80s music all night that took me back to my big hair and acid wash denim days.   A few of the fans and the cheerleaderish dancy girls sported 80s gear.  Or at least what they thought was 80s gear since most of them weren't even alive or were still in diapers in the 80s. 

These girls didn't have a clue how to go about producing a hairdo with a presence all its own that enters the room before they do.  Not that I'm saying that's a bad thing.  I'm just sayin'.  The 80s was all about the hair. Like Truvy said to Shelby after fixin' her hair for her wedding in Steel Magnolias (which is, in my opinion, one of the finest movies ever made)...  

This, my dear, is goin' into the hairdo hall of fame!

Back in my hair days, I would spend countless hours each week producing what I thought was a contender for the hairdo hall of fame.  It took a lot of time, patience, energy, and Rave hairspray to get there but come hell or high water, I was not leavin' that house until I had my big hair perfected and sprayed so stiff that a hurricane couldn't have messed it up. 

or a hockey fight.