In nearly every aspect of life, you get what you pay for. Nose-bleed-section hockey tickets are no exception.
We’ve purchased seats up against the back walls of many rinks and the energy up there is always unique and unsurprisingly, much different than next to the glass. If you aren’t close enough to see the blood dripping from the fights on the ice, then you’re usually in the middle of an entirely different kind of chaos. It’s prime real estate for eavesdropping and people watching.
As the neon lights above center ice wind down, the number of beers consumed increased. I watched as my section companions stumble up and down the stairs for beer runs and bathroom trips. By end of the game I’m sure I completed my daily 100 squats simply from rising to allow the drunk frat boys in and out of the aisle.
One of the groups of college kids brought a responsible adult with them. However, I think they wound up babysitting their chaperone at the end of the night. By the beginning of the third period he was screaming for the players to fight, or the refs, or the men shoveling the ice. He didn’t care who fought, he just wanted blood shed. Beer and spit flew from his mouth as he cursed at everyone on the ice for doing their job, not doing their job, and anything else he could think to yell at them. Half his beer ended up down the back of the woman sitting in front of him and he was much more quiet from that point on.
Around that same time, the action picked up on the ice and across the aisle from us. Tequila mini bottles were scattered across the cement floor and as the height of the plastic beer glasses grew, so did the volume of chants coming from a fan. It began harmlessly, but ended up with him calling everyone in our section pussies because we weren’t humoring him enthusiastically enough. Most in attendance would rather have watched the game than his antics, vulgarities were thrown, individuals were restrained and, I’m sure you’ve all seen these scenes play themselves out before.
I feel we got our money’s worth, a hockey game and an episode of Game of Thrones really was worth the price of tickets. The Bruins lost this one, but we were thoroughly entertained from start to finish.
After the game, we hopped the T to get back to our hotel. A few stops before ours, an immaculately dressed couple, both sporting grey hair, boarded the packed train. Aaron and I rose from our seats to let them have our spot for their ride. They expressed their gratitude, but the man refused to sit while I, a woman, stood. He admitted he knew most people would want to “punch him in the nose” for insisting a woman, completely capable of standing, sit, while he stood, but I told him I respected him for being a gentleman. We had a great chat with the couple. The husband noticed our Bruins apparel and told us stories about going to Bruins and Red Sox games, paying $3.25 per ticket as a kid. He recalled watching Milt Schmidt play, who just recently celebrated his 98th birthday. We left the T, smiles plastered on our faces, having ended our day on a wonderful note.