Last night, Sissy gave the Dude and I "free" tickets to the Flyer's game. Of course with $10 for parking and $17 for dinner (we split a sandwich and fries) and $3 for cotton candy (I can't help myself), it wasn't that free. But we did save $170 on tickets.
Either hockey's gotten faster, or I've gotten slower.
When I was a kid, my daddy used to take Sissy and I on the Elks bus to go see the Bruins. Loving hockey was easy when you were watching Bobby Orr and Phil Esposito. I haven't really watched hockey since
Since I’m telling hockey stories
One time, this must have been a birthday treat or something, I got to go to Bawston Gahden with just my dad. After the game—where Wayne Cashman got stepped on and had to have a lot of stitches—daddy took me to Polcari’s, at that time a fancy Italian restaurant where the players went. I ordered my usual I’m-a-kid-in-a-fancy-restaurant meal—Maine lobster (Sissy’s was escargot and filet mignon, I kid you not)—and Cashman asked my father if I was going to eat it all. Anyway, since he struck up the conversation, my dad told me I could ask for his autograph. He signed my program then told some teammates at another table to sign, including Terry O’Reilly. I can’t remember everyone who signed it. I think that must be in my parents’ attic with the Zoom book. What a treasure trove that place is.
Tonight, it’s back to stitching. No more longwinded and irrelevant stories. Maybe I can show you what Souvenir looks like.