(not the real Stanley Cup)
Emerged from recent seclusion last night, for (primarily) a friend's bachelor party and (secondarily) Game Seven of the Stanley Cup. Cheering for Pittsburgh, natch -- not just because of Wing-hate; if you can't guess why I might feel some fondness for the black and gold, you haven't read this too much. Given my recent disaffection toward hockey, it was good to get out, see a great game, be around some genuinely good fans (there was a large Pittsburgh contingent there, and they were both cool and die-hard. Glad to see a Russian Conn Smythe winner, good to see a measure of redemption for Miro Satan (I actually took a photo of the screen when he got the Cup -- it didn't turn out so well). I actually felt a bit bad for the Wings until Kris Draper opened his stupid mouth; I actually felt a bit bad for Wings fans until one of them came over looking for a fight with some of the Pens fans.
The one guy I really do feel bad for? Marian Hossa, who seems to be the target of lots of sneering today. The guy did what players should and went to the place he thought he'd have the best chance of winning the Cup, and he's been pilloried for it. I've been a fan since he was down here in Atlanta, and the one good thing about a Detroit win woulda been seeing him get to skate around victoriously.
Also learned last night: I like darts a lot, but play about once a year, and in the interim I tend to confuse enthusiasm with skill. As I was reminded repeatedly, there is no skill. Boy do I suck.
And Twain's, in Decatur, is a pretty cool bar. Too bad I've never been before now, too bad it's a little beyond my usual radius. I liked it.