I am cursed by the freakin' Bismarck Bobcats. Going back to last year, I think I have seen the Jets play Bismarck an astonishing 729 times in a row. This includes the end of last season, the playoffs, and the beginning of this season. I faintly recall there being other teams in the league, but I'm pretty sure that the "A" on the ticket is a misprint, and instead this is really the NDHL.
Let me revise my statement above. Apparently the two games I have been to this year have been against the BISMARK BOBCATS, as opposed to the Bobcats who play in North Dakota's capital city. I'm not sure who is in charge of printing tickets, proofreading tickets, or teaching geography, but the fact that this happened two games in a row leads me to believe that this is not a typo. They are trying to trick us into believing that this is a new team that we are coming to watch, rather than having us get discouraged at seeing the Jets lose to the Bobcats yet again.
Bobcats aside, we were all pretty excited for this night for one main reason: The costume contest. Figuring that this might be a way for us to mooch our way into some more free tickets, there was no questioning the involvement of one of us in the event.
For a week we did our best to summon our creative powers from alcohol, but that just degenerated into silly rambling, random blog liberation strikes, and moody political talks. After idle threats of going as the Village People, a horse, or as Dan, we finally settled on this:
In theory, those all sounded great. In practice, they worked as well as Tim Taylor's hair-brained Tool Time schemes. There were other adults entered which put a big "x" in the failure column for mission #2 and two of these adults (dressed as Little Red Riding Hood and The Big Lame Wolf) walked out with the prize and my youthful exuberance. Standing there in my Everlasts and tank top getting blatantly jobbed by the judges, I knew exactly what it felt like to be a real boxer. The winners of the prize were booster club members, which is a little bit too cozy if you ask me. Next year, save me the effort and put this on the promo sign:
"JETS Costume contest! The booster club will be picking the best costume from among other members of the booster club. General fans and Leonardites need not apply, as we've completely rigged this affair to further our own race. May your people be blighted from the earth and purchase many t-shirts at the gift shop on your way to contest-less damnation."
So incensed (and stiflingly cold) was I, that I immediately stepped into the nearest telephone booth after being ushered from the ice. There I underwent my dramatic transformation from Little Mac, "Worldwide face-deformer" to Leonardite, "Man who now owns a useless set of boxing gloves."
We assumed our usual spots in the detox section, where the crowd was unusually plentiful. Later attendance figures confirmed that this was a very well-attended game. More people can sometimes mean more drunken entertainers, but more often they are more worthless visiting fans. The score for the night in the detox section was:
Oooooh, it's a mystery
On a five senator scale, that's just not too shabby. We had the drunk guys behind us who had "J-E-T-S" spelled out on their naked chests. We had the other drunk guys behind us who had the "J-E-T-S JETS! JETS! JETS!" chant working. And we had the kid not more than ten years old calling a BismarK defenseman a "pussy" and giving him the middle finger through the glass while he was on the bench. Would I be ashamed if he was my kid? Sure. But he's not, so we all chuckled in merriment at the decline of American morality.
With spirits flowing freely into our section and spirit flowing freely out, the crowd tonight was able to drown out the usually obnoxious and wholly uncreative BismarK faithful. After jumping out to a 2-0 goal lead, one of them by our consensus pick as "Star of 2004," Tom Dickhudt, all looked like a big "W" on the board for the Jets. But as I was being led away to the big booster club farce, BismarK tallied a weak goal and the house started to crumble.
Never scoring again and letting BismarK work their considerable buzz-killing mojo, the Jets fell 3-2. Dejected and enraged in more ways than one, we left quickly to avoid the stupid celebrating of the horrible, horrible BismarK throng.
But Saturday is another game and chances are good that I'll be there. Who are they playing? Now THAT was a stupid question. It's Bismarck of course.
Unless it's Bismark.
Either way, I'm not counting on any Jets victories or legitimate booster club contests.
The Glass Pounder (Legend)