Trevor Bruess lays the smackdown
The shysters in the ticket office were at it again this past Saturday telling us that the Jets were taking on the BismarK Bobcats instead of the usual suspects, the Bismarck Bobcats. I don't profess to be the smartest person in the world (at least not ALL of the time,) but I'm starting think that this is the same team. They wear the same uniforms, have the same players, and have the same fans who sport thirty different jerseys even though they are presumably pulling for the same squad. But the results of this game, a resounding Jets win, make me think that it could possibly be a different team. After all, I don't recall the Jets beating either of the Bobcats for quite some time.
Let me say that this game should have been a lot more enjoyable for me than it was. Compared to the costume contest night, the last game I had been to, the results and the action were far superior. The game might not have been as close, but the fighting consisted of more than myself and Ace, so that is always a big plus. And I nearly got to throw my hat onto the ice for a legitimate hat trick, which is important to note since we have seen that a hat trick isn't a necessary prerequisite for hat throwing at the Coliseum.
There were a few things that really sidetracked what should have been a great night. First of all, Brady and Dan were supposed to go with me, but both got stuck working for the man at the last second. I have absolutely no problem attending things by myself, but my ingenious banter cannot be shared with anyone when I watch things alone. It was doubly painful on this night because it was such a good game and I was left describing it, rather than enjoying it in the company of others. My camera was also dead so there were no pictures to be taken, and get this, the Glass Pounder wasn't there either. The building just felt so empty and alone without him or the Cougher to make us feel at home.
The other major issue that prevented me from a full level of enjoyment was the onset of influenza that started about twenty minutes before game time. If anybody is sick and considering where to ride the illness out, I would not recommend the Coliseum. I am fully confident that when games aren't played there, overlow carcasses from slaughterhouses are housed in the arena. Needless to say I shivered and coughed the whole game, unsure of whether or not I may be spending my last moments alive watching the Jets finally climb the mountain against their in-state rivals.
The real money element of Saturday's game was not only that the Jets won, but that we had some of the most sadistic linesmen in North America officiating this game. There were three fights in the first 25 minutes of play, and in all but one, the linesmen had ample time to go and get a Starbucks before the fight actually started. But rather than break it up, they turned a blind eye which was entertaining for everyone in the crowd, even the ill loners.
Now, anybody who watches hockey or at least hockey fights, knows that once a guy goes down, the fight is over. Apparently this part of the rulebook was suspended for this evening, because Trevor Bruess had a fight that was the best junior fight I've seen in five years. At three different points, Bruess had his guy down on the ice and the linesmen were either too slow, lazy, or entertained to make them stop fighting. By the time the fight was over, Bruess had his jersey completely removed, his opponent's face softened to hamburger, and recognition for easily the most admirable fighting performance of 2004.
Of course we also had Tom Dickhudt, a man slowly becoming the NAHL Gretzky (maybe not that far. How about Mike Gartner?) score TWO short-handed goals. This was important because it silenced the BismarK fans who overran the building and would have forced us into violent submission had their team played well. In fact, the detox section was so lame that the score for the night was only:
That's downright pathetic. The worst part of this was the guy sitting a couple rows behind me. He was that typical annoying fan who goes beyond the level of boisterous cheering to support his team and instead moves on to obnoxious yelling just to prove how much he knows about hockey. After every single forecheck (OH GREAT FORECHECK!) after every single pass (COME ON CATS! NICE PASS!) or every drink on the bench (LOOK AT HIM DRINK THAT WATER! THAT'S WHY WE ROCK AND FARGO SPILLS ON THEIR JERSEYS, YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!) Honestly, shut the hell up. None of the girls you were with were impressed because you knew what a hip check was. None of us thought you were a great fan because you felt the need to yell "GO CATS!" every ten seconds. On any night, I would have done my best to throw out some lines that are good for quieting any opposing crowd. The key to doing this is usually to offend them into submission, but with no one in my entourage this evening, that would have made me look even more ridiculous than him.
Luckily, Trevor Bruess and Tom Dickhudt did the talking for me. It was kind of hard for Annoying Guy to yell "YEAH! WAY TO GET YOUR JOCK HANDED TO YOU! ALRIGHT!" so he just shut up. I enjoyed it. The Jets won. I enjoyed that. And then I went straight to bed, which I enjoyed most of all.