Well, that Fin who now seems less Petri Skriko and now more Jarkko Ruttuu blindsided my ear with his flipper as he tossed the cap over the glass. Did my fan-mates come to my defence?
Well, my wife, who was to my right, was too preoccupied with Mason Raymond's cuteness so she was no help at all. The couple to my left in matching blue Nux jerseys who never even let peep a single throaty yell or cheer all game long (bar for goals) were as responsive as any pair of Buffalo Sabres were to the Inter-Milan Lucic. The glassbanger in his retro '90s jersey three seats down was too busy banging the glass or downing his $9 beer. The corporate raiders behind me who spent pretty much the entire game talking about some book donation to UBC going awry were not going to get their manicured nails damaged.
So there I was, hung out to dry just like Ryan Miller was.
According to NHL protocol I guess I was supposed to go to a quiet place after that head shot from a large killer whale. Given I was in a $246 (thank you, corporate Canadian tax writeoffs!) seat, I opted to tough it out like a real hockey fan until the final horn.
It was only after I got home and took my glasses off, rubbed my ear and found I had been cut. The gash behind my ear is, I guess, now a badge of honor, but, Fin, I know where you are 41 times a year (not counting playoffs or exhibition games) so unless you want to become a new Chinese fin soup delicacy, you might want to remember you may have won the battle vs. Richard Harris back in 1977 but you lost the war for a sequel.