Last night was arguably one of the biggest nights in Boston in recent memory. Prior to the game, the city was buzzing like none other, teenagers were filling up their Sprite and Coke bottles with rum and vodka, and the collective feeling of hope was felt throughout the city. So as I walked downtown towards the financial district, ready to snag a few pregame pitchers of Coors Light at a local watering hole, wearing a safe black t-shirt, I realized how big of a moment this was for Boston. And so the night began……
I arrived at the bar that I anticipated on going to until I bumped into some Jabroni who was standing nearly two blocks from my desired destination. The pale gentleman whom I bumped into then said “dude, this line is nuts”. After trying not to focus on the gentleman’s poor complexion, I noticed that the line to get into the bar was two blocks long. I left the line, and proceeded to find another establishment.
After about 15 minutes of finding bar after bar with multi-block long lines, I retreated back to a safe bar next to my apartment where I knew I could get some grub. After meeting my brother there, we proceeded to order some cheap Coors Lights that had a hint of dishwasher detergent. Neglecting the taste (and possible intestinal damage) we put in an order for some burgers. A fat, old couple sat next to us with six different entrees in front of them. It was just them and there weren’t any other chairs visible, so the amount of food for two 70 plus aged people was staggering.
Feeling nauseous and full from the speed I consumed my burger, I witness people flock in hoping to obtain a prime spot at the bar. Nearly six Coors Light deep, I start to overly check out good looking women that enter. Feeling buzzed, I get caught by 2-3 girls for staring too long and quickly turn my eyes to the TV where I pretended to be interested in a Jason Varitek at bat against the Rays.
The waiter finally changes the Red Sox and puts on the Bruins station. The bar becomes more crowded and I get bumped from behind. One eighth of my beer spills on my sleeve.
Some jackass wants everyone in the bar to get on their feet for the national anthem. I refuse and get dirty looks from the majority of the bar. I love America but come on now.
The crowd at the bar seems into the game and goes nuts after the B’s first goal. Four chicks to my left start waving homemade bright yellow towels, not even close to Bruins gold.
B’s look dominant as the crowd grows louder. I look over the menu and debate ordering the spinach artichoke dip.
The clock winds down as the Bruins win the Stanley Cup. “Lets go Boston” chants get louder. Random high fives start flowing as I start to see some lowlifes run out on their bar tab. I stick around to watch Chara lift the Cup and act like a mad man.
I leave the bar and follow the massive crowds of people heading towards Canal Street. I receive a text from the girlfriend asking why I didn’t return her call earlier. I ignore it and slap a random homeless man’s hand covered in e-coli.
I arrive on Canal Street after slapping 20-30 random people’s hands that were passing by. The scene resembles “Jumanji” as I stay close to the buildings, just in case I need to run inside. Thousands of Bruins fans are screaming and hanging from lamp posts. Random fireworks go off in the background, as the cops sprint to find the source.
After being in the middle of the insane crowd for over 20 minutes and giving countless high fives to random screaming fans (thus spreading my e-coli from the homeless man) I start the trek back home. I get about 100 yards away from the scene and I look back to remember the night. As I watch thousands of people celebrate the win, someone lights off a Roman Candle into the crowd that temporarily breaks up the mosh-pit. I turn and sprint home.