A Devil in the Midst

Avoiding a midterm that you’re supposed to be studying for on a Thursday night? Then I highly suggest going to a Flyers’ game. There’s no better way to procrastinate, guaranteed. My roommate’s boyfriend had managed to score tickets for a big game between the Flyers and Devils, two major rivals. It promised to be an interesting and intense game, with at least one fight bound to break out on the ice. Now that I think about it, there would probably be a few fights off the ice as well. I had been looking forward to the game all week…Game On!!!!
After enduring another boring day of class, I walked back to the dorm and proceeded to get my game face on. Once I finished my hour long shower, I went through fifty different outfits trying to find the perfect one for the game. I had to find just the right outfit that said, “I’m a fun-loving sporty babe, but not a manly girl.” Living in Philadelphia, I naturally assumed we would be rooting for the Flyers, but to my duress and apprehension, my roommate’s boyfriend was sporting a New Jersey Devils ensemble. Noting how nervous I was, he assured me nothing unfortunate would befall upon us. Apparently, he wasn’t too sure himself either, and before we made it to the subway, he had pulled a hoodie over his jersey. For you female partiers, it’s kind of like when you lived back at home and had to cover up your revealing outfits with a hoodie in order to escape your father’s radar. With his assurances in mind, I was ready to enjoy my first Flyers game.
That didn’t last for long. It was our misfortune to walk by a New Jersey Devils fan who was proudly displaying his jersey in the sketchy tunnels of the subway. During the taunts of all the Flyers fans, he still proudly held his head up. That was until they proceeded to beat the living crap out of him, as he curled up in a ball on the ground whimpering. My heart skipped a beat…or two…or three. We were screwed. What was I thinking tagging along with a group of enthusiastic New Jersey Devils fans? I fixed him with my best evil glare as he cowered back in fear. I’m sure he immediately regretted his decision.
When we got to the game, we were swept through the gates with thousands of other half intoxicated hockey fans. Obviously, they had pre-gamed before attending the hockey game, ensuring a rowdy crowd. My only previous experience at a hockey game was at the outdated Mellon Arena in Pittsburgh, featuring the Pittsburgh Penguins-my favorite hockey team. I was pleasantly surprised by the enthusiasm of the crowd because back at home, hardly anybody gave a crap about the Penguins. Here, everyone, excluding my Devil’s entourage and the poor guy at the subway, was decked out in their orange and white Philadelphia Flyers jerseys, and the fans chanted and cheered for anything Philadelphia-related. We gingerly maneuvered our way through the angry mob, and cautiously sat in our seats.
Surrounding us was a sea of orange, white, and black. Glancing around, I noticed what we were up against. Fans had their faces painted with the colors of the home team. Not only did one man have his face and body completely covered in orange, white, and black paint, but he also had a huge mohawk that he dyed the colors of the Flyers. Moreover, the fans managed to coordinate a perfect “Lets go Flyers” cheer multiple times without regard for the score or the state of the game. They also made signs to hold up and did insane things to get on the jumbo screen. Never did I feel more like a sitting duck with the hunters wearing orange and black ready to shoot me.
Fortunately, my roommate’s boyfriend seemed to show no inclination to display his team colors, so I relaxed for a bit and managed to enjoy the first period of the game. Once again I noted the differences between here and back home. Coming from Mellon Arena, which is quite possibly the crappiest arena in all hockeydom, the newly built Wachovia Center blew Mellon Arena out of the water. Not only were the facilities more sophisticated looking, they also had a wide array of special effect lighting and high quality television displays. As the game progressed, the special effects only worked to heighten the crowd’s fervor.
Speaking of the game, it was a heated battle between the two teams with neither team making much headway within the first period. As predicted, elevated frustrations levels lead to entertaining brawls on the ice. After all, what’s a hockey game without a fight…or ten? As the testosterone levels rose, my roommate’s boyfriend suddenly felt the need to prove himself as a man. Because the Devil’s weren’t losing, he was lead into a false sense of security and whipped off his hoodie, and the red white and blue clashed horribly with the orange and black. I waited for the inevitable profanities and upcoming bloodshed.
Nor was I disappointed. Almost before he whipped off his hoodie, the catcalls and jeers began raining down upon us. Unluckily for him, this was when the Philadelphia Flyers decided to stop messing around and actually kick some devil ass. By the end of the second period, the Devil’s were behind three to nothing, and the crowd really started going nuts. His team having let him down, my friend decided to take off his jersey. The non-stop catcalls and putdowns might have had something to do with it as well. Who knows? At least bloodshed was temporarily avoided, but we still weren’t out of the danger zone yet. When we were on the subway heading back, people mocked his crumpled up Devil’s jersey that he attempted to hide. However, at least this time they were good humored about the whole ordeal since their fan fever had abated.
Riding the subway back from the game, I was thoroughly pumped after watching the four to nothing slaughter the Flyers had accomplished. Time had flown by so quickly, and everything that happened was a happy blur in my mind. Going out for some fun was definitely worth not studying for that midterm tomorrow morning.