We left Fredericton, NB at 4 a.m. Atlantic Standard Time on Monday morning, in a haze of sleep deprivation. Were it not for the discovery of a wonderful beverage called Red Bull, we most certainly would not have made it to our destination: Boston, MA. The group was comprised of four classmates and friends - one from New Brunswick, one from Ontario, one from Quebec and one from Newfoundland - the goal of which was to take in a couple of marquee sporting events.
After seven hours of driving and one ungodly $200.00 US speeding ticket courtesy of a Maine State Trooper, we arrived in Boston just in time to discover that it was Patriot's Day, which meant the Boston Marathon would begin at roughly the same time as Monday morning's Red Sox vs. Yankees game. We had planned on going to Fenway and taking in the game, the former of which was accomplished before the dreams of the latter were dashed by multiple instances of attempted extorsion by Yawkey Way's "unautorized ticket vendors". As it turned out, we were able to catch the game at a nearby sports bar where we were free to drink all of the watered-down draught beer that the baseball ticket portion of our collective budget could afford.
Luckily, we had purchased our tickets for game seven of the Bruins vs. Canadiens playoff series via the internet, and at face value. We arrived at the game in full Canadiens regalia, not necessarily understanding the implications of doing so. The heckling to which we were subjected before the game, while profanity-laced, seemed harmless and good-natured.
As you likely know, the Canadiens would beat the Bruins by a count of 2 - 0. As the animosity grew amongst the sea of black and gold clad fans, I was secretly wishing that Joe Thornton would tally a couple of goals in order to turn the disdain for the Canadiens (and the Canadians) into some sort of pity - after all, we had opted not to take out one day health coverage.
The post-game anger toward us, before we exited the Fleet Center, was comprised mostly of insults regarding the Canadiens themselves. "Habs Suck" seemed to be a popular refrain, which was tolerable because it was so impersonal and lacked the violent overtones of the subsequent heckles. As we drew closer to the exit of the rink, nationalism reared its ugly head. Among my favourites was "go back to Canada" - which was, of course, our plan. We thought it best not to thank the kind people for wishing us well on our trip home. Then it was - and I am not kidding - "you'd be speaking German if it wasn't for us." Wrong on so many levels that it is best not to even bother dissecting it. As a unilingual anglophone, I would be ecstatic if I were suddenly able to speak German, but again, I felt it prudent not to retort. Then came the favourite tactic of Boston fans: questioning the sexual orientation of the opposing team's fans and players. As it turns out, we Canadians have somehow managed to propogate our country via procreation over 150+ years despite all being "wicked queer".
This is in no way an indictment of Boston or its citizens. In fact, we love the city and are already planning our next trip - we'll just dress in non-team specific clothes next time.
After ditching our Canadiens clothing, we went to a small bar near the Fleet Center to watch the Bruins fans drink away their sorrows and catch the Canucks vs. Flames game. Sox sinker-ball artist Derek Lowe made an unexpected appearance at the bar, allowing us to marvel at the submissiveness with which each lady in the place presented herself to him. He left after roughly an hour, and then we did the same.
We awoke on Tuesday morning and decided to visit Quincy Market, which was spectacular. Our last stop before heading home was Cambridge, MA, ostensibly because one of us wanted to (how shall I put this tactfully?) "use the men's room" at Harvard Law School. As Canadian law students, it is fair to say that Harvard does not give a s*** about us, but we were mature enough to reciprocate nevertheless.
And that was the trip. It was fun. Many thanks to the other members of our motley quartet: Pascal Comeau, Wes Newton, and Clarence Bennett.
After seven hours of driving and one ungodly $200.00 US speeding ticket courtesy of a Maine State Trooper, we arrived in Boston just in time to discover that it was Patriot's Day, which meant the Boston Marathon would begin at roughly the same time as Monday morning's Red Sox vs. Yankees game. We had planned on going to Fenway and taking in the game, the former of which was accomplished before the dreams of the latter were dashed by multiple instances of attempted extorsion by Yawkey Way's "unautorized ticket vendors". As it turned out, we were able to catch the game at a nearby sports bar where we were free to drink all of the watered-down draught beer that the baseball ticket portion of our collective budget could afford.
Luckily, we had purchased our tickets for game seven of the Bruins vs. Canadiens playoff series via the internet, and at face value. We arrived at the game in full Canadiens regalia, not necessarily understanding the implications of doing so. The heckling to which we were subjected before the game, while profanity-laced, seemed harmless and good-natured.
As you likely know, the Canadiens would beat the Bruins by a count of 2 - 0. As the animosity grew amongst the sea of black and gold clad fans, I was secretly wishing that Joe Thornton would tally a couple of goals in order to turn the disdain for the Canadiens (and the Canadians) into some sort of pity - after all, we had opted not to take out one day health coverage.
The post-game anger toward us, before we exited the Fleet Center, was comprised mostly of insults regarding the Canadiens themselves. "Habs Suck" seemed to be a popular refrain, which was tolerable because it was so impersonal and lacked the violent overtones of the subsequent heckles. As we drew closer to the exit of the rink, nationalism reared its ugly head. Among my favourites was "go back to Canada" - which was, of course, our plan. We thought it best not to thank the kind people for wishing us well on our trip home. Then it was - and I am not kidding - "you'd be speaking German if it wasn't for us." Wrong on so many levels that it is best not to even bother dissecting it. As a unilingual anglophone, I would be ecstatic if I were suddenly able to speak German, but again, I felt it prudent not to retort. Then came the favourite tactic of Boston fans: questioning the sexual orientation of the opposing team's fans and players. As it turns out, we Canadians have somehow managed to propogate our country via procreation over 150+ years despite all being "wicked queer".
This is in no way an indictment of Boston or its citizens. In fact, we love the city and are already planning our next trip - we'll just dress in non-team specific clothes next time.
After ditching our Canadiens clothing, we went to a small bar near the Fleet Center to watch the Bruins fans drink away their sorrows and catch the Canucks vs. Flames game. Sox sinker-ball artist Derek Lowe made an unexpected appearance at the bar, allowing us to marvel at the submissiveness with which each lady in the place presented herself to him. He left after roughly an hour, and then we did the same.
We awoke on Tuesday morning and decided to visit Quincy Market, which was spectacular. Our last stop before heading home was Cambridge, MA, ostensibly because one of us wanted to (how shall I put this tactfully?) "use the men's room" at Harvard Law School. As Canadian law students, it is fair to say that Harvard does not give a s*** about us, but we were mature enough to reciprocate nevertheless.
And that was the trip. It was fun. Many thanks to the other members of our motley quartet: Pascal Comeau, Wes Newton, and Clarence Bennett.
