Date Night at the Sharks

People are swigging beer, waiting in line for hot dogs and pizza, partying as if they didn’t have work tomorrow.  In search of healthy food, we follow the big foam finger pointing upstairs as a Japanese man calls out, “Bento Box, Sushi Here!”  The cashier recognizes my husband.  She knows a lot of the season ticket holders, as does the foam finger man.  Regulars nod to familiar faces, a community drawn together by fervor for hockey.  Or is it something else?

The San Jose Sharks vs. the Colorado Avalanche.  Number twenty-eight out of forty home games.  Hockey has three periods, each lasting twenty minutes.  Between each period is a seventeen-minute intermission.  If teams tie in regulation, they go into five-minute “sudden death,” where the first team to score wins.  If no one scores, they go to shootouts, three shots per team.  The whole thing takes about two and a half hours.  Not that I’m counting.  I’m married to a man who enjoys spectator sports, especially baseball and hockey.  Well, maybe basketball and a little football.  He loves sports, and I love him. You get the picture.

The temperature drops as we descend towards our seats.  Having learned that my jeans aren’t warm enough, I dress as for skiing.  Except in black and teal, of course.  One sees more black and teal in the Shark Tank than out in real life — adults wearing hats like shark heads, fuzzy teal scarves and jerseys everywhere, emblazoned with names of players past and present.  The gal in front of me still has the tags on a Sharks tee she’s wearing.  Does she plan to return it if we lose?  Then there’s the size of the fan base: not only is HP Pavilion always sold out, but REAL hockey fans come in three sizes only: Large, XL and XXL.  Despite the wide seats, there are spillovers everywhere.  A woman to my left texts faster than I type, but from the look of her, she exercises only fingers and thumbs.  Guys without necks chum with their seat mates, and in most cases, letting someone slip past you means getting up and stepping out of their way. [Read more…]

Wimbledon fashion largely disappoints

Grand Slam matches provide a worldwide stage for tennis stars and their sponsors to flaunt their newest gear and clothing lines, with lots of free advertising.  Unfortunately, however, there is little to celebrate by way of fashion at Wimbledon this year.  Rafa and Roger are stunning as always, but both are unusually subdued, even classical in their attire.  After causing a stir last year when pulling a “15” gold-trimmed jacket out of his bag for the awards presentation that marked his record-breaking 15th Grand Slam victory, Federer is setting an understated tone so far.  Not sure about the mesh bag, though.

Things are a bit more interesting on the women’s side, but not much.  Mercifully, the all-white Wimbledon regulations prevent Venus from pulling another “French Open” fashion faux pas, where the bright yellow dress and flesh-colored panties caused many to wonder if she was truly “going commando” or just trying to play the part of provocateur.  However, her self-designed outfit must be one of the worst on Centre Court: a low cut top and frilly skirt that looks more like Miss Muffet, or perhaps one of those exfoliating body puffs, than actual tennis attire.

[Read more…]