Last night I went to the Avalanche vs. Penguins hockey game and celebrated a Penguin victory (who names their team "Avalanche" and expects to be good? For real?).

Center ice.  

Blue line.  

Cold brews.  

Beards.  

Zamboni. 

 Organ music.  

More beards.  

Shouting.  

Queen.  

Accents.

Even more beards.

Everything about the night was, well, sexy.  Even the fist-fighting that lead to five minutes in the penalty box was exhilarating.  I can't believe it's been three years since I went to a game.

What can I say?  These are the moments I miss my roots.  And smile upon remembering my first, childhood love and kissing him in his hockey pads after he beat our neighboring town rivalry.  Or pretending to be a Mighty Duck with a tennis ball and broom in the driveway on humid, summer afternoons.  Pure nostalgia.