Worst hockey girlfriend Ever. Ever.

Amber and Garry: making us feel good about ourselves since 2010

In my last post, I mentioned that I've been enjoying television programs about people who are sucking at life. You know, like poor Amber in "Teen Mom," that self-destructing heroin addict in "Intervention," or those pathetic chumps waiting nervously in a lineup for the last rose during the "most dramatic rose ceremony ever." Despite the uplifting daily messages in my positive affirmations jar, my spirit has been struggling occasionally and my will wavers between "I can do this" and "I can't possibly do this for 5 more weeks. " But...as I watch these poor saps on my tv, I am comforted by the fact that although this knee brace is sucking the fun out of me, I am NOT incarcerated for beating my baby daddy, I am NOT addicted to heroin, and I am NOT ugly sobbing when a complete stranger fails to give me the final rose. Yay! I am a winner. I am winning, really.

In honour of that revelation, I've decided to share a hockey story with you today.

I've been thinking a lot about Ryan this week. A year ago, he was happily in love with his girl, posting pics of his new wake surfing boat (Facebook album entitled, "This is it!"), and was unbelievably giddy and optimistic about life. He loved this time of year.

Ryan used to pop by our cabin as soon as we returned from our hockey adventures. He'd sip on a Corona, and, hanging on to every word, would devour my hockey stories. He particularly loved the one I will share with you today. Like it was yesterday, I recall him squealing with delight as I recalled the details. It's more of a jaw-dropper than a knee-slapping comedy and you will suspect some embellishments and exaggerations of details, but I'm giving this to you straight up. It's entitled: Worst Hockey Girlfriend Ever. Ever.

Our first hockey season as a married couple was spent in McAllen Texas. To this day, we refer to McAllen as "Texico," as the city sat right on the border between Texas and Mexico. Apparently, McAllen has been receiving some bad press as of late, due to the drug cartels dropping heads off at the border or something crazy like that, but we really enjoyed our season there in 2005-2006 - the weather was perfect, the people/fans were actually supportive, and Ev had a consistent, successful season with the Rio Grande Killer Bees.

Our first night in Texico was spent wandering around our condo complex, which reminded me of Melrose Place. It consisted of condos/townhouses all overlooking a common garden area. That garden area would become the location of many hockey parties, as the majority of the condos were reserved for the hockey team.

As we checked out the pool, we ran into a young couple who appeared to be newbies like us.

"Hey! Are you Evan Lindsay - the goalie?" asked the long-haired wild-eyed guy. He resembled a guitarist in a band, certainly not a hockey player.

We soon realized that this guy's name was Bobby - Ev's new teammate - a forward for the Killer Bees.

Bobby introduced us to his girlfriend, M, a young, skinny, funky looking girl with dark hair and dark eyes (thinking back, there was a little "crazy" in those eyes).

Prepared to share my tale of our relationship (to determine who was higher on the hockey wife food chain of course), I was shocked to hear that Bobby picked M. up on his way down from Michigan.

"You don't know each other?" I asked.

"Well, we've been in a car together for 4 days now," she giggled. "We met at a bar," she added, "He asked if I wanted to move down to Texas with him, and I'm all like, 'Why the hell not?' So I hopped in and here I am!"

Good Gawd. I would soon find out that M. would be the source of a very "Days of our Lives-esque" hockey season (which took some pressure off of me, given that I had a tendency to embarrass Ev during hockey games).

Incident #1: Beat up a Stripper...why not?


Every hockey season includes the dreaded "rookie party." The rookie party is some ridiculous reason for grown men to drink to the point of incapacitation and ridicule the newbies on the team by dressing them up like insert something incredibly stupid and embarrassing here. The rookie party is not optional.  It is a mandatory "team building" experience. Yes, read between my lines, I think it's bullshit. Whatever.

The wives were never made aware of what the rookie party entailed. We knew; however, that we were NOT invited. No biggie. We made our own plans to head out on the town and down some cocktails. Who wants to witness your husband looking/acting like a reject anyways.

Well M. couldn't quite make sense of this rookie party. She was insulted to the point of tears that SHE was restricted from following her dear Bobby to this party (she was also flabbergasted by the fact that SHE couldn't ride on the bus to games with Bobby). We attempted to reign her in, but to no avail. She was determined to crash the rookie party.

I, unfortunately/fortunately? did not witness the event, but, apparently, she located the team at the strip club, stormed in (despite being sent away by the bouncer), and punched out the stripper who dared dance in front of dear Bobby.

She was taken to jail where Bobby bailed her out 12 hours later (after he was done partying with the boys...and the black-eyed stripper, of course).

Yikes.

(Ryan's response: "No way, man. She beat up a stripper? No way. Bahahahah!")

Incident #2: Pee your pants...why not?


It was the night of the team's formal Christmas party, hosted by the owner of the Rio Grande Killer Bees. It was also the night before the team's last game prior to Christmas holidays (a whopping 2 days off!); therefore, it was expected that no members of the team would be having more than a few drinks and the night would end quite early.

Donned in a short, satin red dress, M. looked every part of the respectable hockey wife during the formal dinner and cocktail hour.

Of course, we all held our breath, waiting to see if she would be able to pull this evening off without punching someone in the face (oh, we had talked about the rookie party fiasco for weeks now).

M. lasted until about 9pm when she began frequenting the bar for shots of tequila. Have you ever seen someone do shots of tequila (the whole bit with the salt and lemon) alone? Oh dear. Shot after shot, this train wreck became sloppy drunk, slurring, "Where's Bobby? Bobby I hate you!"

Bobby had the sense to remove M. from the party immediately.

As we exited the formal hotel, we were shocked? (or perhaps not shocked) to find M. laying on the cement, in the parking lot, laughing hysterically in a puddle of her pee, kicking and slapping Bobby as he tried to remove her from the scene.

"What are you looking at?" she slurred as we stepped over her to get to our vehicle.

Yikes.

(Ryan's response: (squealing hysterically) - "What???? She actually peed herself?")

Incident #3: Time to go home. NOW.


At this point you are, perhaps, feeling sorry for M. Why was she so self-destructive? Perhaps she had an addiction, suffered from a mental illness,  or came from a poor childhood? I agree. She needed help. We all quietly tried to befriend M., encouraging her to refrain from the drink and the volatile fights with Bobby. But, to be honest, she was just really hard to...well...like. Even sober, she was always quite certain that someone was trying to steal away her precious Bobby - whom she fought and made up with on a daily basis. She refused to sit with us at hockey games and created clever signs that she proudly hoisted over her head:

"Bobby - score now, score later, baby!"

Bobby and M. also purchased a special needs puppy, "DJ Trigga,"...because every dysfunctional relationship needs a puppy with three legs. Duh. M. bragged that they were able to get 25% off the dog because only 3/4 legs worked properly. I'm not even lying.

Train wreck.

The final straw came towards the end of the hockey season when a night out went awry.

Ev and I were awakened from our slumber at 4am by the screams of a hysterical girl crying, "Rape! He raped me!"

Ryan's response: (serious now). "No. She did NOT."

Ev raced to the window to find M. wandering aimlessly in our Melrose Place garden, screaming these words - words that can damage the reputation of a hockey team within seconds.

As it turned out, Bobby broke up with M. that night. In a fit of fury, M. vowed to ruin him, staggering around the complex shouting those horrible words.

The next day, angry phone calls flooded the team GM'S office. The GM called in Bobby and explained that this woman had to be on the next plane out or Bobby would be released from the team.

By this time, Bobby and M. had made up, and were aghast that the team would dare tear true love apart.

The team generously purchased M.'s plane ticket back to Michigan and handed over her itinerary. Surprisingly?/ Not surprisingly? she did NOT get on that plane. She simply refused.

It was unbelievable. Ev and I watched from our balcony as they clung to each other, vowing to never leave the other. I honestly didn't think these things happened in real life. The drama!

Within days, the GM personally escorted M. to her plane, where she reluctantly left her precious Bobby behind so he could participate (drama-free) in play-offs.

Within the week, we heard grumblings that M. had flown a back to Texas and was residing in San Antonio, where Bobby could sneak away for conjugal visits. Isn't that romantic? Swoon. It's like Romeo and Juliet, but with the addition of strippers, pants-peeing, and rape allegations.

I often wonder what happened to that couple. Perhaps they are happily living in suburbia with 2.4 children and a white picket fence - and the 3-legged dog.

Ryan's response, "Where is she? Call her up! I gotta meet this girl.  Let's get her down here for the Aug long weekend - tell her to bring DJ Trigga!"