At 9:50, the bar held 5 random drunks and we were winding down the restaurant. At 10pm on the nose, the bar suddenly smelled like sweaty back hair, stale socks, and porterhouse steaks. It had arrived midway through a 7 bar pub crawl in the middle of Idaho....Lord Stanley's Cup. Clueless ho's lined up to take pictures with some big, shiney, silver thing but didn't have the faintest idea what it was. Slobbering men were frantically pushing their old ladies in front of it and snapping photos. Not a second went by where somebody wasn't touching it with saucerlike eyes and flash bulbs were going off. Like moths to a flame. A certified feeding frenzy of jumbo sized team jerzies from all over North America wearing shit eating grins. "That shirts gayer than 2 men fucking" was heard from a Rangers fan towards a Flyers shirt wearing fatso. And 15 minutes later it was gone, it's time was finished at the Pio, onto the next bar and another groping. More sweaty hockey fans and hangers on were waiting to get their glimpse of the 117 year old bent and banged up trophy.
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