Stop, Drop, and Lowell

Your superiors enjoy our annual trip to Lowell for many reasons. Despite the fact that U.Mass-Lowell's fans know their season is long over, the great unwashed at Tsongas Arena still manage to get as much enjoyment out of a UML hockey game as they do when their unemployment compensation is extended another six weeks.

This past weekend, the people you wish you were took a ride to the "House that the Pine Street Inn built" to watch America's Team roll the Riverhawks like a Lawrence Street prostitute. With the game's result long decided, your superiors engaged ourselves in a chat noting the crowd gathered at the rink was more suited for a swarm around a trash can fire than a sporting event.

In all fairness, we have several employees who work along the grounds of Stately Pinhead Manor who own U.Mass-Lowell degrees, so it's with little pleasure that we mention these poor souls in such a way. When our driver pulled off the highway and we entered the City of Lowell, it was obvious that social evolution didn't spend much time in this Hooverville along the Merrimack River.


After paying the insurance deductible, the cost of attending a game at U.Mass-Lowell is approximately $500 plus the cost of game tickets.

Once our party arrived at Tsongas Arena, our true bewilderment of the Lowell fan became evident. With America's Team in attendance, the rink was naturally filled, albeit with fans who had more tattoos than teeth and where a police rap sheet with less than ten arrests makes one a social samaritan.

Between periods, the gracious hosts awarded a lucky street person with a new home, a sporty 2007 SUV that left an oil spot on the ice larger than the average blood stain on the dormitory floors of Fox Hall. With the between period entertainment over and the last WIC Check dropped from the radio controlled blimp, it was time to focus on the clientele.

As your superiors have discussed on several occasions, each Hockey East fan base has a distinct characteristic. BU coeds were the inspiration for Disney's "Free Willy" trilogy while a trip to Durham, NH leaves one wondering who won the Civil War. At Lowell, folks with any social glitterati wonder if Lowell fans will eventually become extinct as none of those witnessed appear capable of finding a mate to perpetuate the species.


UML's fan club, "The Blue Balls Group", will always be present at all Riverhawk games to intimidate visiting teams, unless Sci-Fi moves "Battlestar Galactica" to Friday nights.

It appears that years of "Dungeons and Dragons", countless hours of watching "Lord of the Rings", and three trips a day to the land of masturbation have left our friends from the Lowell with permanent 'red stripe' tattoos across their palms and the word "unlayable" across their foreheads. Sadly, judging by the physical attributes and attitudes of Lowell fans, the object of their desire is likely Lowell coach Blaise McDonald or the parents of forward Jason Tejchma.

As the game wore down towards another Boston College victory, our gilded trio called for the car to swing around and pick us up for the return trip to the Manor. While heading out of town, looking out the window at several strange looking men toting weapons, we were reminded of the last scene in "Platoon" when the tired soldiers were airlifted out of the war zone.

As we approached the gates to the Manor, the phone rang and on the other end of the phone was one of our drones assigned to Hampton Tolls in New Hampshire. According to our spy to the north, the evidence was clear, the hillbillies were on their way to Chestnut Hill...


UNH fans will be heading down to Chestnut Hill this weekend in preparation for another painful postseason.

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Fan-boyz in the Hood

While cruising in the Gallardo the other night, I flipped on the Sirius to prepare the people you wish you were for the annual Winter Celebration at club at Wild Harbor. The refrain that came out of the Wilson X-1 Audio Grand SLAMM almost made your superiors catechize our own credence.

In the spirit of the Chicago Bears' "Super Bowl Shuffle", Northeastern University hockey star Mike Morris was performing a ditty lionizing his tawdry opinion of the upcoming Beanpot tournament. Doing our best to hold back our stupefaction, your superiors merely sat back and listened:


Woke up late, at about noon
Just thought that I had be to the Garden soon.
I gotta get drunk before the game begins
Before the doghouse starts bitchin' about our wins.
About to go and damn near got sick
BU fanboyz on the corner, throwing up glow sticks.
I went in the house to tape my stick
With my ipod on the side of my hip.


The annual "Beanpot Fanboy Parade" through Kenmore Square is a BU tradition as long as the Beanpot itself.

I went outside and I'm mentally preppin'
Just as I thought, the fanboyz kept steppin'.
I jumped on the T' threw some quarters down hard
I don't roll with the new Charlie Card.
Then I heard the driver say
NU's got no chance, each February.
It was "BU's Beanpot" on the tip of his lips,
Then I played my own shit, it went somethin' like this:

Cruisin' down the street on the green line
walking would have taken less time.
I went to the rink to get the news
Knuckle-head Coach says we're going to lose.
A limo pulls up, who can it be?
the snotty little rich team from BC.
They roll down the window and they start to say
"Boy those BU limpwrists sure look gay".


The "Babcock Street Posse" is hoping BU can "win one for the Engineering Department".

But the Fanboyz in the hood are alwayz hard
when they score a goal, they start bouncing like tards.
Knowin' nothin' in life but the beanpot
cuz when April comes, they got no shot ...

Bored as hell and we're gonna get killed
So I make a bet with my teammate Yale.
if the fellas on the blue line wanna make that dollar
someone better make a Terrier holler,
BU scores early and I start thinkin'
when they score again and our team starts stinkin'.
I gotta get Deeth to rock the body
maybe take a run at that sieve John Curry.


Back on the NU campus, anticipation for a Beanpot crown has never been higher.

He skated to the crease, knocked him out of his pads
but the ref called something to make me mad.
He called somethin' that I couldn't believe
So I grabbed the stupid bitch by his black and white sleeves.
He started talkin' shit, would'nt you know?
I reached back like a pimp and slapped the ho'.
And then Parker stood up and he started to shout
So I threw a right-cross and knocked his drunk ass out.


With the Beanpot final during the week of Valentine's Day this year, BU coeds are hoping for a Terriers victory and several pounds of chocolate.

but the Fanboyz in the hood are alwayz hard
when they score a goal, they start bouncing like tards.
Knowin' nothin' in life but the beanpot
cuz when April comes, they got no shot ...

Hansen calls trippin late in the third
BU scores to win, we just got hosed, just got hosed.

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