The following events occurred on Thursday, April 23rd. Names have not been changed due to the graphic nature of the content.

1:18 PM: Packing up and heading on out for Anaheim.

1:42 PM: Maybe I should start tweeting about this trip. Tweeting. That's such an emasculating word. Don't say it ever again. In fact, it would be best if you didn't post this sentence.

1:43 PM: Tweeted about my feelings on the word tweeting.

2:32 PM: Honestly, give me a Bryan Adams power ballad any day of the week. Or any other power ballad for that matter. What an artist.

2:33 PM: Tweeted about power ballads.

3:27 PM: I've got a good feeling about tonight. The Sharks played well the last two games, and you have to figure the veteran leadership in the locker room has them focused on what has the potential to be the biggest statement in franchise history.

4:22 PM: Study a little for my Sports Sociology midterm on Monday. Immediately put the reader down once I read this sentence- "Hale's (1956) finding that the Little League players who made it to the Williamsport national competition had more, darker, and curlier pubic hair than non-playing age mates almost certainly reflects a selective factor rather than a consequence of ball playing." Why a dude decided to analyze children's pubic hair is beyond me. Damn shame Chris Hansen wasn't around in the 50's.

5:27 PM: Meet up with Sleek and Spade from BOC, James T from Cycle Like The Sedins, as well as Andrew, Jan, and a bunch of other folks from FTF. Good people, all.

5:28 PM: Go to the bathroom to take a duece. Come to the realization that having a pre-warmed toilet seat is actually kind of nice. Worry about contracting crabs.

5:52 PM: James T asserts that Torrey Mitchell has a weird first name for a man. I rebute him and state that Ryane Clowe has a weirder first name. He's too drunk to reply.

5:53 PM: Buy a round of tequila shots for James, Spade, and Sleek. Ponder if James will make it to the game. Chuckle at the fact that Sleek is going to choir practice after this.

5:59 PM: Annoy Sleek by constantly gushing that he was the reason I started to blog. Starting to feel a little drunk.

6:03 PM: Spade mentions that my playoff beard doesn't compare to the handlebars in terms of lady persuading power. James T thinks the handlebars don't pull the ladies. Spade and I disagree with that.

6:21 PM: Andrew runs into a lamppost on the way to the arena. We all laugh at him. He tells us a story about how Sleek threw up on the sidewalk near that spot. I make a remark that it should be considered blogging holy land. Everyone looks at me like I'm a moron.

6:22: Man I'm drunk.

6:47 PM: Told an Anaheim fan that her fake Parros mustache was very lifelike. Still waiting to hear back on my mustache ride proposal. I've got faith though.

6:49 PM: Start heckling a guy wearing a Kings jersey to the game. Get some laughs from the crowd.

7:03 PM: Buy a brew for 10 dollars. Idiot.

7:29 PM: What's up with Anaheim's team intro? It looks like a goddamn Prince concert out there.

7:35-10:00 PM: Dying alive.

10:12 PM: Endure massive amounts of heckling. Yell at some asshole to tell me what Pronger's number is. No dice. Yell at him to tell me what a backcheck is. No dice. Tell him that he should soak his head in a toilet and learn about the game before he heckles me.

10:13 PM: I get flipped off.

10:25 PM: Head back to Danny K's and meet up with Spade, Sleek, James, and Andrew. Resist the urge to strangle Sleek and Spade.

11:00 PM: Try and drink the pain away.

12:54 AM: Talk about the NHL, blogging, and other shit with James and Sleek.

2:02 AM: Pass out on Sleek's couch. Try and resist the urge to urinate on it.

2:03 AM: Cave in to the urge. Simultaneously laugh and cry myself to sleep.

Next Day: Receive a text from Andrew. "Hey dude, even though the Sharks are balls, I had fun hanging out with you clowns last night. I can't remember half the night, I'm way too fucking hungover, and I just saw Ron Jeremy walking through the terminal here at Burbank. It's been a surreal 24 hours. Thanks." Simultaneously laugh and cry on the train ride home.

Here's to game five being a whole lot better.

Go Sharks.