Friday night the Boston Bruins beat the Tampa Bay Lightning and my old hometown hockey team advanced to the Stanley Cup Finals for the first time in 20 years. The manager of Mullanes is from Plymouth. I was sitting with two Bruins fans. We toasted the memory of Bobby Orr. His team of 1972 was the last time the Bs won the Trophy. It has been a long time since a player wearing the black and gold has skated around the Garden with the Cup in his hands.

So long that the Old Boston Garden isn’t there.

So long that the elevated T station has been buried underneath Causeway Street.

So long that my youth has disappeared into the shadows of the past, but my heart beats true. I’m still a Bruins fan as are my younger brother Paddy and my cousin Rob. Paddy is recovering from a triple bypass, so I don’t want to get him excited. Rob is in fine health and called me after the Friday night win, saying that he was getting seats for me, his son, wife, and himself for the 3rd game scheduled for the TD Garden.

“Great.” I was blessed by the hockey saints and told everyone about my luck, “I’m going to the Stanley Cup.”

Not so fast.

The ghost of Kenny Dryden raised its head from the depth of the frozen north.

Damn those Montreal Canadians.

My cousin emailed me yesterday that ‘the current price on stub hub is $3375 per seat.”

$3375 is the price of three round-trip tix to Bangkok. No one in my income bracket could pay that price. Only one class could ruin my trip to see the Bruins.

The filthy rich.

My cousin suggested that I come up and watch the game with him. He has a pool and belongs to the Manchester Beach Club. His wife is a good laugh. His son is a sport. It might be second best, but sometimes second best is better than best. Friends, family, beer, Bruins.

And a win.

In the words of the immortal Randy ‘Macho Man’ Savage, “Oh yeah.”

ps fuck the filthy rich.