Visited a great building Sunday, but I still have to sort through and process the 160 photos I took. Details to come…

First, though, I’d like to thank the Pistons for ruining Friday night. We had plans to meet some girls who were at the game; also, we couldn’t begin the night with Game Five hanging in the balance, so we stopped at the first bar we passed that had a TV – the former Park Henry Bar. The bartender handed out Jell-O shots when the Pistons scored to force overtime; she’d thought they won. She only half-kiddingly tried to take them back when she realized the mistake. But the Pabst was making me sick, so we headed over to Harry’s to watch the second overtime. The Murphy’s they served (they were out of Guinness) was most certainly not Murphy’s, but rather some sickening amber ale. More stomach ache. Then off to the Well, where we watched ‘em screw it up in the third OT. By then, though, we were somewhat drunk and the girls who we were waiting for had been at the game and were now too wiped out to come out. Now we were aimless in Detroit, in the middle of the freakin’ Hoedown.

Now I know the Hoedown attracts all sorts of nice, job-holding people who do not at all conform to the stereotype of toothless, drunken hicks. Having said that, there sure were a lot of toothless, drunken hicks roaming the streets of Detroit Friday night, trying to start fights, pulling their pants down at passing cars, verbally abusing hobos and acting like a perfect caricature of a Hoedown attendee. It was like Invasion of the Assholes everywhere we went.

Saturday, playoff game one, my hockey team fell behind 3-0, but rallied and scored four goals to win it 4-3, including a supercool goal by modest me. The looks of disbelief on the previously cocky faces of the other team are seared in my brain forever, to be referenced every time I want to be happy at someone else’s expense. They resorted to trying to start fights. We resorted to drinking ourselves silly and celebrating afterwards.