On Monday I decided to take myself downtown for the L.A. Kings’ Stanley Cup Victory Parade. Simply deciding to do this was a feat, as it would have been much easier to blow it off and take care of some bidness. But I didn’t blow it off. Instead, I – along with around 250,000 others – called in well and headed downtown. (250,000 is the most repeated estimate of parade attendance. I didn’t see that many people, but what do I know?)
My big plan was to take the train. I drove to the nearest station, but there wasn’t any parking. As in, I drove ever-expanding concentric circles around the place and there just wasn’t any parking. Now, the fact that the parking lot looked a lot like a tail-gating party was a good indicator that just about everybody and their brothers also decided to take the train downtown. Was I deterred? Nope. I simply drove my ass home, parked the car then walked to the nearest bus stop. The bus arrived on time, delivered me to a different train station and that was that.
When I arrived downtown, I was a little later than I’d originally planned. I sussed the sitch and spotted a great little space behind the barriers. I squeezed myself in and I was set. The parade was due to start in 10 minutes. I settled in and relaxed.
At the appointed time, the cheering began and our first glimpse was of…
Skin. Okay. Not my thing, but what-evs. If I’m being honest, no one around me was much into the skin factor either, and the real cheering didn’t begin until the very next bus appeared…
Jeff Carter, Marian Gaborik and Mike Richards!
And then we yelled for Kyle Clifford, Jake Muzzin and Jordan Nolan.
And then Bailey the mascot rolled past.
When Coach Sutter appeared, I was laughing at the fact that he was actually smiling! That’s a rare sight, friends.
Then I beheld it. The. Stanley. Cup. Oh, and there’s also that L.A. mayor dude. What-evs.
Alec Martinez (who scored the series-winning goal), Drew Doughty and Trevor Lewis were next.
They were followed by Jarret Stoll and Justin Williams.
Bringing up the rear were Tanner Pearson, Tyler Toffoli, Martin Jones, Jeff Schultz and Dwight King. I admit – I missed a few shots of players. Couldn’t help it, though, as I was jumping up and down and cheering. Yes, I’m a dork.
And that was the parade! Short and sweet, I know. In fact, the entire route was barely a mile. The crowd began to follow the buses toward Staples Center, but I didn’t join them. I had a different plan: a seat at the bar of City Tavern, a new-ish downtown gastropub.
I looked up and saw the live parade coverage on the the bar’s telly. As I didn’t need to watch it, because I’d lived it, Dotty, I turned my attention to the Iran-Ghana World Cup game. I also focused on the menu, but that should come as no surprise.
In fact, leave it to a Southern gal to order oysters and cheese grits for lunch. And beer. Can’t forget the beer.
After someone treated me to a second brew, I moseyed back to the train. Kings jerseys were still visible just about everywhere I looked, and I spent most of the trip home smiling. I was thinking about the friendliness of the crowd. I was thinking about seeing the Kings players, day-drinking atop the double-decker buses. Most of them weren’t wearing their pretty teeth. They were just flashing hockey-given, gap-toothed grins.
I won’t lie – I put off some work to have that sort of day. And I’ll be catching up the rest of the week. But it was such a fun choice! There was so much joy along that itty-bitty parade route. So much smiling. So much cheering.
I have to say, I highly recommend calling in well.
GOOD FOR YOU!