Over the weekend, my best friend of 25 years FINALLY married his long-term girlfriend in Las Vegas. It was quite possible the best decision that I’ve seen him make in the entire time that I’ve known him. Then again, he’s a Flyers fan so the bar has been set pretty low. Here’s a quick recap of his wedding day on Halloween—it’s always fun when mass amounts of alcohol is mixed with hockey fans and a costume party. Some of the events may or may not be a little fuzzy due to over indulgence.
10:03am: I show up to my best friend’s place; right about the time the Flyers/Hurricanes game started. I immediately head upstairs to help our friend who’s been working on the CD’s since Wednesday.
10:10am: For the first time I wonder, “How long have they been engaged? 2 years? Why are we putting party favors together 3 hours before the wedding?” 147 CDs to go.
10:18am: “That’s right bitches! I fuckin’ LOVE you Scotty Hartnell!!!” Apparently the Flyers have scored.
11:07am: FIGHT!! Alex appears out of nowhere. “You know, I always liked Laperriere when he was on the Kings. I’m glad he’s on the Flyers so I can root for him now.” And as quickly as he appeared, he disappears.
11:17am: FIGHT!! I hear his voice bellowing from downstairs, “Oh shit! Asham fucked him up at the end!”
11:19am: I head downstairs because this hockey game is starting to sound interesting. Just as I walk into the living room…FIGHT!! This time I say, “What a shocker… I think Carcillo was starting to feel left out. The least he could do is stay on his feet.”
11:27am: Still putting CDs together. Friend doing way more work—I’m rotating between potato chips and Australian Shiraz. I just heard my friend yell from downstairs—I believe the Flyers just scored again. 123 to go.
11:50am: The groom comes upstairs to tell us how great David Laliberte has looked in his 1st career NHL game. “He just scored a goal… I love this guy!”
12:10pm: Another groomsman shows up with Girmaldi’s pizza. He said he wore his skirt kilt to the pizza place and they didn’t even bat an eyelash. Gotta love Vegas on Halloween.
12:30pm: The Flyers game ends. More than the clock or any kind of schedule that the Nazi wedding coordinator put us on—THIS is our signal that we need to start getting ready for the wedding.
12:35pm: My head hangs and shoulders slump as I look at my skirt that has a 94 inch waist.
1:00pm: The groom takes me aside for what seems like a pretty serious conversation. I wonder if it’s really hitting him that he’s getting married. Maybe there’s something he needs me to do during the ceremony? No. “You know… if they keep playing Arron Asham with Giroux and Briere, he could score 30 goals.” I just look at him. “No dude, I’m serious. 30!”
1:30pm: Show up at the wedding place, trying to hold 2 rings in my Irish man purse, a camera, a 4 foot sword and 2 pit bulls. I look around and see dozens and dozens of people all dressed up costumes. Alex’s boss is dressed as Dom Perignon (his wife as cavier), an old friend is dressed as a beer wench (male friend) and another guest is dressed as Caesar. Complete with toga and an enormous unit because “Caesar’s always packin.” It’s a circus—but I really didn’t expect anything less.
1:40pm: The last groomsman finally shows up. No, he’s not 10 minutes late—he’s more like an hour and 40 minutes late. But he arrived and he’s wearing a kilt. Things could be worse.
2:25pm: Everyone lines up to walk down the aisle for the ceremony. Of the 5 women that are in the wedding, 4 of them have worked in the nightclub industry at some point (including the bride). My wife is afraid that she’s the old maid of the group—but she’s not. And she’s still out of my league (which I was told repeatedly by drunken guests).
2:27pm: I look around and all of the guys and I realize that our kilt/uniforms/outfits all look the exact same. I thought I was the Best Man. I should have something that separates me a little bit from the rest. Just something small that signifies the occasion; like a lightning bolt or something.
2:30pm: Ceremony starts with a Tony Romo lookalike as minister. If that isn’t enough, he starts the proceedings in the “Mawwage” voice from The Princess Bride. Yes really, I’m not making this up. And I was holding a pit bull named Marley while all this was happening.
2:35pm: The other pit bull was actually CRYING during the ceremony. I’m convinced he knows what’s going on and wants to be part of the marriage. He was trained for 8 years to be the ring bearer and the OTHER dog was the one that was well behaved. Shocking really. The bride will NEVER, ever let my best friend hear the end of this…
3:10pm: Order a Lone Star from the bartender, she gives me a Tsingtao instead. I get the distinct impression that no one is respecting me in my skirt. Does she not realize that I have a HUGE sword on my back?
3:11pm: Walk out of the bar area to where the guests are mingling. I have a sword on my back, I’m walking a pit bull, I’m wearing a skirt and I have a Chinese beer in my hand. Yep, fuck my life.
3:30pm: The bridal party is taking pictures after the ceremony. At one point, the photographer tells us to pull out our swords and go for a KILL SHOT on the bride. Stop and get the visual: there are 5 men with swords pretending to kill the bride. Interestingly enough, I don’t remember taking this picture when I got married.
I wasn't kidding... the Maid of Honor and I really walked pit bulls down the aisle...
4:15pm: For some reason I had looked at my watch. Because I’m drunk, I try to figure out what games started at 4:00. When I remember that the Leafs are playing at the Habs—I actually snickered out loud. People just chalk it up to the drunken guy being drunk.
5:00pm: Best man speech. My best friend’s mom yells for me to “give it to him.” Ummm, it’s not that kind of friendship. I said something about “love being blind,” then just looked at the bride. She’s obviously blind to be with Alex—but whatever works. I didn’t fall, cuss, slur my words or irreparably offend anyone. Win.
5:15pm: I ask the guy that’s dressed as a punk rock exec (Misfits shirt and a jacket) what the score of the Phillies/Yankees game is. Little do we know that we’re only 15 minutes into a 75 minute rain delay.
(Sidenote: The punk rock exec told me a story of a friend that never dresses up. Last year, he went to an event with a suit on. People asked what he was dressed as for Halloween. His answer: “I’m dressed as non-conformity.”)
5:25pm: Our friend Dan asks us for the 798723 time if he gave us his camera. He’s clearly been sampling the wine from the head table. But there are a couple things that are for sure: He’s having a good time and feeling good.
5:30pm: The DJ finally plays my request “Ghost N Stuff.” It’s physically impossible to hear that song and NOT dance. Fact.
6:00pm: Wedding ends with every guest getting a sparkler for the bride and groom to walk through. Two things immediately come to mind. First, this isn’t fucking 4th of July. Secondly, what a great idea! Give 50 drunken people fire and have them play with it around other drunk people. The wedding coordinator looks VERY worried.
6:02pm: I realize that I forgot my CD. Yes, the ones that we were putting together.
It was THAT kind of party... Devil Patron.
6:30pm: My wife checks into the hotel while I sit in the car. I would have done it myself, but the world is spinning and I’m just trying to hold onto my car so I don’t fall off. Chivalry is NOT dead.
7:30pm: USC is getting pounded by Oregon. I’m pissed that my hotel room doesn’t have Center Ice (how people live without this necessity, I have no idea). I’m also cursing the awful shoes that came with the kilt. I’m convinced I have a stress fracture in my heel.
7:35pm: Consider taking the knee-high socks off before the club—but feel kinda sexy so I keep them on. Do one last check of the channels hoping to find ANY kind of hockey. I think back to the bachelor party when we actually ORDERED Center Ice for the night before the “entertainment” arrived in the room. Seriously, the Las Vegas Wranglers would have been fine at that point.
8:30pm: Decide that I’m going to pass out BEFORE going to the club because I’m fucking old. I make a promise to myself that I’ll get up when the Red Wings/Flames game is over. Of course, since I can’t watch any hockey, this gives me card blanche to sleep for the rest of the night.
10:00pm: The Flames/Wings game apparently is over, because I have a Geisha waking me up out of my slumber. Yes, a Geisha is going with a guy wearing a kilt to Tryst. This is historically incorrect on so many levels.
12:00am: Skipped the 2 and a half hour line to get into the Vegas Nightclub. Kinda funny actually—we just said the bride’s name and the velvet ropes had a way of parting in front of us. Forget my best friend; the BRIDE is the one that we need to be friends with!
12:05am: I realize that I have no idea what popular music sounds like anymore.
1:00am: Our friend Dan (who really is the human equivalent of Tigger) is spotted dancing on some table half way across the dance floor. None of us are even remotely surprised. Bouncer asks him to get down—he politely hops off the table and continues pelvic thrusting in everyone’s general direction. Still feeling good.
Mr Seats and Groom wearing skirts at Tryst. Seems perfectly normal to me...
1:15am: Two chicks are making out on a stripper pole in front of me. Best part: they’re not working—it’s just for fun. Anyone that tells me that Halloween in Vegas is nothing more than an excuse for a woman’s inner-whore to come out is lying. Do you think it’s a coincidence that it’s the groom’s favorite holiday?
1:45am: I’ve decided that this is the only way I’m doing nightclubs from now on. We have 30 people, 3 tables (including one of those HUGE pimp booths), a cocktail waitress that seems like she’s dedicated to us and KNOWS my wife, and bottle after bottle of alcohol just appearing on the table in front of me. I do the math; we’re talking about a $15,000 experience here with tables, people and bottles. It’s just how I roll.
2:30am: Dan is peer-pressured into doing a shot of Patron.
2:32am: Dan starts to throw up and runs through the crowd in a packed nightclub to get to the bathroom. Dan is no longer feeling good.
2:35am: Alex STARTS making his rounds to say good-bye to everyone by sitting down next to me. It’s been awhile since I’ve taken any physics classes, but don’t you have to be STANDING to walk around and tell everyone good-bye?
2:50am: I do the obligatory, “Let’s get outta here… this place is dead anyway.”
3:02am: I ask the valet if he needs my ticket as he brings up my car. “Nah, I don’t need it. You’re wearing a skirt—you look trustworthy.”
Whatever, I would have fucked him up if I had my sword.
Matt Reitz is the Editor-In-Chief here at ViewFromMySeats.com and former NHL Writer for ProHockeyTalk on NBCSports. When he’s not shoving a mic in the face of NHLers or explaining why home teams should wear white, he’s usually trying to figure out what song to play next on his iPod. It’s a never-ending job.
