This post originally ran just over a year ago, when our favorite (NOW MARRIED!) puck bunny conquered roughly half a dozen soon-to-be professional hockey players. Sadly, there was no similar venture this year (that we know of…). So, while the sports world slows for a few days as we celebrate Bill Pullman’s famous Independence Day speech and I stock up on coffee, beer and Haribo Gummy Bears for our Flyers free agency running commentary on Friday, let’s relive the beauty and majesty of Princesss Sass, a tradition unlike any other.
Before we delve into the shadowy world of jersey chasing – puck bunnydom, to be specific – let’s rewind to an earlier time.
Back in April, during that series in which the Flyers embarrassed the half-assed hockey team from the western end of the state, we introduced you to (our favorite) partially cloaked Penguins fan: Princesss Sass, as she’s known on the Interrods.
We first came across Ms. Sass when she posted pictures of some signs she brought to the CONSOL Energy Center to harass the Flyers. We then followed her solo travels to Philadelphia for Game 3 and, as recently as last week, featured her in our special puck slut PSA relating to the announcement of the NHL Draft coming to the City of Brotherly Love in 2014. Sass’ appearance in our PSA was to demonstrate the shooting-fish-in-a-barrel nature of the NHL entry draft, an event that sees scores of young, mostly Canadian, teen-something boys flock into a particular city for, up to that point, the biggest weekend of their lives. The weekend when they become men.
We have to give Sass credit. She’s taken our heavy ribbing in stride (even though I once called her a slore), almost reveling in her role as the stereotypical puck slut from Shittsburgh. But now she’s outdone herself. She has given us an exclusive, meticulously detailed account of her weekend at the NHL Draft – complete with pictures and screenshots – where she warmed up about a sixth of the top 60 picks.
Before last weekend’s event, which was held in Pittsburgh, Sass tweeted a preview of her outfit for the draft’s first night. For her and other puck bunnies (and I do wish to not be graphic here), the thought of bagging an up-and-comer who might one day drink from Lord Stanley’s Cup (or, less ambitiously, bookend Pierre McGuire along an NHL dasher) makes their underoos drippier than a protagonist during the rain scene in a mid-oughts romance flick.*
*Ryan Gosling vociferously objects! “I’m wetter and I look better! And I’m a poet.”
You see, hockey players, unlike athletes from the other three major sports, are fairly accessible. For example, if you were a jersey chaser and wanted to fuck LeBron James, you’d likely have to make it through long lines, VIP ropes, possibly a background check, a publicist, some posse and Mike Miller before you ever got near King. Then there’s a good chance you’d have to be taken for a test spin (perhaps simultaneously) by a few members of his inner-circle – sexual gatekeepers, if I may – to see if you were up to the task. With satisfactory performance, you might – might – have a chance to score with LeBron.
Conversely, if you wanted to bump baby makers with, say, Jeff Carter, all you’d have to do is wear a revealing tube top to La Costa this Friday night.
It’s just… easier to get with hockey players.
At the NHL Draft, it’s easiest: puck bunnies want in early and not-even-old-enough-to-shave athletes want their first (or second or third) groupie. It’s a perfect balance, this delicate ecosystem of fuck. And that’s where we begin our story.
[Note: We’ve removed players’ names from the story and texts. But among those included are five first-rounders, four second-rounders, two sons of former NHLers, and one (now) Flyer. All are 18, or younger.]