You: The slim, beautiful brunette with the snow shovel scraping the ice between TV timeouts. Me: Section 327, row 14, seat 9. I was wearing a blue shirt, levi's jeans, and a Canucks hat. I noticed you right in the first period, but our time came during the second intermission. As you were firing shirts out of a giant sling-shot, you glanced up to the upper deck and we made eye contact, and I could tell we were both thinking the same thing. You narrowed in on me, and tried to launch me a shirt as I jumped up and down with a Molson in my hand, but alas you just couldn't reach me. No worries, I could tell you were trying. I wrote my number on a receipt and folded it into a paper airplane, but it didn't make it past the 20th row of the lower bowl. Would you like to go for nachos and a milkshake some time? My treat ;)