The photo of this receipt is hazy (full version here), and that's how it should be. Mere hours after riding through the streets of Boston in Duck Boats, the Bruins took the Stanley Cup to the MGM Grand at Foxwoods and set to drinking. First came the bottle of Bacardi and 18 sugar free Red Bulls. "Sugar free!" someone must have shouted in disdain. "The season's over! Bring us the sugared Red Bull!" From the back of the room thrummed a strange warbling cry that grew louder, like a horde of wild turkey moving fast and hard through the New England underbrush: "Eh? Eh? Eh? Eh? Eh?"
"Goddammit," Tim Thomas muttered. "Canadians."
Eh? Eh? Who wants some Crown Royal? Four bottles, eh? National drink and all. Comes in a velvet pouch so it must be first rate. While you're at it, bring us a couple dozen Jager drinks and some bottles of Captain Morgan, but don't put that in the Cup, eh? — it'll corrode the metal. No, seriously. Did I tell you about the time my cousin Mattie was ice fishing when his thermos....Bergeron! For chrissakes. Ciroc Red?
The team soon devolved into reeling anomie, all semblance of human decency absent. Women hip-danced on the bar. As did half-naked men. The drink orders took on a fragmented and often shameless quality. Baccardi cherry. Baccardi orangeberry. Ciroc Red Berry. And then the moment — there is always one that accompanies an epic bar tab — when chaos threatened and a lone voice of reason cried out in the darkness, perhaps with a deep Slovakian accent: "136 Bud Lights!"
Order was restored. The team was back. A few more cheap beers as they entered the third period. Anything was possible. Greatness within reach. Break out the bubbly. Expensive stuff. What's that? The bar has a $100,000 "Midas" bottle of Ace of Spades by Armand de Brignac that holds 30 L of and weighs about 100 pounds? It's one of only six in the world? Hell, yes, they'll take it.
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