Minnesota is The State of Hockey, so it’s no surprise that the turnout for any events involving skates and board checks are a huge draw for our population. At least that’s why Red Bull keeps coming back to shut down St. Paul and host this Crashed Ice event annually for us.
With that alone, we knew it would be busy, but add a Sam Smith concert 4 blocks away from the ice and things were insane. Roads were closed, walkways were jammed, gridlock at every intersection, but it still made for a fun night.
The thing about this evening is that there weren’t any standout patrons, but they fell into two distinctive groups: the crashed ice pickups were “bros” who had college hats, beer on their breath, and roved in testosterone driven packs through the cold. Most were pickups around the ice and dropoff at a bar near Dinkytown. Nice guys, but typical college dudes.
The contrasting groups were the concert-goers. Just as the smell of Axe body spray would be fading from my upholstery, I would get a car full of girls and gays raving about how “absolutely fabulous” Sam Smith was!
“People need to stop calling him the male Adele – he’s SO much more!” quipped an especially passionate rider, “His voice is like butter and I’m like a fat kid who needs more!”
The trichotomy of guys, girls, and gays kept my night wholly entertaining and I had fun and chatted up whoever stepped into the car.
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