Hey, Hey, Burrito Lady: Hockey Food Fights

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The Scene: Washington Capitals vs. Carolina Hurricanes, April 1, 2008. It was the biggest game of the year for our nation's Captials, and the sold-out crowd was the most raucous I've ever seen at Verizon Center — especially up in the 400 level where I had parked my butt. What follows is a true accounting of the lady-in-front-of-me's fandom — but not necessarily for hockey.

"IT'S MINE," screamed the 60-something woman with the fluffy feathered hair and grandma glasses.

She brought her two claws down on top of the silver torpedo that had landed in my hands like a priceless gift from the Magi, not a smushed prize fired my way by a dude in a giant bird suit.

As she ripped the Chipotle burrito from my digits, spiced grains sprinkled my cranberry T-shirt — the closest I could come to red in my wardrobe, not counting my inappropriate-for-the-occasion Detroit Red Wings jersey.

I looked at my stunned friend ... and we started to laugh.

I was just accosted by a fellow Caps fan over a free burrito tossed by team mascot Slapshot — that all was funny enough. But the greatest thing about the mauling was this elderly woman's full morphing into a squirrel:

She did not eat immediately eat the tasty delight plucked from my paws — she tucked it under her seat for later.

Nothing says "DELICIOUS" quite like a delayed-gratification combo of cold rice, watery wrap and black-bean mush — and this dedicated lady was in for a messy treat whenever she finally decided to devour her log of carbs. (I'm thinking she'll dig it up and chow down after the final winter thaw.)

The perplexed stranger next to me tapped my arm and said, "She must be hungry."

"Ravenous," I said.

Her husband, however, was not pleased with his wife's rodent-like behavior.

"What did you DO?" he demanded in the same angry, tinny voice he had used throughout the night to call these ice-skating professional athletes "sons of bitches" and other less-than-venerative names. (Note to Ted Leonsis: This guy probably e-mails you mean things.)

"You ripped it out of his hands," seethed the crabby husband, his gray pony tail dragging along his neck like a clumped-up dust bunny.

As he stared at his lifelong Sciuridae like she had just turned over the puck in front of her own team's net, it looked like he wanted to call her the same F-word + "idiot" combo he blurted throughout the evening when referring to defenseman John Erskine.

As the Eastern Gray started to explain her burrito-nabbing decision to her mate, I couldn't make out her words. But I imagined she delivered a passionate soliloquy about her deep devotion to The Burrito and her overwhelming need to take possession of all arena giveaways due to a dearth of gift-giving in her impoverished childhood. I think she also went on to say she'd deliver a karate chop to the next dancing cherub shown on the big screen who was trying to win a D.C. Lottery gift certificate. ("Government-certified gambling is for mature adults, not tubby toddlers!")

Later, when they floated T-shirts from the Verizon Center ceiling, I was convinced The Burrito Lady would shiv me in the belly were a parachute to float my way.

We dodged any further beatdowns — not to mention eye contact — from Grammy for the rest of the evening as we screamed and yelled with the other puck nuts who witnessed the Caps win 4-1 and enter a tie for first place in the Southeast division with two games left to play and the postseason on the line.

It was one of the best times I've ever had at Verizon Center — and not just because of the great game.

Hey, hey, hey, Burrito Lady, you drive me crazy. And I love you.

» For blog coverage of the actual game, check out some of our faves:
Japers' Rink
Dump & Chase
Ted's Take
Off Wing Opinion
On Frozen Blog
The Peerless Prognosticator
Bleatings From a Caps Nut