Todd Pens Letter Voicing Frustration with Boston Bruins

Hey all. Bruins decided to discontinue their commemorative hard tickets and replace them with "Season Ticket Holder Passes." I wrote an email to my Season ticket rep voicing my disappointment with the decision and the trend it represents.....

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Hey Bryan,

I know for a fact this is not the only email you will receive on this subject. Just wanted to reach out and sort of vent my frustration. This is no way directed at you or an indictment on you. Your customer service has been exemplary and I hope they give you a raise.

However, You are my direct connection to the organization and I hope that maybe you can pass this along to the "powers that be" regarding the decision to discontinue the commemorative season tickets.

Besides the obvious massive discount on prices, the commemorative season ticket books are probably the best perk of being a season ticket holder. They are great for gift giving. When I attend a game that I want to commemorate, I can use my "commemorative ticket" to do so. Both of these things I can no longer do.

Discontinuing these tickets in conjunction with raising my ticket prices nine percent makes me feel less valued. 

Look, I get it. I understand how business works. The commemorative tickets cost money to produce. I don't know how much they cost, but I can imagine when you have to produce 17,565 of them, it probably isn't cheap. So when a business tries to cut costs, they look at what costs can be cut that will not affect revenue. The market demand for the Bruins is very high. You have a STH waiting list a mile long with fans ready to take our place. So you know you wont lose ticket revenue by cutting this cost.

Just don't hide behind the veil of "Enhanced Security." While that may hold some truth, It is disappointing to hear that when we season ticket holders are being squeezed to improve the bottom line. We know there is nothing we can do. Even relinquishing our tickets wont do anything because there will always be someone who will take our place.

Long story short, I feel less valued as I pay the Bruins more money. I just hope this resonates in some capacity. I would like to be a season ticket holder in perpetuity, please don't price out your blue collar fan base or forget that STH's are a valuable asset, replaceable or not.

Thanks for your time. Go Bruins.

-Brian

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This decision STINKS.

BRUINS IN 7

The time is 3:53 A.M. I am dreaming peacefully in bed. A loud, yet tender, cry for help instantly wakes me (I heard the cry in my dream before I woke up, Inception style). Cole needs his Fathers help. His diaper so saturated with urine it could no longer hold it back, soaking his pajamas. I sit up, gently warming my extremities as to not resemble a baby deer's first steps as I walk over to aid Cole Luis.

Usually, when I must awake prematurely to aid our children, those within earshot will hear a demonstrative JFC or GD or something to the effect of "This is fucking ridiculous." Nature of the beast. However, this morning, something was different. I enter Cole Luis' bedroom (nursery?) ready to tackle the challenge half asleep without any lights on. I will give the boy credit. It (usually) does not matter what plagues him. He is always happy to see his parents. Even at 3:57 A.M. After expertly removing his saturated clothing, disposing of his disposable diaper, and finding him new clothes to wear in near complete darkness, the boy is more or less WIDE AWAKE. Much to Emily's chagrin, and while staying honest with myself, I take the easy way out. I make Cole Luis a bottle.

The time is now 4:15 A.M. Cole Luis is happily draining his bottle, halfway back to sleep. The rain is lightly trickling down the downspouts and ever so lightly pelting the roof. A natural lullaby, if you will. Both father and son, well on their way to their subconscious dreamscapes with the help of mother nature. 

I shit you not, my subconscious gets steamrolled by a Black and Gold freight train. CHOOO CHOOO BRUINS GAME SEVEN CHOOO CHOOO! My eyes are now wide fucking open. Cold sweats permeate the body. Heavy (er than normal) breathing. Ah yes, we are back. Bruins anxiety. My favorite. 

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It is with a heavy heart that I humbly accept my own season tickets to game seven of the Stanley Cup Finals. I had wrestled with the thought of not going to spare my angst. But I was convinced by several citizens to go because the Bruins may never get back here. I am forgoing selling my tickets. I am forgoing the $2,500 bounty that comes with selling them. The fucking warped, fraudulent thinking of "Opportunity Cost" truthers claim that if I sell those tickets, and pay down my mortgage, that $2,500 will turn into $10,000 over 30 years  so my opportunity cost to attend game seven is in fact $10,000. Hey Fun Police, go bring someone else down. It's not a real cost if you never have the money in your hand. 

In attending the game, there is a chance that I, along with several good friends, will reach the pinnacle of our sports fandom... Watching the Bruins raise the Stanley Cup in person. You cant put a price on that.

OH YOU CANT?

You want to know what the price is? Fear and anxiety. Mental Torment. In 2011, I was able to escape to the McCarthy's front lawn, stare up into the night sky and find solace knowing that we as a people, a civilization are insignificant and our problems are insignificant. While attending game seven.... you cant do that. You can medicate with alcohol and try to think happy thoughts.

Tough assignment, I know. Someone has to do it, might as well be me. Pray for me.

BRUINS IN 7!!!!!!!!

Hello? Is This Thing On?

Inspiration is a funny thing. I haven't written in a long, long time. To be honest, I am probably just lazy. But I am not sure if that means I am uninspired. There are countless things that I am passionate about.

I could have written 5000 words 30 times over about the fucking DOPE we have in the Oval Office or the hundreds of other DOPES we have running our country that have "R" following their names (Being a liberal helps me sleep at night), but that could be a story for another day.

I could have written daily about the Bruins. But there's something about writing about the Bruins when I have literally zero audience and nobody wants to hear about how Tuukka Rask is a great goalie or that Torey Krug is not currently replaceable that just doesnt make sense. I will probably dabble a bit in shouting (typing) in ALL CAPS (love you, Ovi) I LOVE PATRICE BERGERON, because it is true, I do.

I could have written until I am blue in the face about how much I appreciate my family. My two boys, their mother and every blood relation we have. I am deeply humbled by the love and support I am given on a daily basis and paying that back will be an endeavor that I will probably never completely achieve. 

Finally, I could have written a weekly report on Beer League hockey. Go Tents Go!  I am really good at that. I enjoy reliving the prior nights futile attempt to remain heart healthy and feel that competitive spirit, but I'm not going to simply write game reports, because that fucking sucks... so until jabroni's (spell check suggests I change this to "Beefaroni's") who cant handle satire obtain thicker skin, I am stuck on desk duty. 

These things, among many others, Inspire me. I am very passionate about each one of these. "Writing is a weapon, and it is more powerful than a fist can ever be."(Shout out to Denzel Washington playing Ruben Carter in "The Hurricane) Writing can also be a really good a therapist, or just a good way to find out how many words you can type in a minute. To each their own. 

I really would like to write more.  I have decided to refuse to acknowledge that I am lazy about writing. But I will acknowledge that I could find the time. Between two kids, a new home and all of life's intricacies, I have been relegated to blogging in my brain. Whether it be in the shower, on the throne or while I mindlessly lay on the couch or in bed watching the same 10 shows over and over and over (Fuck me why don't you write about them, OK deal.)I haven't really thought about writing in a long time until Abby told me she blogs. So here I am flipping the switch and getting back on the horse. 

Who am I writing to? Who is my audience? How many people (robots) are in my audience? One? Five? Eight? 10? 100? These questions quite simply don't apply. I write on a blank canvas that gets sent out into invisible space. A message in a bottle that is addressed to no one. Getting my thoughts out of my brain is what matters most. Someone taking the time to read them is an added bonus.

So I guess what I am trying to say is, Fuck You Todd lives on in perpetuity. I will promise to check in from time to time. You may like what I have to say, you may not.