The etymology of which (according to Wikipedia) is rather fascinating:
The verb eavesdrop was originally a back-formation of the noun eavesdropper ("a person who eavesdrops") which was formed from the unrelated noun eavesdrop ("the dripping of water from the eaves of a house; the ground on which such water falls"). An eavesdropper was one who stood at the eavesdrop (where the water fell, i.e., near the house) so as to overhear what was said inside
I suppose, based on the definition above, what I did last night at the Flyers vs Bruins hockey game, could be labeled as eavesdropping. However, when people are drinking and loud, I think it just counts as hearing shit you don't necessarily want to hear. It's not like I put my hand up to my ear to listen.
My friend Alli was kind enough to take myself and my friends Kristin and Shaun to the game. It was a lot of fun, much of which was generated by the fact that Kristin had never been to a hockey game. Based on some of the questions she asked, she had likely never even seen a game before.
My favorite question:
"So do the teams just take turns which one is on the power play?"
In fairness, with the refs these days, the answer is probably "yes."
She had a blast causing all of us to have a blast!
But alas, fair reader, that has little to do with this story. I was merely providing the setting (also, we had WAAAAY better seats than the video of the PEEEEEECOOOOOOO POWER PLAAAY! above).
Sitting to my left was a gentleman along with a younger lad, who may or may not have been his son. They both were partaking of many a Miller Lite, of which, I'm not certain the young man was old enough to imbibe in, but who am I to judge?
Unlike many sporting events, I wasn't in a constant battle for the arm rest. Alli was to my right and she didn't use her arm rest at all.
*I'm not sure if it's just a male thing. I have noticed over the years, no female I have ever sat next to uses her armrest. And this is after keeping my arms at the side to see if they're going to use it or not. I may not drink Miller Lite with underage kids, but I too am a gentleman, after all. Also, women are awesome, but I digress.
The aforementioned fellow gave up the arm rest as soon as we sat down. I didn't use it much, possibly because he relinquished it so easily, which says more about me than him, but that also, has little to do with this story.
As the game starts to wind down, the Flyers are still trailing 2-1, Wayne Simmons the Orange & Black's only goal scorer. I start to think, "well at least I have my 50/50 tickets." Unlike the last game I went to with Julie where I lost my tickets turning them into a Schrodinger's cat situation before the drawing. I both won and lost, yet neither won nor lost. At least I don't have to pay taxes on it!
I happen to overhear a mere part of a conversation that can ONLY be heard at a sporting event. It went something like this:
Gentleman: So how's Mark?
Young Guy: He's good. But doesn't hang out much anymore.
Gentleman: Why not?
Young Guy: Well, he had a kid.
Gentleman: Oh yeah? A boy or a girl?
Young Guy: (after waaay to long for a 50/50 question that should be easy to answer) a girl.
Gentleman: (indistinguishable sound of approval)
A few moments go by.
Young Guy: I don't know about the mother though.
It's not clear, though I believe he means the mother of the baby. Odd that he didn't say Mark's wife, or girlfriend, or what have you.
Gentleman: How do you mean?
Young Guy: I think she's retarded or something.
Gentleman: How so?
Young Guy: She has a Russian accent.
I didn't have the heart to tell him that more than likely, she's Russian.
I also didn't win the 50/50.
Wayne Simmons would go on to score again to tie it up, but Boston scored with about 2 minutes left to play to make it 3-2, which ended up being the final score.
It's too bad really. I was pulling for Simmons to score a 3rd goal, so I could throw Kristin's hat on the ice. It would have been fun to explain to her what the hell was happening.