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Jen vs. The Puck Bunny


We all know her. We've all seen her. Each professional sport has its incarnation of this mythic beast. For the NHL, she's the girl who comes to hockey games in a mini skirt, high heels, and full pageant makeup. And she sure as hell isn't looking at you, Mr. Regular Fan. Ahh yes, I'm talking about The Puck Bunny (also known as The Pro-Ho).

I must admit, when I see these ladies at Ponda Center, my BFF Kristin and I are usually pointing and laughing, especially when they start to shiver. While I may not be glamorous in my Getzlaf jersey and jeans, at least I'm warm. Another favorite thing of mine is to watch them try to maneuver down the stadium stairs in stilettos. It's hard to look sexy when you're clopping down stairs like a Clydesdale, trying to balance a beer, your gigantic purse, and keeping your boobs from flying out of your tube top.

Do you ever wonder why they come to the rink looking like that? It's not exactly like Jonas Hiller is going to get off the ice just to slip her his number. I guess they provide male fans with something to look at when the Power Players aren't on the ice. Away from the rink is not too much different. I live a mile away from Newport Beach, so you could say that I've observed the creatures in their natural habitat. The Puck Bunnies can smell early-twenties millionaires from a mile away.

True story. I was meeting a friend at the Yardhouse for dinner, drinks, and a little Olympic hockey. I happened upon a few girls I assumed to be rookie Puck Bunnies. As I sat at the bar, sipping my vodka tonic waiting for my friend, I eavesdropped on their conversation, which went like this:

Puck Bunny #1: I wonder when the players are going to be here.
Puck Bunny #2: I think there is a Mighty Ducks game tonight, so they should be here soon.
(Author's note: as I said earlier, it was Olympic hockey time)
Puck Bunny #1: Oh, ok good.
Puck Bunny #2: I heard Robby [sic] Ryan and Torey [sic] Perry come here after games. My brother told me Robby and Torey are good.

It was at that moment that I downed the rest of my drink and asked the bartender for a double. The chicks left not too long after to make their way to Sharkeez (another common hunting ground), still not realizing that their prey were up in Vancouver.

For all the Debbie Downers who say I'm ranting on the Puck Bunnies of the world because I'm jealous, I'm going to have to disagree. Sure, it would be cool to date/marry a hockey player, but I'm not totally comfortable knowing my boyfriend/husband was the target of easy and money hungry ladies. Yes, if it is a strong relationship, I wouldn't have to worry about his fidelity, but let's be realistic. The male libido is easily tempted. Plus, I'd like to tell my future kids how I met their dad. For some reason, saying "I first met your dad when we were partying at Sharkeez, and I threw up in his mouth. From that moment on...actually when he signed a contract extension, I knew it was love."

I rage against the Puck Bunnies for all the female fans that love throwing on their favorite team's jersey and going to games to actually watch hockey! (I've said it before, we're girls first, so attractive guys are just an added bonus to a sport we love so much.) I'm fighting for my fellow female fans that can hold a relevant conversation about hockey and take satisfaction in shutting up guys who think they know more than her. I'm speaking up for girls that want to meet their favorite players because of their play on the ice, not because they want to sleep with them.

I am the anti-Puck Bunny, a regular girl with all the original parts God gave her, making her own money at a job, paying for her own Ducks tickets, without a famous hockey playing boyfriend, and I love it.