The very minute we walked into the arena, surveyed the crowd and found an usher to help direct us to our seats, Dave shouts "OOOwwww!" He grabs his ankle, looks down to make sure it is still there and finds the culprit: an errant practice puck had made it over the 10 foot partition, row of netting and waaayyy up into the stands where we had *just* walked in seconds earlier. The boys are beyond excited and ask Dave to get hit again so they can each have a puck.
After we explained the complete randomness of the situation, we ended up having to "share" the puck. Every 15 minutes, each son got to hold the puck. We had our own little brawl every time it was the other brother's turn and inevitably someone counted minutes wrong or the trip to the bathroom actually deducted minutes because it didn't count if you were not physically in the arena....
Later that evening, as we reflected on our exciting adventure, Dave confessed that when the puck found his ankle, he thought he had been bitten by a snake. In a hockey arena. In the nosebleed section. In urban downtown Washington, DC where I hear there is a huge population of snakes.