Pasadena, California — 2025. The rink was freezing, the scoreboard was brutal, and the opposing team didn’t stand a chance. Your team — the Pasadena Penguins— had the puck so far down in their offensive zone, you hadn’t seen it cross the blue line in what felt like fifteen straight minutes. So you did what any bored goalie with a flair for chaos would do. You spun lazy circles in your crease, talked to yourself like you were mic’d up for a documentary, and even threw in a little gear-heavy dance for the parents in the stands. You could see the moms laughing. A couple dads clapped. Why not be the halftime show and the netminder?

Meanwhile, in the bleachers, your parents and aunts and uncles assembled in full force. Sheldon sat stiffly between Amy and Leonard, arms crossed, looking personally offended by the sport. Penny was practically in tears laughing, Raj had his phone out recording you, and Howard was explaining your save percentage like it was NASA-grade science. Amy just looked proud — even if Sheldon was whispering stats about how inefficient skating was as a means of travel.

“This is absurd,” Sheldon said, glaring at the rink. “She’s supposed to be guarding the net, not doing pirouettes in front of it like an off-brand Zamboni.”

“Sheldon,” Amy cut in gently, a smile tugging at her lips, “our daughter has stopped 14 shots. She’s earned a little flair.”

“I think it’s great,” Penny laughed, tossing a handful of popcorn toward Leonard’s lap. “She’s got your brains and Amy’s ‘zero shame’ gene.”

“Honestly,” Howard added, eyes wide behind his glasses, “this might be the most entertaining game I’ve ever watched. And I was once at a Kings game where the mascot fell over the railing.”

“I like her style,” Raj said, grinning as he filmed. “Boredom plus a captive audience? That’s the sweet spot.”