By the end of the summer, this is what the typical St. Louis Blues player will have done:
You hoist the Stanley Cup for the first time on home ice before walking through a car wash's volume of champagne and beer in the dressing room, and then having an all-night celebration with teammates.
A few hazy days later, you attend a parade in your honor, as hundreds of thousands of St. Louis neighbors flood the streets to acknowledge your accomplishment and general greatness.
You travel to Vegas with teammates, where the Stanley Cup becomes a Sin City skeleton key, unlocking doors that many a bachelor party had tried and failed to break down with a battering ram.