Well. Another arena, another Habs game. And last night's ended in a 3-1 win.
Part of Jody making sure I got my awesome new Pacioretty jersey in time for Christmas was so that I could wear it to the game last night. But I bottled it at the last minute. I didn't want to deal with driving to the arena, so I figured I'd catch an Uber there, then get a drink somewhere nearby afterward, and head back downtown when the crowds dispersed. I imagined myself wearing a Habs home sweater, all alone, walking into a sports bar full of drunk Canes fans after the game. The image wasn't pleasant, win or lose. Turns out there's nothing anywhere near the arena, at least not that I could see beyond the vast parking lots, so I needn't have worried about sports bars.
I should have worried about the fans at the game, though, considering the woman next to me kept shrieking at an eardrum destroying volume for her team, booing mine, and calling Subban a diver. And the drunker she got, the louder she complained about hating Canadians. Not the Canadiens, Canadians, one of which I'm guessing she assumed me to be. Hopefully she didn't represent the rest of the team's supporters.
It is always possible that I'll run into superfans when I go to games, though, given that I always sit as close to the ice as I can manage. I don't see my team often, so I had might as well see them close up. Last night's seat was 3rd row in front of the face-off circle to Carey Price's left for 2 periods. I don't know if it's how the arena is set up, but it was the first time I've been close enough to the ice to get a chill. Not an excited chill, an actual chill. When the action came by, the speed of the skaters threw a cold wind up off the ice... a cold wind that smelled like sweaty hockey equipment. It reminded me of some of my first exposure to hockey, seeing a high school friend play in a tiny rink that was normally used for figure skating. In the seating area (2 or 3 bleachers), you had waist-high boards, no glass, and a stern warning to keep your eye on the puck. So last night's cold, slightly smelly breeze put me right back to those early days of falling in love with hockey, more than 20 years ago.
But I digress. The other nice thing about being close to the ice is that you notice so many things that you can't see from the higher up seats, and definitely not from television. Like how nice the players are to kids, taking time to talk to them, or give them sticks and pucks, even on TV timeouts during the game -- I've particularly seen Brandon Prust and PK Subban do a lot of it -- but how they pointedly ignore all of the adult fans shouting out for attention. In fact, most players rarely look directly at anyone on the other side of the glass, except Andrei Markov, who occasionally scans the faces in the crowd with a look of disdain, or at least the Russian severity he's known for. Or that when my hockey boyfriend Max Pacioretty is concentrating on the ice, he has his tongue out, wagging around like the kid in A Christmas Story trying to decode Annie's secret message. And that Carey Price, normally deadpan in interviews, has big dimples, which he shows constantly during time outs, grinning away chatting with teammates... as long as the game is going well. When it's not so great, the smile goes away. He goes to the bench for water, nobody says a word, then back to the crease.
And before you ask, yes I was also watching the game. It was a typically frustrating affair like Montreal's been putting up all season. They had one strong period, then spent the rest of the game letting Carolina have possession, playing sloppy defense, and leaving Price all alone in net to save their asses. Luckily he's one of the best goalies in the NHL, and a couple more of our goals went in than did theirs.
But it came out a win, and I was happy. All's well that ends in the W column, I guess.
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