The 59th in our 118-part series.
The First Warm Day of the Playoffs
Here in lovely Central New Jersey we’ve had a week of cool, Autumnal rainy days. It’s been refreshing, but in the back of our minds, the joy of thinking Fall is here has been tempered by the knowledge that it’s going to get hot and sticky and humid again very, very soon. As depressing as this is, it also reminds us of the beginning of the Playoffs and the giddiness inherent in that first April day that feels well and truly warm. While we hate Summer and everything it stands for, we’ve got no beef with Spring, often getting uncontrollable Spring Fever as early as December 31st. But that first warm day of the Playoffs signals more than just days getting longer and and trees getting greener — it means hockey is building to its frenzied finish. With the way the Devils have been playing since… well, since 2003, this should send us into the very depths of dismay, but who can’t help but feel like good times are coming when you can walk outside without a coat for the first time in months, warmed not only by the brighter-shining sun, but also by the knowledge that there’s a first-round night’s worth of playoff hockey waiting for you at home? The first warm day of the playoffs means enjoying getting the arena 90 minutes early, so as to sit outside reading a book before the doors officially open. It means reveling in all the space cleared up around your seats by not having to bring your bulky coat to the arena with you. It means rolling down the car windows to blast your new lucky playoff music. We here at IPB have a theory about Spring and how it relates to the Playoffs. The blooming flowers, the signing birds, the blue skies dotted with cheerfully puffy clouds — they all exist to calm us down from the nervous tension the Playoffs bring about. And they bring good cheer and soothing balm to those unfortunate souls whose teams didn’t make the cut. If the Playoffs happened in dreary January or February, none of us would survive to see the next season.
so as to sit outside reading a book before the doors officially open.
What?! Haha, I just can’t imagine any LA Kings fans doing that. You crack me up. What do you do during the game? Do you have a purse/bag big enough to hold your book or do you hold the book in your hands or do you just *gasp* put in on the ground?
We used to carry a book-sized purse, of course! I recall before one playoff game in ’97 reading aloud from the Iliad before skatearound, to the delight of a couple of middle-aged professorial types sitting in front of us (after listening to us reading for a few minutes — as we substituted Devils- and Rangers-specific names and hockey terms, of course — they turned around and were like, “Nice! The Fagles translation!”), and in 2003 The Count Of Monte Cristo was our lucky item. We felt like if it wasn’t there with us, the Devils weren’t going to win. And we read aloud from it on the lawn outside the box office entry… good times! (We would never put a book on the floor at our seats; that’s an invitation to get your book soaked with beer!)
Books go hand in hand with hockey games, especially at the arena.
I recall a road trip to an early season Habs game eons ago, where part of the mission was to deliver my brother’s left-at-home dictionary to him, as he was in Montreal for university.
Dictionary in hand outside the Forum, I crossed paths with then rookie Phil Housley, and acting as all was terribly normal, placed the Webster’s New Collegiate in his autograph strike-zone along with a pen and awaited consummation of the deed. Phil tried not to look too alarmed, and perhaps still not over the initial thrill of autograph seekers, he gamely obliged, thereby transforming said dictionary into an heirloom.
Voilà.
kdarc_OTT, that is an awesome story!
I know I’ve told this story a while ago here, but I’m telling it again, dammit! I went to the season ticket holders’ autograph session for the Devils when I was in college. My plan was to take the bus to the arena, and then get a ride home for the weekend, so I had all my assigned reading with me. I got in line for Neidermayers’ autograph and realized I had nothing for him to sign. I dug around in my bag and brought out the essay I needed to read for an honor’s theater studies course. So while the two puckbunnies in front of me in line got Neider’s guard up by giving him unwanted gifts (creepy!), I completely bewildered him by asking him to autograph “Witches, Women and War: Feminism in Shakespeare’s MacBeth”.
Now, I think if I knew I was going to an autograph session, I’d so bring one of the many volumes of my copy of the OED!
I completely bewildered him by asking him to autograph “Witches, Women and War: Feminism in Shakespeare’s MacBeth”.
Wow! It never occurred to me that choosing the right object for the signature could be the key to autograph seeking! I’m not going to lie, I wouldn’t mind you know, just once getting near to a few of my favorite Sabres, to see what they were like up close, but I just CANNOT imagine walking up to one of them for an autograph. Maaaybe at an actual autograph event, but I don’t think I could pull it off outside the arena, UNLESS I had a particularly amusing book. A dictionary is actually quite perfect. Or maybe a knitting book. Or a PIECE OF MUSIC. (Ooooh. I should get the Sabres to sign a copy of Sabre Dance for me!!!!) If I could throw him off guard with the thing he’s signing, I think I’d feel less embarrassed for some reason.
I find asking for autographs is mortifying, but having the autographs later is sort of fun. When we went to the All-Star Game in San Jose, we deliberately picked up some ridiculous stationery for autographs. So while everyone else was holding out hockey cards for guys to sign, we handed them tiny piece of brightly colored paper shaped like dinosaurs. That made it seem more fun.
Or a PIECE OF MUSIC. (Ooooh. I should get the Sabres to sign a copy of Sabre Dance for me!!!!)
That would be PERFECT!
And they’d recognize you as that violist from practice.
I’ve mentioned before that I had Philippe Boucher sign my Stars-logoed house key. I hate asking for autographs, too, but once I had that idea I looked forward to my chance.
My sister and I met little Niko Kapanen on the concourse at a Mavs game and had him sign a Mavs ticket for us. I think he was more surprised that we asked for an autograph. We seemed to be the only people that recognized him.
The one autograph I ever asked for was Dudley Moore. It was at the end of his life and he was really quite sick (I didn’t realize that when I approached him), but I think he really appreciated having a young woman ask him for his autograph (these were my young and spry days), so that experience ended up being very nice. But I just don’t know about asking athletes. I could do it at an autograph event because they by their very nature are embarrassing for everyone involved (at least they should be). I’m not going to lie, I’m sure that I would enjoy having the autographs later and like I said, I do want to stand close to Goose someday….you know….just for a second.
I like the tiny dinosaur papers! Did any of the players comment?
Or a PIECE OF MUSIC. (Ooooh. I should get the Sabres to sign a copy of Sabre Dance for me!!!!)
That would be PERFECT!
You know. That really would be perfect. I could have the Sabres sign it and over the years more and more generations of players would be on there. It’s perfect because I will be playing Sabre Dance for the rest of my life. The Sabre Dance is a major part of the orchestral repertoire.
Sadly, not a single player mentioned the dinosaur papers. The thing about asking athletes for autographs is that they’re just totally used to it. Depending on when and where you meet them, you don’t even have to say anything — you just thrust the paper and pen and them, they scribble, and the deed is done. It’s really a pretty depressing interaction, when you get down to it. Of course, there are also the times you meet them outside the standard autograph situations, and then you actually have to talk to them, which is just too scary to think about.
Katebits, I love the thought of you collecting Sabres autographs over the years on your Sabre Dance; we made a Devils collage before our first season-ticket autograph session, and had more and more players sign it the following years. Some of them were really literal, though, and insisted on squishing their autographs on the spot where their picture was instead of in the large blank space we left in the center for, duh, autographs.
Did you laminate the dinosaur autographs and make Christmas tree ornaments out of them? That’s what I would have done. :)
We mounted all the dinosaur autographs along with Mats Sundin’s roombill, sequined the whole thing, and framed it. Perhaps this weekend we should try scanning it…
Wha? So, how’d ya wind up with Mats Sundin’s roombill? Did he having any titillating room expenses? What color sequins?
Okay, I know we’ve told this story before… (wait, maybe just in the comments on HG’s blog…) Anyway, at the A-S Game in ’97 we were in a hotel with all the players, and on the morning we were all checking out, the hotel slipped everyone’s roombills under their doors with the names facing out. So we discovered, on our way down for breakfast, that Mats was right across the hall from us. So after we finished eating we spotted Mats, with luggage in tow, checking out. We got his autograph on a dinosaur, and then when we got back upstairs, the roombill was lying on the floor in the hallway. Figuring he was done with it, Boomer decided to pick it up (we spent a long time in our room, staring at the door, imagining the bill on the floor outside, giggling and trying to gather up the nerve to take it. Finally Boomer, exasperated, was like, “Oh for goodness sake,” and just darted out and grabbed it), and then we gave it the jewel-tone sequin treatment. There were no interesting charges on it, sadly. A local phone call or two, and a lunch that we happened to see delivered on the first day of the weekend. Perhaps in anticipation of us stealing his roombill, he kept his pee porn purchases to a minimum.
That. Is. Awesome.
I don’t think I could have handled myself in that hotel. I would have died from stress and excitement. And giggling. I mean….they were everywhere.
It is a miracle that I survived it. I mean, I was just in a constant state of trying not to explode from laughing so hard. It was 48 hours of saying to myself over and over, “Keep it together. Keep it together.” Because it wasn’t only hockey players — there were celebrities, too. I mean, Alex Trebek shouted at his kids not to run as we were all walking into a restaurant at the same time, and we felt like he was shouting at us. DB Sweeney didn’t know how to spell his name when we interrupted his conversation with some of the guys from ESPN to ask for his autograph. Matthew Perry was a few doors down from us, and when we walked past his room on check-out day, there were about 700 empty liquor, beer and champagne bottles outside his door (we were not at all surprised when, a few months later, he checked into rehab). It’s really true — it was wildly stressful all while being the BEST WEEKEND OF MY LIFE.
Oh, and you know what I love about mingling with hockey players (by “mingling” I mean “staying in the same hotel with them”, because Lord knows I’ll never mingle any more than that)? It’s not the autographs or the chance to speak to them, because I’m not really interested in either. It’s the anticipation. It is just endlessly, hilariously fun to think, every time you open your room door, that you might run into one of them. Every time the elevator door opens, who knows who’s going to be on the other side. Every trip through the lobby might mean spotting someone checking in or out. (And then you end up pondering, for hours and hours — or at least we do, because we have nothing better to think about — that these guys have credit cards. With their names on them.)
DB SWEENEY WAS THERE?!! Come ON! NO WAY.
The Sabres used to do a big carnival thing every preseason that was part autograph event but they do don’t do them anymore. We went my first year (I think it was the first) in Buffalo and it was fun. In retrospect, the highlight was meeting a fresh-faced rookie named Afinogenov who did not speak one lick on English.
It’s too bad they don’t do them anymore because the current team seems much more down-to-earth than some of those guys were. Hasek could only be bothered to show up for an hour and Peca was holding out.
In other news, I hate people, particularly the grocery buying people of the world. All the stupid asses in Buffalo got together and decided to bother me tonight.
(And then you end up pondering, for hours and hours — or at least we do, because we have nothing better to think about — that these guys have credit cards. With their names on them.i
Hee. You know, I am getting very excited about the hockey season (duh) because this year I am certain I will run into a bunch of Sabres around town. Buffalo is basically a small town. There is no hiding here. I mean, it’s only a matter of time…..and that’s FUCKING HILARIOUS. We have joked about me meeting Crunchy at the co-op, but the truth is, if he were to go to a hippie co-op, it would be MY hippie co-op. (And let’s face it, Crunchy needs a hippie co-op, right?) Again, hilarious. To me.
Sorry the grocery buying public sucks so hard, Heather! Maybe next time, Hank will swing through.
Kate, I’ll bet you’ll totally see a Sabre at some point because I know a lot of them do live and hang out down around you. I, unfortunately, seem to live in the wrong suburb because I’ve never heard of anyone seeing any of them around here.
Maybe next time, Hank will swing through.
I’m not sure I could handle that.
Some guys seem very approachable and I think I’d have no problem speaking to them. Some guys make me more nervous. Overall this teams comes across as fairly friendly though.
Katebits, it is no joke about Crunchy and the co-op. Oh yes, he will be there! Mark my words!
Heather, I’m so sorry the store sucked tonight. If it’s any help, I think something died in my bathroom sink drain while we were in New Orleans, because there suddenly seems to be a lot of insect life in my bathroom, and the drain’s really slow. Nasty, nasty, nasty. I don’t think that would have happened if I’d been anywhere other than New Orleans. (Or if my bathroom hadn’t been built by one of the DIY previous owners of IPB Manor; there are times I suspect it’s held together by paperclips and play-doh, for how much more of a crumbling wreck it is than the rest of our house.)
Well, yes your bathroom situation is worse, Schnookie. Atleast I can leave all the cranky people at work.
I don’t know — after working as a bank teller for a few years, and dealing with lots and lots of face-to-face, front-line customer service, I can say with no small confidence that I’d rather have little gnatty flies circling my bathroom sink drain than deal with shitty customers.
WordPress does not like me tonight either so I’m going to bed. See you guys tomorrow!
I love this reason. I would like to add to it, though:
Warm spring playoff hockey days also mean tailgating without freezing one’s tail off. And that alone is enough reason to love springtime hockey.
Also, springtime playoff hockey means hokey 90s alterna-rock cover bands like ANTS WITH ROCKETS (best band name ever) and cheesy radio-station endorsed shot-the-street-puck-at-the-plastic-thing-resembling-a-goal for lip balm and keychains! It’s nice to have that kind of congregation and semi-party-like atmosphere. Devils fans don’t really have somewhere to gather together en masse (well, maybe now in Newark we will), so I treasure those pre-game playoff festivities, cheap and cheesy though they may be.
‘Cause dammit, the Rangers don’t have Ants With Rockets. They belong to us.
Josh, you are SO RIGHT! I love the completely organic party atmosphere that would spring up at CAA with the unparalleled tailgating and all the dorky promotional crap the team brought in. It was just such a marked difference from regular-season games — as if just knowing it was the playoffs wasn’t enough, they made the energy at the games feel like that much more fun.
Of course, it merits mention here, as we celebrate Ants With Rockets, that we’re old-school here at IPB — we remember the good old days of the worst. band. ever. Dogvoices. Good times, people, good times.
OH MY GOD DOGVOICES.
They actually continue to exist as a cover band I believe. I’ve seen their name pop up every once in a while in bar advertisments.
Bands like that give me hope that if I could just find a drummer and bass player as delightfully nerdy as I, and if I just learned a handful more modern rock and classic rocks songs, that I too could be rocking out pre-Devils playoff game.
That would seriously be my highest musical asparation.
Josh, I think that’s the most admirable dream I’ve ever heard! If you ever do put together a dorktastic enough band, let us know so we can put the considerable influence and heft of IPB (HA!) behind making you guys the pre-playoff superstars you deserve to be!!