IPB Reviews the Rock

Gentle Reader, you may remember that when the season began and the new, sparkling gem of an arena was all the talk in Devilsdom, our official stance was that Continental Airlines Arena was unfairly maligned and would be terribly missed. CAA was an arena tailor-made for curmudgeons like us who show up for the game, go straight to our seats and watch the game without ever getting up to spend too much money on nasty food; the arena experience should be about the game, we said, not about entertainment! As stellar review after stellar review came in about the Rock’s luxurious feel, its unusually-succulent-for-an-arena food, and its state-of-the-art technology, we grumbled and rolled our eyes. That, we sniffed, is not what an arena is all about. It’s about the team, the fans, and the history between the two, not about Cuban sandwiches and plug-and-play Jumbotrons!

So this summer when our friend and former season-ticket buddy Morgan offered us the chance to take a weekend game off his hands, we agreed, figuring we couldn’t exactly blog about the Devils without seeing the new digs. Gluttons for punishment, we picked a game against the Carolina Hurricanes knowing full well we’d never seen the Devils play a good game against Hartford or Carolina. We trundled out of the house yesterday a 5 o’clock girded for a bothersome train-ride, a glitzy arena that paid nothing but lip-service to those things we love best about being fans, and most of all, a god-awful game. We were ready for pretty much everything — except what actually happened. And never ones to pass up the opportunity to do a photo essay, we documented every step of our trip.

First things first, we had to get suited up. Pookie’s Paulie Martin sweater, already proven lucky on the road (in Pittsburgh in October), was getting its first taste of home Devils hockey. And we’re always happy to get to break out Schnookie’s Pando Tent, with its charming personalized autograph:

It almost seems as if Pando ran out of room writing “Go Shazam Dogs” because he wasn’t familiar with the term “Shazam Dog”. Please, Pando, we know that’s what you call the Terriers. You don’t have to hide it from us.

The next step was going to scenic Princeton Junction train station. Our family moved to NJ 22 years ago and in the decades since, we’ve made many a trip to New York, but Newark? Never! Sure it was the same train on the same track, for some reason following the sign for “Trains to Newark” seemed like a wholly new, exotic adventure!

The curmudgeons in us couldn’t help but complain vociferously over the astronomical cost of the train tickets:

$29?! Sure that was less than we would have paid for gas and parking, but still, we couldn’t but help but groan that there was no way seeing the Devils lose by at least 3 goals was going to be worth those 29 precious dollars. But our frowns were soon replaced by gaping jaws as the train pulled up to the platform. In those 22 years we’d been riding NJ Transit to NYC, we’d only ever seen old school train cars with busted up brown benchseats and scuzzy metal luggage racks.

The train that pulled up this time was a super-modern double-decker train, all gleaming chrome and sleek lines. As we climbed aboard and marveled at the rows of clean, powder-blue seats on two levels we probably looked like we’d never seen a train before in our lives. Considering how the brains behind the Prudential Center seem to be trying to be single-handedly make trains sexy again, this was only apropos. After realizing that our enthusiasm for the novelty of sitting on the top level wasn’t taking into consideration the sea-sickness inducing swaying of the tall train car, we scurried down the stairs to claim seats in the more stable though considerably less exciting lower level. Being the types of people who returned from 2 weeks in Europe with no pictures of famous landmarks and 100 snapshots of ducks, we couldn’t resist snapping a shot of the stairs. On the train. Stairs on a train!

While Pookie marveled at the stairs, Schnookie sat in awe at the shiny silver coat hook above every seat. “This coat hook,” she said, “is surely going to be the most exciting thing about this whole trip.”

(Those of you who’ve ever taken NJT can understand how surprising and overwhelming a new train car can be.)

At some point between New Brunswick at the next stop (Metuchen, Rahway, Edison — they’re all the same to us Central Jersey girls) Schnookie snarked, “Gosh, look at all the other Devils fans on the train with us!”

For all we’d heard Vanderbeek’s stories of trainloads full of fans taking mass-transit to games we were expecting a sea of red and black. And there we were, the only ones in sight. The first of many doubts we had about how great the new arena was proven right. “HA!” said our cranky little hearts. And then we noticed the next load of passengers were climbing aboard and nearly half of them were wearing sweaters and hats and jackets all bedecked in Devils logos. Oops. Our bad! OK, so, fine, there are other Devils fans in NJ, and they happened to be on the train with us. Big deal! Then we pulled into Newark Penn Station and discovered that a good 40% of the passengers on the entire train were Devils fans going to the arena. Huh. Well… Um… Fine! We were wrong to snark! It turns out mass transit is a fantastic way to get to the game and lots of fans know it!

Brainiacs to our very core, we didn’t bother finding out how to get from the train station to the arena, figuring we’d just follow the throngs to the Rock. Turns out the throng we chose was tinier than we thought at first and seemed to be comprised of people who had found a sneaky short-cut through an office building that looked eerily like it could hold Stephen Glass’s fictional hackers conference from Shattered Glass. Wandering through a labyrinth of nearly abandoned hallways we’d be lying if we didn’t get a little worried about how we’d ever find our way back after the game. Schnookie then suggested that maybe that wouldn’t be a problem because we’d never get to the game at all — we’d instead follow these decoy fans straight into a drug deal. Obviously we’d been reading too much Barry Melrose because one moment later we were out on the street and gazing at the, well, sparkling gem that is the new arena.

The streets were cordoned off and friendly policemen and -women were sprinkled liberally around. We felt more in danger wandering around the arenas in Phoenix and LA (and of course, Philly) than we did the area between the train station and the arena. So Barry Melrose can suck it. From the street, the arena was stunning, all lit up and buzzing with fans. The brightly lit glass cylinder was a tremendously welcoming entrance (no more wandering from identical bland gate to identical bland gate) and the security lines were speedy and painless. Once inside we took a depth breath and prepared to start finding fault.

One of the things we’ve scoffed at during this season-long Rock lovefest is the “it’s like a museum with all this great artwork!” — cut to shot of some lame attempt at photorealism depicting a figure that looks vaguely like Ken Daneyko. Former art history majors, we thumb our noses at bland public artworks. So imagine our surprise when we noticed, tucked in a corner on a wall high above the escalator from the box office to the main level, a delightfully wonderful painting of Devils logos done in an abstract, playful style. Agreeing that we’d love to have it hanging in our living room, we took a quick moment to admire the work.

Zipping up to the next escalator we noticed another eye-catching painting:

So we said the building would be completely 100% devoid of the wonder and joy of being a fan. We were wrong. The two paintings, stuck in corners and on walls neglected by every other arena designer whose work we’d ever visited, spoke directly to the giddy part of a fan’s soul who can’t help but be like the kid in front of us in line who couldn’t stop bouncing he was so thrilled to be seeing a Devils game. But that’s just two little old paintings, we told ourselves. Surely the rest of the arena will be a soulless hunk of corporate glitz and overpriced bland food courts, right?

Wrong. While we only zipped past the food stands we couldn’t help but notice there were tons of tasty-sounding beers on tap and plenty of choices for edible products rather than the watery Bud Light and “edible” products CAA had to offer. We’re sure the food stands were overpriced, but they weren’t the only focal point in the concourse. Take the pattern on the floor, for example, where stripes of red and black terrazzo imbued the concourse with a subtle “Devilness”. Being card-carrying Uni Watchers, we’ve noticed how corporate sponsorship affects teams, like the Toronto Blue Jays having their signature blue slowly replaced by Rogers red, or the Atlanta Thrashers being branded “Blueland” in response to Phillips. We’ve also noticed how the Prudential logo on the exterior of the building is black, not blue, and that the Prudential ads that run during Devils games are red and black — Prudential’s signature blue is nowhere to be found. This building, we had to admit, has Devils written all over it. Almost literally!

Greg Wyshynski pointed this out in his Rock review on FanHouse; he specifically mentioned the Devils logo etched on the urinals as proof that the new arena was built for Devils fans. We didn’t scope out the ladies rooms to see if similar details are to be found there (we’re fairly sure each one has a marble bust honoring a different member of the Hot Devils Hall of Fame) but we have to agree. Every detail of the exterior and concourse felt like its sole purpose was to make Devils fans proud of the organization they fell in love with. Our hearts may have swelled with pride at this, but the arena still had some major hurdles to overcome. CAA was home to all our history with the team. Surely those years we spent at the dingy old barn were left behind, snubbed in favor of flashing LCDs and HD Jumbotron features.

Not so. Not so. Racing around the concourse to find our seats before the opening face-off we were stopped in our tracks. The concourse was designed with a few breaks in the ring of food stalls and bathrooms that allow for a sweeping view across the arena. The one we were at happened to be directly under the banners for Scotty’s and Dano’s retired numbers. We tried to take a picture but it didn’t do justice for how close the banners felt. It was almost as if you could reach out and touch them. We couldn’t help but be awed by the banners, but also by how the arena was designed with such care to make it so that fans could feel so close to the retired players. Neither Scotty nor Dano will ever take the ice at the Rock, but there was something to this vista that suggested the building deferred to them, saying, “Without you, this team wouldn’t be what it is, and without this team, this building wouldn’t stand here.”

(The view of the banners from our seats did photograph well; here are #3 and #4 is all their Devil glory.)

OK, fine, so the retired numbers were honored well, but what about the game experience? We were fairly confident we’d be longing for the good old days of CAA pretty much the minute we sat down. Or… not. Morgan’s seats are fantastic.

Just a few rows from the back of the end zone behind the attacking goal in the 1st and 3rd, the seats were perched almost on top of the ice. We were in the upper deck but felt closer to the action than almost ever before. We were so charmed by the arena at this point that we almost felt bad complaining that the seats were insanely narrow and that the people a few seats closer into the curve of the arena bowl had almost negative leg-room. Even the hated LCD screens were unobtrusive and used to good effect. What on Earth could we complain about? Well, how about the fact that there was plenty of room above the swath of Division and Conference Championship banners for the old clown banner from CAA (we know you Devils fans know what we’re talking about — don’t try to pretend you’ve forgotten the clown banner already).

The Stanley Cup banners were hung with care directly above our seats and thus didn’t make a very good photograph. But they were there. When we first heard there’d be a new arena we were sure it wouldn’t feel like the Devils arena. It would feel like something different and totally removed from our Devils experience. The banners, though, looked right at home, emanating the Devils’ storied history with dignity and aplomb. And style, of course. Those banners are just about the most beautiful thing on Earth this side of the Cup itself. Shut up! They are! In fact, they’re so beautiful we took a photograph anyway.

The banners weren’t the only thing that made the move from East Rutherford to Newark. For these olde-tymey denizens of Section 227, it felt like a little piece of home to discover the 228 Crazies were just a few sections away from our seats. Hearing them lead the heartwarming “Rangers Suck” chant and recreating the classic Mike Miller radio call brought a tear to our eyes.

And of course, what’s a Devils game without Score-O, the only acceptable non-Mites-on-Ice intermission entertainment? If we’d been worried that the Devils would go all glitzy sumo-suits and tricycle races on us, we were relieved to see the same old low-key Score-O trotted out for the second.

The fact remained, though, that we were not there to gawk at a fancy new arena. We were there to see the Devils lose by at least three to Carolina. So why was Whitey opening the scoring a few minutes in? And why was Paulie adding another? And wait, was that… ODUYA?!? And Zubrus?! Four goals. In the first! Wha-huh?!? It seemed our boys were very, very happy to see us again. PandoNation was treated to a goal (his second in two games), and we were there to snap an awesome picture of his celebration at the bench:

Seriously, where would you be without our excellence in photojournalism?

He added an assist, good for Second Star:

(We swear that’s Pando skating out as the Second Star.)

PaulieMartinNation was treated to Paulie’s first ever 2-goal game, good for First Star:

(And yes, that’s Paulie.)

Well, that was certainly more exciting than the coat hook on the train and certainly worth the $29 train tickets!

The fact that we caught the early train by a hair and didn’t have to stand in Newark Penn Station for forty minutes meant we arrived back at stately IPB Manor with nothing but glowing memories of a, dare we call it, pleasantly surprising field trip to the Prudential Center.

Gentle Reader, we’ve seen our fair share of hockey arenas from the old and decrepit (the Igloo, the Spectrum, Nassau Coliseum) to the brand-spanking new (Staples Center, MCI, FU Center on its opening night). Last night marked the 18th building we’ve visited. While plenty of arenas have had little touches we’ve loved — the vestibule at HSBC, the swank marble floors of the Ponda, the sight lines in Philly — the Rock is, hands down, the nicest, most beautiful, most fan-centric arena we’ve ever seen. Le Courbusier once said, “”You employ stone, wood, and concrete, and with these materials you build houses and palaces: that is construction. Ingenuity is at work. But suddenly you touch my heart, you do me good. I am happy and I say: ‘This is beautiful. That is Architecture. Art enters in…’” Every other building we’ve been in has been construction. The Rock? Architecture for the fan. It made us happy to be Devils fans. Going in hoping to find fault, we found the future of our team.

Also making us happy? Hand-held internet devices. Dude. Posting to IPB from a game? Emailing our buds about how sick we are of hearing about Ovechkin from the train?! Leaving comments about Devils goals as we’re blasted by the arena loudspeakers?!? Yes, Gentle Reader, the real star of this evening was the iPhone, in all its IPB-enabling glory.