Adventures in the Cup Finals: Part 3

Sorry for the delay on this one, folks. I've been working for the man all week, training (again) with a bunch of ex-convicts and drug addicts so that I can sell local and long distance packages at Talk America. Don't worry, that story will appear here soon enough, it's worth telling. On with the show...

And now, join me as I conclude my journey through the Stanley Cup Finals...

So after game 6, I drove back to Gainesville the next day (Sunday) and got a grand total of three hours of sleep. I awoke at 8:30am on Monday and drove across town to work at the Wrights' Hallmark store since the manager was out of town. At noon, I made my way back to campus and took a test in my intro to psychology class...

...and then it was time to hit the road. A number of my friends got into this whole hockey thing, since it was all I talked about for the entire two months of the playoffs, so everybody was pretty excited for game 7. Brian made a trip up to Gainesville and rode with myself, Alex and Alex's sister Jackie on the two hour trek to Tampa.

We made it to the Forum by about 6:00 and met up with my 'rents and Fraser. Every fairweather fan and their mother decided to descend upon downtown Tampa, so we decided it best to watch the game at our old stomping grounds - Hattrick's. After all, I hadn't seen a loss there yet.

Disaster struck early. I ate before we left Gainesville and the combination of no sleep and shot nerves from the impending game 7 meant very little appetite. Fray wasn't even hungry enough to order his Reuben, and I could only eat half of my Cuban...

It's amazing how sports make everyone think every little thing they do affects the team.

Hattrick's was more crowded than any of us had ever seen. Putting a million people in a crammed shitty bar inevitably means disaster, so of course the toilets overflowed and poured out into the bar. And it wasn't even Fraser's fault this time.

Brian unsuspectingly made his way to the bathroom to realize it had turned into a wasteland. The manager was there and advised that he go behind the building to take a leak on the back wall. Classy place, as you can tell.

I was dehydrated as hell and was wearing long pants, a shirt, and a jersey, and the inside of the bar was about ten thousand degrees, so I damn near had a heatstroke before I took off my jersey and headed out for a breather in between periods. After the second period with a 2-0 lead, we decided to head down to the Forum to join the party. To prevent passing out and dying, I took off my jersey, doused my head with a water bottle, and put my hair up in a ponytail. It was at this point that I realized I was becoming a true Floridian redneck, wearing nothing but a plain white t-shirt, completely soaked in what a bystander would assume was sweat, with my ugly ass beard and a ponytail. All I needed was to own a Kid Rock album. If only I could get a tan.

Whoever organized the viewing party outside the Forum was a complete moron. They decided to use their own broadcast instead of ABC's cameras, and there was no score or time box available on the screen projected on the side of the parking garage wall. There we were, in the blazing heat, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with 50 thousand people in front of the Forum with no clue how much time was left in the game. Luckily, a kindly group of Mexicans behind us had a radio and supplied time updates whenever Dave Mishkin called them out in his broadcast.

A group of possibly homosexual frat boys in front of us decided it would be cool to get on each other's shoulders and yell stuff. Now I'm of the belief that it's okay to put a girl on your shoulders, but one shirtless guy holding up another shirtless guy is a bit too much.

But, as has been a recurring theme in these Stanley Cup stories, the beauty of sport brings together the most unlikely of friends. As we counted down the final seconds in the Lightning's 2-1 victory in unison with the Mexicans behind us with the radio to their ears, an assortment of hugs were in order.

Mexican radio listeners, guy who spilled his beer on me, shirtless homosexual frat guys, my father... they're not the type of people I usually give hugs to, but what can I say? I was in a good mood.

After squeezing the life out of everyone, it was party time. I damn near knocked the wind out of my dad after jumping on his unsuspecting back as we celebrated. Rick and the Chief were broadcasting live from in front of the Forum, and despite our best attempts to harass the Chief, he refused to acknowledge us. My parents fared better however. A few days later after the victory parade and rally at the Forum, they ran into the Chief at Hattrick's. My mom got to fulfill her lifelong goal of telling the Chief that he is "the sexiest man alive," while my dad talked to him for a good 30 minutes about hockey in general. While I'm disappointed I didn't get to witness that one, it's comforting to hear that he's as nice of a guy as he seems on TV.

As we made our way back to our vehicles after lingering around the Forum for awhile, we saw a number of buildings in downtown Tampa had arranged their office lights to look like Lightning bolts, and one building's lights spelled out "GO BOLTS." Very cool stuff.

The surely alcohol-fueled fans made their way home with their horns on their cars on full blast for the whole ride. A quick wave of the hand or scream while walking in front of a stop light ensured you a cacophony of assorted car honks.

And so we worked our way back to our cars for the long and happy trip back to Gainesville after one of the most fun nights of my life. As we crossed one street, we had an encounter with whom I still believe might very well have been Jarome Iginla's parents. We sat at a street corner with cars honking at us as a black man and a white woman wearing Calgary jerseys approached us and asked "Which way is the convention center?" The man had a thick African accent.

After I pointed them in the right direction, they thanked us and began to walk away. After they took a few steps off toward their destination, I grabbed their attention. "By the way," I said as they turned around to acknowledge me, "sorry."

The two of them stopped and then looked down at their Calgary jerseys before looking back up at me and laughing. "It's okay," said the African fellow. Whether they were truly his parents or not, I will say that Jarome represented them well.

Adventures in the Cup Finals: Part 2

And now, join me as we continue my journey through the Stanley Cup Finals…

So we left off after game 4, with the Reuben-Cuban combo back in effect. Game 5 was held during the week, so once again I was stuck in Gainesville and once again I watched with my good buddy Joe on his giant projector screen aimed at the wall at Jake’s place. After playing shitty the first two periods, the Bolts got their act together for the third and sent the game into overtime. Despite outplaying Calgary in OT, Tampa suffered a tough loss and the team found themselves headed back to Calgary down 3 games to 2. I, of course, found a chauffer for the night and drank myself into a hole of depression, because it’s what my heritage tells me I should do when confronted with depression.

And so it came down to game 6 – do or die. Andrew W.K. was playing the Masquerade on Friday and the game was on Saturday, so I made the trek home yet again for the fourth weekend in a row. After getting in my car, starting it up and feeling it randomly shake in a violent fashion, I got a call from my good buddy Troy who informed me that Andrew W.K. had cancelled that night’s show in Tampa. This is literally less than 10 seconds after I have started my car and felt the equivalent of a 7.0 on the Richter scale coming from the engine. The dialogue that followed went something like this:

Troy: "Neil, I just called the Masquerade, W.K. cancelled."
Me: "Mother fuck shit ass fuck. Fuck you."
Click

So no concert, but I still needed to get my car checked out, plus I was long overdue for an oil change. Might as well donate $60 to Halliburton and make the trip home.

Thankfully the problems were minor, and in the process I came to learn that my motor vehicle and I share a characteristic previously undiscovered: a few loose screws.

So Saturday night I made the trip to Hattrick’s in downtown Tampa with my parents and Fraser. The Reuben-Cuban combo was again in effect, but the hockey atmosphere was not. What could possibly destroy the hockey atmosphere at, of all places, a hockey bar?

Easy: a bunch of twenty-something washed-up ex-hipsters who are desperately trying to cling onto any remaining piece of coolness they might have.

And how do they do this, you ask? Apparently they heard that this "hockey" thing was "cool" and decided to show up at the coolest hockey bar in town and pound shots of liquor in celebration of someone’s birthday. In the process of this they decided it would be fun to stand in front of our table and block our view of all 800 TVs located in the bar. Mind you, they didn’t even glance at the TV once. God forbid they watch the game, or even worse, care about anyone else trying to view the game.

Since we got there early and fought for our table, and since there was no reason for these drunk losers to not be in their seats and out of our line of sight, we were understandably upset. And most of the group proved to be cooperative, but frequent pee breaks and a lack of short term memory kept them standing and forgetting that they were blocking our view. No problem, as long as they sat down when we asked them to.

Until one character decided he would try to impress the washed up club whores with fake tits sitting with his group of friends at the bar. The first overtime period was starting and I kindly tapped him on the shoulder and then pointed at the TV. He glanced at the TV and then nodded at me, as if to say, "Yeah, it’s a TV." Then he stood there.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

So I tapped him on the shoulder again. "Can you please sit down?" I asked.

"Why don’t you move, jerk?" he responded.

"Because there’s no more seats in the bar you dickhead," I said back politely.

He turned around and remained standing, while yelling to his friends to assure that I too could hear him "Assholes! If they want to watch the game so bad, why don’t they just stay at their house!"

As if the stress of possibly losing the Stanley Cup Finals at any moment in overtime wasn’t enough, I have this prick to deal with. Needless to say, I wasn’t calm. Thankfully, neither were my parents.

After sizing him up and realizing I was a good four inches taller than him, I decided he was just a pussy who wouldn’t have the balls to stand up for himself, and I could take his drunk ass in a fight. I contemplated dumping a cold beverage on his head, but decided it might be better to wait and provoke my first barfight until I was at least of the legal drinking age.

Not to mention with my luck he probably would have had a blackbelt in karate and sent me home with all four of my limbs up my ass. But I can speculate.

This is not to say, however, that my alcohol-fueled parents weren’t doing their part to get a brawl going. After a barrage of obscenities and insults on their behalf, I’m sure Mr. Tough Guy felt pretty accomplished in unleashing the rage of the oldest (and youngest, if you include Fraser and me) folks in the whole joint.

Apparently having a woman in her mid 50’s repeatedly tell you what a loser you are is at least somewhat effective in hurting the ego of a twenty-something who is desperately clinging onto whatever shreds of credibility he has within the "cool" community, as Mr. Tough Guy finally sat down and cooler heads prevailed.

But all was not bad at Hattrick’s in terms of the fans. I had the pleasure of meeting two guys from Boston who managed to get tickets to game 7 and flew down to Tampa for the weekend in hopes that there would be a game 7.

You think I’m a hockey fanatic? These guys were insane. They knew the names and specific stats of everyone on both teams – even guys that were on injured reserve the entire season and weren’t pulled up until the finals came around. And, as you would expect out of true Bostonians, their language could best be defined as off-color. As I was watching the game, I heard one of them say of Marty Cibak, who played only 8 games in the regular season:

"Fuckin’ Marty Cibak, that motherfucker, what a fuckin’ fuck that tough fuck is."

Truer words were never spoken by a Bruins fan.

I talked with one of them about Rick Peckham and "The Chief" Bobby Taylor, assuming they wouldn’t know them since they’re from Boston and Rick and the Chief are exclusive to Florida’s Sunshine Network. Come to find out they have a satellite feed so they can watch nationally unaired hockey games, and they watch the Lightning on Sunshine Network all the way up in Boston. How cool is that shit?

After assuring them multiple times that they could buy beer outside the Forum (where the game was also being shown), they left to watch the third period with the crowd down there, only to head back to Hattrick’s for overtime. Upon returning, one of them said to me "8 bucks for a beer? Fuck that. Crowd’s fuckin’ better here anyhow."

And so no one had any diarrhea shits, the Reuben-Cuban combo worked, and Marty St. Louis scored 33 seconds into the second overtime as we watched early into the next day in downtown Tampa.

The beauty of victory in professional sports brought us all together that night in that bar in ways that we would have never imagined only moments before. Surprisingly enough, I ended up hugging a number of the twenty-something jaded hipsters, even the guy who couldn’t stop making out with and groping the ass of his ugly girlfriend. After sharing hugs so tight they would have been considered homosexual in any other context with the Boston fellas, one of them earned the pleasure of receiving a noogie from my very own father.

You know, I don’t even think I’ve ever had a noogie from pops.

But the most sobering moment of the night, in terms of my sad existence, came from John’s friend Mike Karaphillis. John and Mike showed up at Hattrick’s just before overtime started; they missed the first three periods because they were at the Steriogram/Darkness concert in Clearwater. After the victory was sealed and a round of hugs and high-fives were in order, Mike looked at me, then turned to John and exclaimed "Look at him! Look at how happy he is! I don’t think I’ve ever seen Neil happy!"

Welcome to my life.

Adventures in the Cup Finals: Part 1

And now, join me as I recount my personal joys of the Stanley Cup Finals...

Having been stuck in Gainesville for the entire playoff run of the Lightning, I only made it to three Lightning games this year, including one playoff game against the Islanders. As my luck would have it, two of those three games I attended were pretty ugly losses. Regardless, when the Lightning made the Eastern Conference Finals against the Flyers, I made the trek home on weekends to watch the games in a more Lightning fan-friendly environment than Gainesville provides.

And so, the odyssey that is my Stanley Cup Finals experience begins with game 7 of the Eastern Conference Finals. After an improbable victory by the Flyers in game 6 that popularized the Lightning motto "Safe is Death," the Lightning were forced to come back home to Tampa for one more game and win it if they wanted to make it to the Stanley Cup. It was a Saturday night, and therefore I was home to watch the game with my parents and friends Fraser and John at an Irish hockey-themed bar named Hattrick’s in downtown Tampa.

This night spawned a multitude of good-luck traditions, most notably what later became coined as the "Reuben-Cuban Combo." That night at Hattrick’s, I indulged myself into a tasty hot-pressed Cuban sandwich, while Fraser enjoyed the Reuben. While my Cuban settled well, Fraser’s Reuben left him in the "hurt locker," as he chose to describe it later on to my very own mother. Classy. With his stomach rumbling about five minutes into the second period, Fray hit the stalls...

...and found himself in quite a conundrum. The bathroom at Hattrick’s is equipped with two stalls that come equipped with wooden boards behind them specifically for writing graffiti on. The handicapped stall had a full working toilet, but was missing a lock on the door. The other door came with a lockable door, but lacked a can that could dispose of the evidence, if you know what I mean.

Always a man more worried about his own security than the safety of others, Fraser dropped a diarrhea dump that can best be classified as a serious health hazard. The Lightning’s 2-1 victory was no doubt the biggest source of excitement on that Saturday night, but Fraser’s legendary shit (which caused him to miss a majority of the second period) served as quite the conversation piece for everyone both inside and out of the bathroom. As I waited in line to urinate, I heard one patron exclaim "Jesus Christ! You could clear out a whole country with that smell!" Another brave soul who was exiting the very stall used by Fraser announced "That’s the first time I’ve ever had to hold my breath while pissing."

It was nearly two hours after all this, however, when the game was over and the odor subsided, that the greatest source of entertainment in this debacle came in the simplest of manners. Most of the bar had cleared out and I went into the bathroom for one last piss before hitting the road, and a drunk bar patron stumbled into Fraser’s stall. As he let his alcohol-induced urine flow onto the watery fecal remnants of Fraser’s Reuben from hours ago, I heard him proclaim to no one but himself in his best Snoop Dogg impression: "Shiznit... in da toilet." Fo-shizzle, indeed.

What? Oh! The hockey game. That’s right. We won, and what soon followed that victory was a parade of hugs shared with drunk people whom I have never met. Never in my life had I had so many heterosexual man-hugs from random people, but little did I know that the worst (or best) was yet to come in that department.

The party raged on in downtown Tampa and we spilled out into the street. The festive environment was overflowing and everyone was in a great mood, of course, especially me. Stupidly not paying attention to my surroundings, I fork out a small amount of cash and hand it over to Fraser proclaiming "HERE, THIS MONEY IS FOR BEER!" Promptly after saying that, I turn to my immediate right to see my very own father standing next to me, watching our transaction take place. Unsure of how to deal with the situation, I let loose a giant grin and the whole group burst into a moment of collective uncomfortable laughter. Ahhh, the wonders of major sporting events.

And so the finals rolled around, Calgary vs. Tampa. We planned on getting tickets to game 2 of the series, but all the bandwagon-hoppers in Tampa bought tickets to all four home games within an hour of Saturday night’s victory. While we were celebrating, everyone else was doing the smart thing. Oh well, guess I’ve been spoiled with easily-accessible hockey tickets until now. Then again, I remember getting Bucs playoff tickets the day of the game awhile back also. Times have changed.

So I was in Gainesville for games 1 and 2, which I spent at my friend Jake’s place, watching on my friend Joe’s ridiculously expensive projector which provided as large of a hockey-watching experience as I could ask for within Jake’s apartment. Games 3 and 4 took place over an extended Memorial Day weekend, so I made the trip home with a few friends to catch the away games in Tampa. For game 3 we went to a rather boring and relatively quiet Beef O’Brady’s right across the street from the St. Pete Times Forum. I bought a Cuban and Fray a Reuben, but alas, it was not to be. The bread on my Cuban was stale and dry and there was no mustard. Who the fuck doesn’t put mustard on a Cuban?

So we decided that the Reuben-Cuban Combo was only in effect at Hattrick’s, and thus game 4 was spent back at our point of origin with the one and only hurt locker meal. And lo and behold, the Lightning tied the series up with a 1-0 victory in the fourth game. But no nasty shits this time. Just some bad gas on my part.

And so we drove home that night all the way back to Gainesville, with the victory fresh on our mind, and my rampant farting fresh in the nostrils of my passengers.

And so, for now, I will leave you with a picture of this small boy who undoubtedly has been abused by his parents.



More to come...

Whatcha gonna do, brother?!



Although I'm sure it pains the great Bret 'The Hitman' Hart, a Calgary native, the Tampa Bay Lightning are indeed the Stanley Cup Champions. Fear the 24 inch pythons, brother!

Since the few photos I put up yesterday were merely hours after the celebration, they were of relatively low quality. In order to make up for that, and because I'm a nice guy, I've decided to upload some high-quality shots of the festivities. Enjoy the bandwidth leeching.

High quality images from game 7 of the Stanley Cup Finals

Of course, as promised, the full recap of my Stanley Cup experience for entire whole round will appear in this space soon. Stay tuned, brother!

Tampa Bay Lightning: Stanley Cup Champions









Of all the things I ever thought I'd witness, this is one I thought would never come to be. Through all the years of shitty hockey I've witnessed and stayed loyal in Tampa, I can honestly say, no one deserves this more than this team.

As for me? In the last 48 hours, I've driven nearly 500 miles, I've slept less than 5 hours, and I've damn near had heatstroke and a heart attack. And I've never been happier.

Thoughts, reflections, and a recap of what the fuck I was doing for all the games (near-death experiences and conflicts with bar patrons included) soon to come.

For now, let it all sink in and enjoy the moment.

Stanley Cup Finals: Game 6

It ain't over 'til it's over. And it ain't over.

The Tampa Bay Lightning took it into overtime and ex-Calgary Flame castaway Martin St. Louis scored 33 seconds into the second overtime as the Lightning tied the Stanley Cup Finals at three games apiece and forced a game 7.

The Lightning also improved their record to 31 wins, 0 losses, and 2 ties when Brad Richards scores a goal. Richards had two goals in the second period in the 3-2 win over Calgary.

Calgary struck back following both of the Lightning's goals in the game, but the Bolts never trailed. There has not been a lead change in any game in this series thus far.

Calgary was inches away (and possibly not even) with roughly 6 minutes left in the third period as a puck bounced off Marty Gelina's skate in the crease and was stopped by Khabibulin possibly on, possibly over the red line. The play was apparently reviewed and there was not enough conclusive evidence to prove that the puck entirely crossed the goal line. ABC provided a zoom from an angle on the play that made it look as though the puck may have crossed the line, but the blurriness of the zoom also made it seem as though the puck could have been standing on end still on the red line.

Daryl Sutter, who previously attempted to fire up his team by claiming the NHL was out to make sure Canada didn't win the Cup following the suspension of Niemenen, surprisingly did not jump on the call. Instead, Sutter agreed with the call, saying "It's got to be conclusive."

And so it all comes down to one game, one night, and one winner will walk away with the Cup. Forget what happened in the first six games of this series. As the past two games have come to show, it's all down to the wire, and both teams will be on their A game for the big finale. It's Calgary, carrying the pride of Canada on the shoulders of the best player in the world, Jarome Iginla, against Tampa Bay, trying to destroy the legacy of a losing team and city and win it for Dave Andreychuk, who has played more games without winning the cup than any other player in NHL history.

What's unfolding here is one of the most exciting, competitive, and unpredictable Stanley Cup Finals of all time. If you can't get excited about this, there is something wrong with you. Two of the lowest paid, hardest working teams in the NHL trying to accomplish what was seen only weeks ago as simply impossible. Forget David and Goliath, this is David vs. David. The Goliaths were slain long ago.

One game, one chance, one winner. One champion.

Game 7. Monday, 8pm. Tampa.

Stanley Cup Finals: Game 5

The speedy Oleg Saprykin picked up a rebound off a shot by Jarome Iginla and put it past Nikolai Khabibulin for the 3-2 overtime winner in game 5 of the Stanley Cup Finals.

The goal put the Flames ahead 3-2 in the series and gives them the chance to win the Cup at home on Saturday in game 6 in Calgary. The Lightning, on the other hand, will be fighting for their lives, looking to force a game 7 in Tampa, which would be on Monday.

Calgary has won close game 5's in their last two series against Detroit and San Jose. Both game 5's sent the series back to Calgary where the Flames wrapped it up on home ice. The only series that went to 7 games for the Flames was against Vancouver in the first round after Vancouver won game 6 in triple overtime.

Anyhow, I'm too depressed to analyze this any further. Do or die on Saturday. Go Bolts!

Stanley Cup Update: Niemenen Suspended

The NHL reviewed Villie Niemenen's boarding penalty on Lecavalier from game 4 of the Stanley Cup Finals and decided to suspend Niemenen for game 5 as a result of his actions.

Said NHL Executive Vice President and Director of Hockey Operations Colin Campbell regarding the decision: "Nieminen used his forearm to deliver a forceful hit from behind to the head of his opponent. This hit was more severe than any of the other plays that were brought to our attention during the Final. This was a hit that clearly crossed the line and was directed at the head. Even if Lecavalier is able to play in Game #5, this type of hit must be subject to supplemental discipline."

Since Niemenen was already suspended this postseason for an infraction against Detroit in the Western Conference Semifinals, he is considered a "repeat offender," which no doubt had an impact on the NHL's decision.

Good for the NHL. Niemenen's actions were over the line. Slamming someone headfirst into the boards is dangerous and has resulted in a number of life-threatening injuries on multiple players. There's a reason that the call is in the books, and the refs did the right move in calling it, as did the NHL in suspending Niemenen to send a message to both teams that this sort of shit will not be tolerated.

This has already become one of the more nasty Stanley Cup Finals in recent history, with the most fights in nearly 20 years, and we're only four games into the series. The NHL had to do something to keep things under control, and they did it.

Shame on Flames coach Daryl Sutter for saying the penalty would have been only 2 minutes if Vinny hadn't sold it.

Said Sutter: "Definitely a penalty. It's a two-minute penalty. It's called a five-minute penalty because they react to the player going down."

Apparently Vinny's busted-open head wasn't enough for Sutter to consider it a five-minute major.

As for Niemenen, he's an asshole. When you're down by a goal and the momentum is in your team's favor with five minutes left in the game, a major boarding penalty is the worst thing you can possibly do. Sutter shouldn't be complaining about the officiating, he should be scolding Niemenen for costing his team the opportunity to tie up game 4.

Stanley Cup Finals: Game 4

Brad Richards continued his winning streak when he scores a goal and the Lightning tied up the Stanley Cup Finals at two games apiece to make it a best of three series.

Richards also set a new NHL record with his seventh game winning goal of the playoff season. Richards' one goal on a two man advantage early in the first period was all it took as the Lightning hung on to their 1-0 lead for nearly three whole periods to take the win in Calgary.

The Lightning kept the pressure up even though they were outshot for the first time in this series. Calgary had more scoring opportunities than Tampa, but an outstanding game by Nikolai Khabibulin kept the Bolts on top. Not to undermine the game played by Kiprusoff, who kept the Flames in it after the early goal.

Richards didn't have the only record setting night, however. In game 3, Kiprosoff's shutout gave him a record-tying 5th shutout of this playoff year. Tonight's shutout for Khabibulin gave him his fifth shutout also, putting both goaltenders in the same category. Do goalies get more evenly matched?

The Flames were surging late in the third with under five minutes to go, but an unnecessary boarding penalty by Ville Nieminen got him a five minute major and put Calgary down by a man for the last four and a half minutes.

With the series now tied, both teams get a two day rest before playing in Tampa on Thursday in the ever-crucial game 5. Will Calgary continue their strong play on the road? Will Tampa crack an 11 game win/loss pattern streak? This is where things get interesting.