Happy to be there

By the time I was back in the rocking chair with a beer and watching the replay of the game on Time Warner Sports, I was a little sad.

End of winter? I'll mark that with a smile.

Coming down from the high of screaming along with 21,000+ mostly upstaters as a man parachuted to center ice to the theme from Rocky? Maybe.

But I don't think that's it.

I think I was a little sad because I was tired, and because the AHL's first-ever outdoor game was perfectly emblematic of the AHL I grew up with, perfectly emblematic of the cities that truly speak to the AHL's history, and perfectly emblematic of everything I love about hockey. And some of the things I don't.

It was ugly as piss. And it was everything we could have hoped for.

The New York State Fairgrounds is a gravel-strewn conglomeration of drab, utilitarian buildings bordered on one side by highway ramps, on another side by a nearly depopulated borderline city neighborhood, and marked at the entrance by a sign for Crucible Steel, a historic polluter that destroyed nearby Onondaga Lake.

We walked through and around the whole thing on our way into the game. Snow mounds, slush puddles, broken roads, tailgating fans, beer cans, piles of scrap metal, and finally, the gravel road to the dirt track grandstand.

I live outside of all of this, in a little place called Tully, where the natives have an Ice Harvest Festival and play very well at being the kind of town Garrison Keillor could adopt as his home and exploit for professors and professional students the world over.

But I am from Binghamton, which fittingly provided the opponent for the outdoor game, and which knows ugly and forgotten. Not all of it, of course, just like Syracuse, but enough that if you grow up with your eyes even partially open, you will have an understanding of the most powerful of the community-destroying effects of the global economy.

So that was there. The long dreary moan.

But there was also this.


I'm going to refer to him only as Ray Fucking Maynard, because he provided what has to be the sort-of sporting highlight of the year: Landing his USA parachute at almost-center ice to the partying roar of 21,000+ fall-drown drunks, Camaro-driving white sneaker-wearing AHL lifers, and all in all happy as fuck hockey fans. And he did it to this.



Ray Fucking Maynard.

You can dig around a little for a game recap and other analysis including the passionate booing given to Gov. Paterson, the early rock 'em sock 'em fight between Mirasty and Yablonski, and the "it was so cool" quotes from players.



But here, you get the cheese doodle guy.


And you get us with Bobby Nystrom.

The Rev. on the left, a four-time Cup winner in the middle, and Mr. Bad Example on the right

And you get us standing 10 feet from the boards, taking advantage of a clear lapse of security/planning, smelling skank fucking ass weed and hanging out with the drunkest of the drunk.

It was fun. Kick ass classic rock and canadian beer fun. There have been a few complaints (very few) about the drunks (we didn't see any fights and everyone actually seemed as jovial as could be considering some of them had been tailgating since the wee hours) and the parking (it was shitty, but so what? We walked a little, it kept us warm), but overall the reception has been glowing and grand. As it should be.

It's already taken on a sort of "you were there?" quality, not surprising because things like this don't happen often enough up here (Syracuse hoops doesn't count, mostly because, well, it's basketball). And I'm happy I was there.



I'm happy I can tell people about walking through the dirt track tunnels on the way back to the car, watching drunks and not-so-drunks falling on a sheet of uneven ice in the dark and then climbing up stepped-on, uneven mounds of snow to get out of the tunnel.

I'm happy I was there when a "security" person told the crowd we were standing with to "get off the platform," to which one reveler said "no comprende," and the security guy, who looked like an extra from Fargo, proceeded to re-deliver his instructions in four languages. Here in Internet land I believe we say "win."

I'm happy I was there to see it. I saw a few people I knew from high school. I saw a few people on the verge of hypothermia. I saw Bobby Nystrom. I saw the best fight I've ever seen. I saw a big ass hockey party bringing some happiness to the middle of February in one of the most depressing physical settings on the non-warring, non-Third World earth.

I'm glad I saw it all. And now I think I'm ready for spring.

The Great Outdoors

It takes a special kind of person to want to spend a winter afternoon in central New York watching a minor-league hockey game at a state fairgrounds. Lucky for you, the Reverend Zamboni and Mr. Bad Example are special kinds of people. And, so, here are some of the sights and, as a special bonus to you, Faithful Reader (and we use that not as an all-encompassing term, but as an actual description of the one person still likely reading this blog), some words to describe the sights of the Mirabito AHL Outdoor Classic between the Syracuse Crunch and the Binghamton Senators.

After an attempt to sidestep the lines for parking, a subsequent detour through scenic Solvay, NY, and our eventual decamping in a less busy though significantly less close parking lot on the New York State Fairgrounds, we headed into the game around noon, picking up our complimentary Outdoor Classic towels as we entered. We soon checked out our seats for the day.



Not too shabby for $30. For $30, I imagine I could have sat on the sidewalk at the House of Blues and listened to the NHL Winter Classic at Fenway, so this wasn't bad at all. We hung around the seats long enough to throw a blanket down and then went to soak in some atmosphere on the ground level. Soon after we got down there, the glass behind the goal shattered during warmups.



It didn't look like anyone got a glass shower, but there was no time to confirm, because I needed my picture on the Ice Throne. So I, a 33-year-old man, queued up behind a group of children to ascend the Ice Throne. They could've sped things up, but I think it was worth the wait.



After our Star Time with Bobby Nystrom, we were turned away from cutting through the VIP area to get to the other end of the ice (where the hot tub was...no kidding), so we headed back to our seats. The start of the game was delayed a bit as they replaced the glass, but soon the pomp and circumstance began. Special guests (including Nystrom and former Sabres Danny Gare and Rob Ray) were introduced and then the mike was handed to Governor David Paterson who, judging by the crowd reaction, might want to rethink his upcoming gubernatorial campaign. I have heard politicians booed before, but, good lord, never with such passion. He aint my governor (we've got our own problems in Jersey), but based on the interview I saw on the game telecast later that night, in which he said he grew up watching the Islanders win the cups and, then, "nothing much has happened there since" (or something like that), I'll boo him the next time I see him, too.



Once the puck was dropped, we realized that it was a bit of a struggle to see the ice, particularly on the near-side boards. So we looked around for better vantage points. Then we were interrupted by this:



Even the linesman loved it.

At the first TV timeout (and after Alexandre Picard's goal for the Crunch), we moved to the general admission bleachers, which were a potential-lawsuit-safe distance away from the ice, which meant they were practically in Auburn (shoutout to Prison City). But at least we could see more of the ice now. Of course, it's hard to focus on the game when the guy in front of you is wearing a hat and jacket covered with Cheez Doodles. You will only find that sort of lunatic at an outdoor game in central New York, where the people are a special kind of crazy that is rarely seen in the rest of the human race.

Since we were pretty far away from the ice, I went on a reconnaissance mission to see what the situation by the boards was. As near as we could figure, no one anticipated that, if you left the area around the boards unimpeded by any sort of barricade, people would just park themselves right on the glass to watch the game. But they did. And so we did for the entire second and third period.





Despite the brisk winds, most of the crowd stayed until the bitter end, watching the hometown Crunch take a 2-1 victory. They were rewarded by being given the opportunity (or perhaps just taking the opportunity) to walk out with boxes of the giveaway Dunkin' Donuts plastic cups as they headed back to their cars. The final entertainment of the day was the Great Slip and Fall that took place in the tunnel that was on the way to the parking lot. We saw about five people go down hard (and a bunch more come close) amid a constant chorus of "Whoa!"s from the drunken hockey lovers of central New York. I probably would've paid $30 just to watch that. (So you don't think I'm completely heartless, everyone that hit the ground--including the guy behind us who turfed out with a sickening thud--bounced right back up. Here's to the resilience of the hockey fan! And the numbing effects of alcohol!)



So, for $30 plus fees, we got to hang with Bobby Nystrom for a few minutes, see a skydiver brave the Syracuse winds to drop onto the rink, watch two-thirds of a pretty competitive AHL game about ten feet from the ice, see an awesome hockey fight, and watch drunk people fall down. Plus my body didn't start shaking involuntarily from the cold at any point (that Inauguration 2008 training came in handy).

A pretty damn good day. And another reason why hockey (and the AHL) kicks ass.

Hold on, we're comin'

We've got jobs and things to do (and I had to go to a Sam Moore concert last night), but one or both of us will get something extensive up about the Outdoor Classic by Tuesday. A brief summary to whet the appetite:

*It was cold.

*We got our picture taken with Bobby Nystrom.

*We watched most of the game standing about 10 feet away from the glass.

*We watched some of the game behind a guy wearing a hat and jacket covered artistically with Cheez Doodles.

*People really don't like Governor David Paterson.

More to follow...

Let it snow...

Come and shake the hands of two actual Palm Isle bloggers at tomorrow's AHL Outdoor Classic at the New York State Fairgrounds in Syracuse. Of course, our hands may be frozen solid, but we'll try nodding our heads in your general direction. We'll be in Grandstand 4, Row RR, or maybe taking a dip in the hot tub with Bob Nystrom and Rob Ray.

Full report sometime soon after the game. Or at least soon-ish.

Dr. Hook and the Mitch Fritz Show

Upon visiting the Bridgeport Sound Tigers' website last week, I saw that Paul D'Amato, a/k/a Tim "Dr. Hook" McCracken of "Slap Shot" fame, was due to appear at that Saturday's Sound Tigers game to sign autographs. I quickly sent out an e-mail to The Mediocre One, as well as two lowercase mediocre ones (or, as they are also known, Rangers fans) to gauge interest in a trip to Bridgeport. I'd been itching to get to a Sound Tigers game, since I hadn't been yet this season, and this seemed like as good an occasion as any, even if it meant missing a dual-accordion concert in Brooklyn featuring an alumnus from the Official Palm Isle Alma Mater.

Not surprisingly, the Mediocre One was the only one to jump at the opportunity; I can only assume the Rangers fans were home baking muffins for their hero. So, after a brief flirtation with going to see Mr. D'Amato (along with Chris "Hanrahan" Murney and Andy "Tim Carr" Duncan) at the Coliseum on Thursday (which turned out to be a double-super-secret appearance not promoted or even really encouraged by the Islanders), we were off to Bridgeport to see Mitch Fritz's Sound Tigers take on the Wilkes-Barre/Scranton Penguins in a battle for second place in the East.


The Mediocre One picked me up in Woodside, where I'd arrived from Philadelphia after a Friday night Jason Isbell concert, and we headed for I-95. The Mediocre One is easily a bigger "Slap Shot" fan than I (I'm a "Slap Shot 2" kind of guy...I keed), and he and the Reverend Zamboni (perhaps you remember him from the good old days here, before he abandoned us for the cold embrace of the Central New York winter and the love and adulation of his twice-monthly Puck Daddy fantasy-hockey column) are members of the legendary Ithaca College intramural floor hockey Charlestown Chiefs franchise. And, as a member of the team, the Mediocre One wanted to make sure he wouldn't be the only Chief to have a Dr. Hook autograph. That meant that he came fully prepared with not only DVDs but also a stack of Dr. Hook photos printed on his computer. Ten of them. We were hopeful that Mr. D'Amato wouldn't be charging a hefty fee for his signature.

We got to the Harbor Yard about a half-hour before gametime and found what seemed to be a sizable crowd getting ready to head into the arena. Still, because it's minor-league hockey, we were able to pick up center-ice seats, about twelve rows back, for $28 a pop. We could've gotten cheaper tickets, but I like to support the Sound Tigers as best as I can. And considering similar seats at the Coliseum are probably about three times as much (and, let's face it, the Isles are really the Sound Tigers varsity at this point), it was still a helluva deal.


We spotted the Dr. Hook table soon after entering and after scoping out the merch situation (signed 8X10s, pucks, and t-shirts were available for $10, $15, and $20, respectively, and there appeared to be no fee if you brought stuff to sign), we decided to head to our seats and come back later.



After the excitement of seeing Mitch Fritz in person subsided (never gets old) and the first period ended, we headed to the concourse to complete Operation McCracken. While the Mediocre One was in the can, I bought a Syracuse Bulldogs puck and got it signed, capping off the experience with this swell photo.


And then came the Mediocre One's turn, after he bought $20 of raffle tickets for the McCracken jersey, in a goodwill gesture for the monster autograph signing that was about to take place.


The Mediocre One opted for a split session, getting the DVDs signed first and letting the line die down before hitting him with the photos (all class, that kid, though I did give him some coaching based on my sadly vast autograph experiences). So, after talking with the guy in charge of the Slap Shot fan pages on MySpace and Facebook (nice guy...I forget his name; TMO has his business card) he headed back to the table when things subsided and hit him with the stack (not literally). Mr. D'Amato was awfully nice about it, happily signing and personalizing the photos as TMO made sure to get all his Chiefs (well, the important ones) covered.


And, since we were on a roll and had obtained 14 autographs from Mr. D'Amato, we kidnapped him and took him back to the Mediocre Estate, to watch "Slap Shot," partake in a couple of rounds of Scattergories, and play Super Mario Kart on the Wii.

OK, you got me. We didn't. But seriously, Paul D'Amato's a good (and patient) dude. Check out his website and buy a signed photo (or ten) if you're so inclined.


With all that taken care of, we could enjoy the game, which wound up being a pretty good one. It was hard not to just watch the awesomeness of Mitch Fritz the whole game (the man seems to be forever taking notes about whose ass he might have to kick later in the game), but the rest of the Tigers played well and had things well under control, until an incident with 6:16 left in the third. After a play stoppage, there was some jawing at the benches involving Fritz, and the next thing we knew Fritz was heading back to the locker room and the Penguins had five minutes of power play time. What the?

Because the PA announcer likes to not be too vocal when announcing penalties, I originally thought that Fritz got an unsportsmanlike, but I see today that he was called for the equally baffling butt-ending (prior to the play stoppage, I guess, since I didn't see him butt-ending anyone at the bench). Don't see that called every day. In fact, I'm not sure when the last time I saw a butt-ending call was, particularly with six minutes left in a one-goal game.

No matter. The Sound Tigers killed off the five minutes (only one shot on goal) and took the 3-2 victory and possession of second place. The two teams are playing again tonight, and I'm watching it as I write this on the free AHL Live preview. Nice.


And that wraps up another successful Palm Isle road trip. I hope to provide you another Sound Tigers report after I attend Jeff Tambellini Bobblehead Night later this month.

15 games?

Granted, this is a short clip and you don't see the elbow from Portland's Geoff Peters or the hits the Sound Tigers' Pascal Morency delivered that apparently earned him Peters's elbow, but I can't imagine how Kip Brennan gets suspended 15 games for this:



Like Chris Simon, Brennan has a history of suspensions, and I have to figure this played a part in giving him 15 games for basically coming to the defense of his teammate. Sure, he attacks him from behind (and breaks Peters's nose in the process), but I've gotta think that when you're standing over a player on the opposing team after elbowing him, you oughta be aware that someone's coming after your ass. It's hockey. These things tend to happen. I'm just saying. I could see five games, maybe, but 15? Crazy, man, crazy.

And, besides, that's a helluva punch.

Watching Hockey -- at the AHL All-Star Game

For all the gusto and occasional pomposity (just using the word, I think, qualifies) displayed on this blog and within the five-foot perimeter surrounding my person, I am from Binghamton and thus held to a natural ceiling of arrogance. I hear the bitching about the All-Star games. I understand. And agree. But the AHL All-Star game came to my home rink, the Broome County Veterans Memorial Arena in Binghamton, and I did not hesitate when Sir Douglas the Hockeywise offered two tickets (in his season-ticket spot three rows from the ice, nonetheless) for the fell-in-our laps event.

I was joined for the Sunday/Monday events by Chris McGinnis, honorary captain of the defunct Livingston Manor Maple Leafs, accomplished musician, Subaru owner, and former goaltender of the three-time cup-winning Charlestown Chiefs intramural floor hockey team.

McGinnis and I have a lengthy and illustrious hockey history. We have posed with the Stanley Cup together, visited the Hockey Hall of Fame, purchased tickets for and attended both ends of a home-and-home series between the Sabres and Maple Leafs about a month or so before Maple Leaf Gardens was closed, and attended the Binghamton Senators first home game upon returning the AHL to its rightful place at the Slap Shot-era Broome County Veterans Memorial Arena. So it was fitting we were there to celebrate hockey in a hockey town.

We made certain to have a well-rounded Binghamton experience. Before Sunday night's skills competition, we hit the Oakdale Mall in Johnson City to look for Senators hats, and wound up drinking giant mugs of beer at Ruby Tuesday's. After a brisk walk through the mall (taking the edge off of a minor buzzer), we headed to downtown Binghamton and parked on Exchange Street near the library. McGinnis came close to getting robbed there Monday night, but nonesuch on the Day of Rest.

The Arena looked good, glowing within its concrete shell.



And McGinnis looked pretty good, too, glowing in the main concourse.



You know the All-Star festivities aren't really going to be about hockey. Or, at least, I know that, and you know that. The Canadian and America media? They don't know. Or they pretend to not, which (hopefully) explains the 1,000+ references this week to "shinny," "river hockey," "fixing," and "meaningful." (apologies to John Buccigross, who "gets it," so to speak, and who got his missive about enjoying the game out there before this one.)

The All-Star festivities in Binghamton were about the Hockey Fan in a Hockey Town. They were there in abundance. I saw teachers I remembered from third grade, wearing the same Whalers jerseys and haircuts they wore back in Harry L Johnson Elementary School. (no period after the L bitches -- that's how we roll in the JayCee.) A lap of the Arena yielded close to 20 former high school classmates, most of whom I could recognize only by their eyes, and all of whom didn't recognize me in my pre-playoffs playoff beard.

Old-Time Binghamton hockey jerseys.



There was a wealth of out-of-town jerseys, including a group of Portland (Maine) fans sitting near us, a group from Philly, the usual assholes from Scranton Wilkes-Barre, a couple of Chicago Wolves jerseys, and a few from Hershey. There also was a fine representation of vintage Binghamton wear, including the now-ubiquitous Dusters jerseys, a few authentic Binghamton Whalers sweaters, an Icemen jersey (dark days in the Parlor City), and some game-worn Senators gear. (and only one guy in a Rangers jersey, a testament to my hometown.)

Among the general "I'm at a hockey game I'm wearing some hockey shit" sightings: A nice 80s-era Islanders sweater, what appeared to be a homemade Philadelphia Phantoms jersey worn three sizes too small, a Howard Johnson (hotel) jersey (?), assorted youth hockey paraphernalia, and a lot of this, which goes with hockey like Molson Canadian on a Saturday night.

At one point, a kid sat down in front of us, joining a father and son who had been there since the start. The father, laughing at the kid's arrival, said, "hey Meatball." And McGinnis and I must have been thinking the same thought, because we had to choke back the laughter, and then snuck a few photos.

Meatball.



As for the game and skills competition: There was some marginal entertainment value, but, alas, as Bucci wrote earlier, the fun really was in scanning the Arena, scoping out the other fans, the kids, the mascots, and season-ticket holders best known as curmudgeons, occasionally rendered happy and quiet. A beer vendor remarked to us that it was "too quiet," but I think we found it to be a luxury to not be as invested in the game's outcome. As an Islanders fan (and Mets, as well), I have learned to enjoy the games oftentimes separate of their outcomes (a necessary trick if you are to continue to be a hockey/baseball fan with those allegiances). We blew off most of the third period and walked around the building, stopping at the third-floor bar, and walking the tunnel under the stands.

Lineups, and a nice view of the old bird.



And a zoom on Tuukka Rask for Jaroslav. (Rask looked like the Real Deal, even in the loose environment of the festivities. Note Brian Burke crush Bobby Ryan, #29.)



Fan-favorite and all-around Binghamton legend, Denis Hamel, participates in the fastest skater relay.



The game ended in some kind of shootout, which might have been fun, but, well, you know. The crowd was out pretty quickly, and the kids, who were still jittering with anticipation after Sunday's skills competition, were a little subdued and tired.

We walked back to the cars on Exchange Street, started them in the cold, and drove away from Binghamton into the quiet outliers of the Southern Tier.