The Czechs have won the World Championship in Ice Hockey. I realize I’m one of probably five Americans who remotely care and about one of twenty North Americans who noticed, but it was damn cool. Other than beer brewing, being stoic and the making the occasional movie, the Czechs honestly don’t get to ‘be good’ at anything. Not only did they win, but they beat just about one of the most formidable offenses the Russians have ever put together and kept them to one goal. The partisan Russian fan will claim a disallowed goal in the first but that was at least two seconds after the whistle. And I think, as a not-so-neutral observer, that beating the Russians is what makes this so notable. If they beat the Finns, sure I might have written a post, but they beat the RUSSIANS! Or as my friend wrote me, “Russian beasts.” It was cool. And I’m listening to a web cam from the center of Prague as I write this. It makes me feel that being drunk alone in my apartment isn’t so bad after all. Anyway, congratulations to the Czechs, Jagr and the Czech nation. You may still get to hear some of the drunk celebration here. The game was outstanding and I recommend reading up on it here. And there’s a great summary of the rivalry here.
I suppose, as much of a downer as this is, that I should mention Scott Gordon's run as coach of the US team. Not a great finish, but not a great team either. Perhaps in a non-Olympic year where the US has something to prove the team may be different but congratulations to coach Gordon all the same. Here's hoping he gets a second chance next year.
International hockey is cool and we Americans should get used to it. Its an international game with a strong international component. Imagine liking Manchester United and not caring about the soccer World Cup... OK, I realize making soccer references probably hurts my point but still if you like good hockey, keep an eye out for the World Championship next May. Until then, Cesky do toho!
First off, let me state that I don't have time to write all of the reasons... Zing!
Second, this post said so many things that I would like to say but don't or can't. Most of you probably read it already, but this is what sports blogging should look like. To me, at least:
Why does the national hockey coverage turn NHL fans into Tea Partiers? Stupid lame-stream, "gotcha!" media with their New York Slimes and Washington comPost. If I had time or imagination I'd do something with ESPN or Sports Illustrated. I leave that for the comments column.
This idea that our (or my) opinion of the Islanders moves at the deadline is somehow relevant is too much of a stretch for me. Nobody cares if I like the Sutton deal or if I think the team should move Roloson. Even I don't care what I think, if that makes sense. I've got kids to raise, wood to cut, work to do, etc.
And even when I didn't have things to do, there were more important things to sweat, such as "where we going out tonight?", "will it rain or snow for the February garage BBQ?", and "what time should we get there to make sure the goddamn Knicks people, or the college basketball people, don't get the Big TV?"
So as long as the Isles don't trade Okposo or Tavares, or even Comeau, Streit, or (this took me more than a minute to come up with the last name) Hillen, I will keep quiet. Such are the rigors of perspective in my middlin' age.
So what? Providing the team doesn't drop the remainder of the schedule, and with last night's layup line against Chicago pretty much nixing that possibility, I'm going to be happy. And I think we all should be happy. The Mediocre One and I said early in the season that if this team was a surprise and made the playoffs (and I don't think what they are right now qualifies as a surprise -- maybe a mildly pleasant "oh yeah?", but not a surprise), then next year would probably be a disappointment. We envisioned a ninth-place finish, calls for Gordon's head, etc.
So let's assume we are seers ... coming up a nip short of the playoffs this year wouldn't be so bad.
Do you see? What are we even talking about at this point? Good God. I'm going to stop now.
A Final Thought That USA/Canada thing was fun. The Mediocre One called me when Parise scored, and for about 20 seconds I was back in college when all the hockey guys, the Chiefs, sat around at the Ithaca Sports Club and watched the games.
(to the tune of ‘The Battle Hymn of the Republic’) Before I begin, let me state that there are no sour grapes to be had here. I tip my cap to the Canadian team. I even stayed for the medal ceremony and anthem.
I should also acknowledge I was drunk and hungry at the bar courtesy of my friends from California Skyping me when I was trying to get ready to head out to the bar. I had to abandon lunch altogether.
Now that my judgment is completely in question, let me say this: I would go to war with this team USA any day. Even when the Isles were pounding out gritty wins earlier this season, they didn’t look like this team. I know games are decided by goals (as the great Ned Braden once pointed out) but you show me any semblance of a modern team with more guts and heart than team USA. You show me a goalie that is more invested in his team. You show me skaters who are willing to hit, get hit, go to the net as well as fore, back and hip check like this team. The US team wasn’t picked to do a damned thing this Olympics but it’s hard to find a silver medal that comes any closer to being gold than the ones they hung on the dejected American team this afternoon. And I’m not disappointed because medals aside, I am much happier being a fan of the blue-collar effort the Americans put on the past two weeks than any other team in the tournament. Not even close. We had the most exciting team in the world hands down. Bring it on, Sochi.
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.
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.
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.
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.
When last we were into this thing, we were all hopeful for the future but realistic that the future wasn't quite here yet. So, after some good runs during the season, we're kind of in the same place, no?
Good. Now that we've agreed on that, let's not dwell on our negligence in posting anymore.
Instead, let's turn our attention to one of the joys of being an Islanders fan--namely, that, less than a week before a game you've been thinking about going to since the schedule came out, you can buy a ticket for a center-ice seat seven rows off the ice for $39.35, even with Ticketmaster fees. And that's how I got to the Nassau Coliseum last night to see the Islanders take on the Nashville Predators (my Western Conference team of choice).
After the first period, I was beginning to rethink the trip from Jersey. It was a period typical of the Isles of late: lackadaisical skating, defensive breakdowns, and an infuriatingly bad power play. Amazingly, though, I only cursed out loud once. I would've apologized to the children in the general area, but if their parents are taking them to a game where Bruno Gervais is on the ice, I'm assuming they know what they're getting into.
The second period was a good deal better, starting after a strong shift from Frans Nielsen and Kyle Okposo that gave way to a goal on the next shift from, wow, Freddy Meyer. Seeing Freddy Meyer score a goal was proof enough that the night was worth the trip, but then, after two goals from the Predators, the truly incredible happened: Bruno Gervais scored a goal. On the power play (granted, a 5-on-3, but any goal on the power play is something of a miracle). Someday I will tell my grandkids (or, more likely, someone else's grandkids) that I once went to a game where Freddy Meyer and Bruno Gervais scored a goal, and they will look at me like I'm crazy and say, "Sure, old man." But I've got the ticket stub (and it's signed by Butch Goring).
Steve Sullivan's power-play goal in the third seemed like an inevitability, so I took it in stride. And as the clock ticked down, I mentally prepared myself for the long train ride home, where I could at least take comfort in the fact that my Western Conference team had picked up two needed points. But with Marty Biron pulled, the Isles started hustling and digging for pucks and then Mark Streit tied it up (sure, I would have liked to see a forward score, but you can't have it all) with 12 seconds left, and it was high-fives all around.
Overtime was pretty entertaining, and the Isles had some good chances. But it was on to the Frans Nielsen showcase that is the shootout. And Nielsen would've had the winner if Biron hadn't decided to try for his best Wade Dubielewicz impression and failed miserably. Luckily, John Tavares saved the day, and the intimate gathering of friends at the Coliseum headed out into the not-snowy-yet night happy.
I was in between trains, so I went down to the lower level of the Coliseum to see if there was any postgame stuff being filmed. Sure enough, about a dozen diehards were staring at Deb (Kaufman) Placey and Butch Goring as they did their postgame thing. So I hung around and got Mr. Goring to sign my ticket stub. I couldn't pull my act together fast enough to get a picture with him, so that dream will have to be fulfilled some other time.
So, to recap: I saw the Islanders win, bringing me to 3-0 on the season in my in-person Islanders experiences; my second-favorite team picked up a point and stayed in playoff position; I got Butch Goring's autograph; and, to cap it all off, it's a snow day for me today, so the late-night return to Jersey City was no big deal. Who says there's no such thing as a happy Islanders fan?
Just read this beauty on TSN about the latest Ranger debacle:
"If Tortorella was trying to hide his frustration, it was clearly evident in the Rangers dressing room. The white board used to write down the Canadiens line combinations appeared to take the brunt of the anger, sitting on the floor with three, stick-shaped cracks in it."
It appears that the Rangers could use some scoring. Wonder where Jagr is these days?
Video I found on Puck Daddy. Keep an eye out for 68:
Talk about a fall from grace. Looks like the friggin' Thunderdome. I feel like Tina Turner is about to come out and lead a "Two men enter, one man leaves!" chant.
Delighting in Ranger misery when most things seem to be going well for the Islanders is probably bad karma--although I don't believe in those things--so I should stop. If Brooksie can restrain himself...
If the NHL doesn't have a season of the new reality show "Torts and Brooksie" in pre-production, they're making yet another mistake.
More Islanders-related stuff soon. Unless these exchanges continue, in which case we'll be changing this blog to be all Torts and Brooksie, all the time.
“Anyone who needs to drink more than 24 cans of beer in a day to have a good time is not welcome."
Now, I am skipping over any coverage of opening night because I can't tell you anything you didn't know. Guess what--the Rook scored. Two points on the night. The Isles lost.
I had a ride to the game, but because I don't feel like spending the night on a piss line, I tried not to drink too much. But it's damn good to know that I could have drank my penis off if I'd wanted to. But from the land of intoxication comes a story of men having their beer curtailed. A cautionary tale from Australia:
I used to spend more time with the hockey video games, playing at least three or four complete seasons each year in college, editing every single player in the revelatory NHL 2k3, and conducting weekend "legends" tournaments alongside my regular season in ESPN NHL Hockey.
EA's NHL 10 is the best, by far, of all of the hockey games I've ever played, and I've barely made it past the second period of about 12 games so far. Such is the world of parenthood.
Thanks to the Internet, and some finely honed Geeking skills, I've popped in some pretty good sliders, found the "ultimate" rosters (although ultimate sometimes means John Tavares is centering the Isles' first line), and enjoyed what I can to this point. This afternoon, with the day off from work and the boys sleeping, I managed a 0-0 draw through 37 minutes with the Oilers, only to have a wrist shot hop over Rick D's (I'll probably do the properly sim/dork thing and start Biron to start my "season") shoulder at the exact moment a bedroom door opened and "good morning!" echoed through the house.
Tonight, I will get the bastards back, at least for a period or so ... .
As realistically non-realistic as NHL 10 is, it can't really tell us anything about the state of the Islanders, although my lack of finish on the sticks draws an eerie parallel to the boys in royal blue (I never, never use the "new" jerseys, always sticking with the soon-to-be mainstream alternate). Still, it's fun to think my trance-like repose in front of the sorely out-of-date SDTV might give us some glimpse into the coming season.
A few things I've noticed.
1. The Isles can skate with just about any team, but not Evgeni Malkin.
2. No Finnish. Even the probably-overrated-estimated-we-just-don't-know Tavares CAP can't bury anything but wide-open chances. Thankfully there's Mark Streit and a generous deflection engine.
3. We're going to lose every single fight this season. Or, I need to practice this new fighting system, which makes no sense to me right now.
4. The Ramones will bring the Isles out onto the ice at the newly named "Long Island Arena" every home game. Or not. (wishful thinking)
5. We. will. get. Dion. Phaneuf.
Saturday Night
Because sometimes the stars align even for one of the world's least-connected people, me, the Mediocre One and I have managed to get ahold of some veddy goot tickets for the home opener. No liveblogging, but I will get back on Sunday with the full report.
I haven't been this excited for a hockey game since I went to a bar in Ithaca to watch game five of the 2002 playoffs against the Leafs. I spent the whole night standing under a tiny television, crowding a table full of college students watching basketball on the "big" TV, clutching a series of beers, and yelling at some poor college kid who had the nerve to come down from Cornell to watch the game alone and root for the Leafs in my presence on that fateful, stupid night.
I'm pretty sure I told him he had "personally disgusted me and ruined hockey for at least five years in one fell swoop with his sickening display of ignorance, cockiness, and stupidity." And I'm pretty sure that was in reaction to one muted fist pump when the game finally ended. And then he ran out and my friends roped me into playing pool while I bitched and challenged them to "man up!" and play bubble hockey.
Beetches.
Here's the songs my kids demand to hear when the snow starts to fall.
First, good to have hockey back. I spent an hour yesterday watching fights, reading about NHL 10, and looking for Google images of the Broome Dusters.
We're off to a quick start "Keep your head up, or something," said the hockey fan. We hear that 15 to 20 times a year now, as we sort through the wreckage of another hit to the head. Dion Phaneuf hit Kyle Oh!poso last night, in a game you likely didn't see, but have been reading about all day if you're sick like me and not doing a shit's bit worth of work. Puck Daddy is dissecting.
I'm going to ignore most of the central debates because they've been covered pretty well by Puck Daddy, by the more lucid reader's comments, and by other voices in the web-o-sphere. That said, I think it was a legal hit of a defenseless player, and it should have been answered with a crosscheck to Phaneuf's forehead.
Phaneuf is garbage, but some Isles fans are delusional Chris Pronger does this shit. Phaneuf does this shit routinely. Lesser names do the same shit hoping they'll get paid the same as Phaneuf or Pronger. It is part of the game.
But so is this: fighting.
Phaneuf is garbage for backing out of the fight with Morency. He's not dumb, he's just garbage. And if you've already written somewhere on the web that you think it's shit when a "clean hit" is answered with a fight, you're garbage too.
When the fuck should players fight? Because "when you're angry because someone just laid out a teammate" seems like a pretty fucking good time to fight to me. I think it's a lot better time than "when you're bored" or "when your team is losing and you haven't played in 22 minutes." Blatant cheap shots and borderline massive hits that leave people semi-conscious or knocked out cold (which usually look like cheap shots in the heat of the moment) are, I would think, the most ideal times of all to drop the gloves. So kudos to Morency, and fuck you, Phaneuf.
I'm going to jerk off to Elisha Cuthbert tonight. And that's the crudest thing I can think of right now. I need some coffee.
Isles fans: stop "I'm growing to hate Scott Gordon and Garth Snow for not having a goon. This would have never happened with Cairns on the ice!!!!"
What?
Dion Phaneuf is 6'3", 214 lbs. He hits the shit out of people, albeit sometimes when they're being checked by two of his teammates, one of whom already crosschecked him from behind. And sometimes he even fights. He gets paid millions of dollars to do this.
Do you really, really think having Don Brashear on the bench would have stopped Phaneuf from blindsiding Oh!poso? Motherfucker wouldn't even fight Morency, who (ok, he's a bit of hopeful fighter, but still) checks in at 5'10", 196 lbs. And he didn't have to. Brashear comes over the boards and Phaneuf would skate until the ice melted.
This team needs to get good at hockey. They will do this by bringing in good players. If those good players exhibit some toughness, that's wonderful. And they are auditioning some middle/upper-middle weights.
You don't need a full-fledged heavyweight in the NHL. Most of the guys taking cheap shots at your best players are shitheads like Phaneuf, or other middleweights who a) get some ice time, or b) think they're "pests." Pests run away from heavyweights. You keep a couple of mid-level guys around to punch Sean Avery and, I think, that's enough.
Didn’t take long for the New York sports writers to jump on the Tavares train… And run it off the rails. And it wasn’t just Tavares, they went after the second pick also. Here’s some recent headlines:
“Fans, Keep the Tavares Expectations Realistic”
"Analysis: Will Isles' decision not to add Kassian backfire?"
“Michael Jackson: The Wounds, The Broken Heart”
These were all from Newsday, by the way. Even the Post didn’t take any shots at the Islanders.
The top headline includes a list of players that Tavares definitely will not and probably won’t be as good as. This includes Crosby, Ovechkin and Malkin. Fine, I can deal with that, but the list goes on to include Zigmund Palffy and Steven Stamkos. I’m not saying that JT is going to be the second coming but let’s not kill the poor kids before the week is out. And other than the top three picks, it’s a crap shoot. I did some looking back at previous draft years and even the 1st round is a “Who? WHO?” list of also-rans.
Arthur Staple goes on to say that the Islanders "didn't have a clear-cut star to take at the top of the draft." Having the top Canadian junior league change the rules because of you and then to turn around and smash "The Great One's" junior scoring record counts as being a star, just so we're all clear.
Garth seems to have made some smart decisions that I can definitely live with as much as at the time I may not have been impressed (Bailey, Streit). So I’m going to put aside my negativity until it's proven that the Islanders made some bad mistakes.
And as for Tavares’ future—what the hell do I know about scouting? I'm just looking at the numbers and going with what everyone has said about the kid. And I haven't seen a reason to go negative yet.
Thanks to tomcuthbert.wordpress.com for the picture.
The Mediocre One and I arrived at the Coliseum around 6, with the hazy sun beating down. After we were inside for about a half-hour, we stepped out to the concourse and saw this:
Not a good sign. My stomach started to churn a little more.
There were lots of people milling around the Coliseum floor, so we didn't stay there too long. We had some brief thoughts of buying some cheap merch (until I realized the line was way too long to wait on, especially for a Shawn Bates nameplate and a Dave Scatchard shirt) and taking a locker room tour (until, again, it was hard to justify waiting in a line that long just to gaze upon Tim Jackman and Dean Chynoweth, especially since I'd seen the locker room during last year's draft party debacle, where there were no lines at all). Instead, the Mediocre One grabbed a beer and I took some atmospheric photos.
Nice touch, putting the organ on the floor:
Here's Disco Chris King:
And, for Howie, a nice posed photo of Billy Jaffe:
Mike Bossy in the house:
There were plenty of jersey fouls to be seen:
And the relaying of word from Washington:
Then, we sat down and prepared for whatever the hell was coming. TMO called up Rev. Zamboni, who relayed the information that Colorado seemed convinced the Isles would take Duchene. This did not bode well for our safety, as every time Duchene appeared on the big screen, boos rained down (Hedman got his fair share too, but he at least seemed to have some supporters). We made note of the nearest exit.
As 7:00 drew nearer, I began to develop that feeling I get in the pit of my stomach prior to almost every Islanders-Rangers game. It is the feeling that something completely horrible is reasonably certain to happen, and when it does, there will be endless rounds of mockery that follow. TMO stated that he was feeling a bit uneasy, too.
After Bettman's standard long-winded introduction, it was go time. With TMO keeping the Rev informed over the phone, I was in charge of capturing the moment of euphoria/dismantling of the Nassau Coliseum. And it was exactly like this (sorry for the bad sound, but I think I captured the spirit of the thing):
And all was right with the world.
We stuck around to see if the Tavares interview was forthcoming, but I had a train to catch (thanks for the lift, TMO), so we bolted. I shared the good news with the LIRR ticket taker on the Hempstead train, and then another ticket taker broke the news that the Isles had traded up, which didn't surprise me. By the time I made it to Connolly's in NYC to see my friend's band (10 minutes to spare), the Isles had traded up again and selected a guy I'd never heard of (though, based on my knowledge of college and junior hockey, that's not such an amazing feat). I still don't know much about Calvin de Haan, or why the Isles were so high on him that they were willing to let so many picks go, but I'm not gonna think too much about it.
Why? Because for one night, things went as they should for the New York Islanders. Ten thousand Islander fans (their estimate...I'd place it a little lower) celebrated a happy occasion (I'd think even the Hedman supporters--and the Duchene backers, assuming there were some--were somewhat happy). People who'd been waiting for a reason to erupt finally got it.
We hope that our team doesn't move to Kansas City.
We hope that Rick DiPietro plays a full season someday.
We hope that Kyle Okposo and Josh Bailey turn out to be superstars, or at least not Dave Chyzowski and Brett Lindros.
We hope that Alexei Yashin is sorry for what he did (or, rather, didn't do).
We hope that we can one day hold our heads up high and not be the punchline to every joke.
And we hope that when all the clouds of secrecy disappear, Garth Snow and the Islanders step up to the podium and pick John Tavares tomorrow night. Not necessarily because he's the best player (though he probably is). Not because Victor Hedman and Matt Duchene are much more inferior players (by all accounts, they're probably not). But because it is what must be done.
If the scouts are to be believed, Hedman and Duchene will both have long, successful careers in the NHL. And I wish them the best (unless they find themselves on the Rangers at some point in their careers). But, for the Islanders, and the fans who will gather at the draft party Friday night (you can say the draft party has no impact on the decision the Isles make, Garth, but you'll be whistling a different tune when the fans start beating Sparky the Dragon with sticks), the choice has to be Tavares. It is the safe choice. It is the best choice. It is the right choice.
Please, Garth, please.
The Palm Isle will have representatives at the draft party. I'll be there until right after the pick is made, at which point I have to dart to the train to get back to the city to see my friends' band play (bros before Snow, that's how I roll), but I believe The Mediocre One will be staying a bit longer. In any event, one or both of us should have a recap up over the weekend.
[ADDENDUM: I do not speak for our most celebrated Palm Isle denizen, The Rev. Zamboni, who has declared himself a Hedman supporter. Of course, he will not be in the Nassau Coliseum at 7:15 Friday night, so his declaration is understandable. I just want to live to see 33.]
To all our loyal readers, you probably saw my twitter experiment. I'm a very lonely person. None the less, about a day after signing up for the account, none other than the New York Islanders twitter account was following me! (To the uninitiated, this was the cyber version of the Islanders picking me up at the airport or helping me move into a new place) All I could figure out is that someone from the Islanders organization actually takes this blog seriously enough to check up on regularly. Well, to make a long story short, they quickly stopped following me and I am now being followed by Ranger scum, "Uncle Greaseball." Play me off, kitty...
This is a hockey bar. We are drinking Molson Canadian and coffee. We are watching the game, tipping the barmaid, and nursing bruises from a noon ball hockey game at the community college. We are three Islanders fans and a Bruins supporter. We are Centre Ice, Slingbox, video games, ball hockey, knee hockey, and AHL games in Hartford, Binghamton, and Bridgeport. We are Canadian spellings and HNIC at the old Ithaca Sports Club. We are a decent penalty kill, a half-dressed Ice Girl, and Butch Goring in a bar fight. We are drunk. Have a seat.
