As you may know, Red Wing hockey is a life long obsession and love for me. My brother and I were insanely spoiled in our Detroit Days because we are part of a wonderful family who loves Red Wing Hockey and had season tickets. Then we left Detroit. Someone else is now sitting 18 rows up behind the box. I hope they really really appreciate those seats…
I desperately miss my Red Wing Hockey. Mickey Redmond’s color, the option of watching HNIC, all gone. Being at the games on a week night, a cherished memory. Skipping work to hang on Woodward and Hart Plaza for a parade- remembered with love. Running into a player or two at a local bar, a thing of the past.
Now I’m lucky to get 3-4 live Wings games a year. The longer I live away from Detroit, the more I cling to every possible broadcast or live game I can find. Even if you have Center Ice, getting a Wings game here is hit or miss: a function of scheduling and time zones.
Displacement = Deprivation when it comes to Wings Hockey. Yes, you’ve heard me whine before….
So when the schedule comes out, my brother and I immediately start plotting: 1 Wings- Kings Game, 1 Wings-Sharks Game, One Wings-Ducks Game.
Our True Cali hat trick.
Deciding which three Wings away games we are going to attend fill us with anticipation and joy. This year we have two weeks: one in October the other in January, to choose from.
I can’t wait!
Living for that feeling of anticipation on Game Day. Trying to arrive at an arena an hour or so before the game starts, to find our seats -a view just over the glass, or making our way down to the glass. Feeling happy and content to just watch the guys warm up. Recalling the days when my brother played midgets, wore his Cheveldae sweater and we always arrived at the Joe early so he could spend his time watching warm ups, hoping someone would to toss him a warm up puck.
Better than mom’s macaroni and cheese on a frozen February day.
The joy of jumping into that first face off, a slight chill in the air, feeling the sound of blade against ice, closing your eyes, listening for the rhythm. The luxury of watching the entire play open up before your eyes. Noting line changes, identifying Bab’s tweaks. Watching the young-ins get their legs. Joyously cheering Ozzie and all my timeless favorites. Waiting for that first goal.
Ultimately though, live Cali games are often as bitter as they are sweet. As sitting happily through a game ultimately turns to anxiety, pain creeping up on joy as soon as the halfway point is realized, thoughts turning: only 24, 10, 1 minute of play left.
Cringing when the 1 minute mark is announced, and not because my team is usually up 1 goal and the opposition has pulled their goalie. Almost hoping for overtime- aw who am I kidding- TOTALLY hoping for overtime, just so I can watch more hockey. Feeling selfish for wishing for overtime when I KNOW my team is suffering serious jet lag- I mean Geez, playing OT in Cali is really like playing at 3 in the boys in red.
Wings Win!
Lingering and milling after the game is over, waiting for the last player to step through the tunnel into the darkness. Not wanting to exit the arena, feeling more a sense of loss and emptiness than satisfaction. Silence as we make our way from the parking lot and onto the packed Los Angelean Freeways.
Eventually my brother and I start to chirp a bit on the drive home, just little comments. “Ozzie stood on his head.” “Boy, I like that Helm kid” “Loved seeing Pronger’s board smash when he missed checking Dats.” “Dats was too fast and smart for him- ha”. Our own kind of quite meaningless prattle. Lots more silence than words as we both try to cling to the feeling of joy, home and happiness these away games should bring us.
Fighting that sense of loss and emptiness always threatens to overwhelm the joy of having got to see the Wings play live.
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