Gordie Howe and his Hartford Whalers Legacy

RIP Gordie Howe.

A lot of memories came back when I heard of Mr. Hockey's passing a couple of weeks ago. 

My first hockey game was in his 51st year.  This was the Hartford Whalers' first year as an expansion franchise after having several successful seasons in the WHA.  A great portion of that success in the late 1970's was Gordie Howe.  And it nearly didn't happen.  After leading the league in scoring as a 40 year old, Howe's injuries forced him into retirement.  Only after having successful surgery on his wrist, and after yearning to play with his family, did Howe actually start up the second phase of his career in the WHA. 

After leading the WHA in points in his mid to late 40's with the Houston Aeros, Gordie and his sons migrated to sunny New England.  After playing a couple of seasons for the New England Whalers in the WHA, he made the jump with the newly minted Hartford Whalers to the NHL for the 1979-1980 season.

But on this night, we were watching what was clearly one of his last games. 

Maybe it was sport that he had trouble giving up, or maybe he wanted to play with his two hockey-playing sons, Mark and Marty, we were watching a man who loved the sport that he gave so much to.  We were also watching a man whose gray hairs out numbered his dark hairs skate around players literally half his age.  I don't remember him scoring that night of my first hockey game, and I definitely don't remember the Gordie Howe Hat Trick that he became known for.  But I do remember the helmetless head gliding around the ice and I remember him being an integral part of the playoff team that season.

I've spoken before about that long lost hockey stick that I received from Number 2, Rick Ley.  I had the choice of that stick or a puck signed by Gordie Howe (the Whalers practiced at the arena in my home town) But one of my best memories was seeing Mr. Hockey speak to our summer camp back when I was a mere 8 years old.  i also remember getting that prized photo with his autograph after his engagement.  While I can't find that hockey stick, and I can't find that photo, the memories will last with me forever.

As Gordie Howe retired from the sport, he became a great ambassador all the way up until his health problems caught up to him as he reached his 80's.  It saddens me to think about one of the icons of Hartford Whalers hockey being lost, but that sadness is fleeting.  But I think the memories of that first night watching hockey and that autograph will last with me forever.

Promotion and Relegation in the NHL

Here we go again.  The recent purchase of the Atlanta Thrashers by the True North Sports and Entertainment Group, and the corresponding move back to hockey-desperate Winnipeg this week demonstrates one of the biggest problems that the NHL has - too many teams in too many cities that don't want mediocre teams.  This problem is magnified by both outcries and rallies in Quebec City for the Nordiques and in Hartford for the Whalers to bring teams back to those cities, as well as flagging attendance and death throes from franchises on Long Island, Phoenix and Florida.  In addition to Quebec City and Hartford, there are numerous metropolitan areas that do want major league hockey, as seen by the increasing attendance in the AHL, particularly for certain franchises in Houston, Providence and Hershey.

No celebrating in Atlanta next year?

Part of the NHL's problem lies with the fact that North American sports are unique in the sports world.  Leagues here are formed within a franchise system.  Once a team pays its franchise fee, it remains in that league under that same owner until it folds or is sold.  Teams that don't belong in the league, instead of being banished to another league, are allowed to flounder.  This is not just an NHL problem, as issues with the Los Angeles Dodgers and the New Orleans Hornets will attest.  North American sport leagues would rather that a new franchise purchase rights to the team (and line existing owners pockets with franchise fees) and never do anything else, than not pay that franchise fee and have some say in how that franchise is run.  Maybe Bill Simmons was right when he wrote in his recent column - about the Maloof Brothers in Sacramento - that once an owner purchases a house and moves into a neighborhood, that new owner may feel free to disgrace the neighborhood anyway that he wants.  Teams that don't belong in a league remain there, while hungry teams remain in their current situations.

Somewhat foreign to us here in the United States is the European system of league participation - Promotion and Relegation.  While this concept dominates all European leagues, the best example to us here is the Barclays Premier League.  Teams in the top division that finish at the bottom of the league are dropped down (relegated) to the second tier league.  Teams in the second tier league that win their division are brought up (promoted) to the first tier league.  For instance, in 2011-2012, QPR, Norwich City and Swansea City will be joining the Premier League, while West Ham, Blackpool and Birmingham City will be relegated to the second tier.

The concept of Relegation and Promotion will work in the NHL.  The NHL has 30 teams in the league.  The AHL has 30 teams in its league.  Every year, the two worst teams in the NHL are relegated to the AHL and the two top teams in the AHL are promoted to the NHL.  I also believe that certain failing teams int eh AHL are either folded or are placed into a third tier league such as the ECHL.  Let me explain further.

1.  The two worst teams in the NHL this year were the Colorado Avalanche and the Edmonton Oilers.  Next year, these two team would play in the second tier AHL.  Conversely, Binghamton and Houston are vying for the Calder Cup.  These two teams would be called up to the NHL next year.  It doesn't matter who the teams are - the Maple Leafs could have been relegated last year.  Canadiens fans chuckle at the thought.

2.  The salary cap will remain in effect but will include all of the teams in the two leagues.  Instead of a draft for juniors, Europeans and American college players, these players will become free agents, available to be signed by any teams.  The Salary Cap will remain in effect to make sure that all teams have a chance at the next Wayne Gretzky or Sidney Crosby and prevent Sidney Crosby and Alex Ovechkin from determining that THEY want to take their talents to South Beach.  Instead of tanking games at the end of the season in order to draft the next great rookie, teams will still play hard in order to avoid relegation to the AHL.  Everyone wins.

3.  The financial aspect of Relegation and Promotion would have to be worked out.  First, many cities don't have professional-size hockey arenas.  Binghamton, Hershey and Albany would all have to catch up to larger cities.  Another option would be to relegate certain teams in small markets to the ECHL.  In addition, teams that are relegated will need to be compensated for having to be relegated in the first place, since relegation would taint a franchise until that franchise was promoted again.  These payments would be similar to payments made to relegated teams in other leagues.  Promotion bonuses may also be made so those teams that are promoted may hit the ground running.  Maybe the relegation and promotion races could be sponsored (Gillette or Bud Light, maybe?) and that sponsorship money can be used to compensate the teams switching?

4.  Players would remain with their teams, but upon free agency, any of the 60 teams could sign the player.  Affiliate agreements between NHL clubs and AHL clubs would end and NHL clubs would be able to keep two players from the minor leagues.  There would be a dispersal draft of everyone else who were not kept by their original NHL Clubs, or those players would simply remain with their clubs.



photo courtesy of sportroid.com

The Hartford Whalers Have Finally Been Replaced - JMR's Decision

Everyone was getting a little tired of my act.  Yeah, the Hartford Whalers were my favorite team - they would say - but they left Hartford almost 15 years ago!  Get over it, already.  Well, no one was that impolite to me, they would usually just nod at me and stare at the wall hoping that I would soon stop talking whenever the subject of the Hartford Whalers came up.  The Whale Bowl a couple of weeks ago reminded me that I had to move on, and my boys wanted me to be able to talk about hockey without getting pissed off.  So I've decided that now is the time for a new NHL team.  It's time. 

 Are these banners still at the XL Center?  courtesy of jumptheturnstyle.com

I decided that to be fair I would start my search from scratch and at least at the beginning, all teams were eligible for my new allegiance.  Even the Boston Bruins and the New York Rangers had a chance (who am I kidding - they had no chance).  Come with me for the JMR version of "The Decision."

I had four prerequisites that teams had to satisfy before their consideration would go any further.  Unfortunately, most teams were knocked out in this fashion.

1.  I could never root for a team that was in the Adams Division with the Whalers.  Never going to happen.  Sorry to see you go, Canadiens, Sabres and Bruins.  Even the Quebec Nordiques, who were awful patsies throughout the 1980's and early 1990's, would have been disqualified - as bad as they were.

2.  Similarly, if I had a bad experience with a team, you also stood no chance of gaining my allegiance.  See you later Hurricanes, Penguins, Rangers and Lightning (last game played was against Tampa Bay). I'm sure I don't need to go into the other three teams and why I would never root for them.

3.  No Pacific or Mountain Time Zone teams.  If I'm going to root for a team, they can't play at 9 or 10pm more than half the time.  So long Kings, Ducks, Sharks, Canucks, Oilers, Coyotes, Flames and Avalanche.

4.  I am not going to subject myself to another team moving or being contracted, so I have also removed from my list the Thrashers, the Blue Jackets, the Islanders, the Stars, Panthers and Predators.  Mark my words, at least half of these teams are moving in the next 12-24 months. 

When all of these teams have been removed, we're left with the following teams:

New Jersey Devils
Toronto Maple Leafs
Ottawa Senators
Philadelphia Flyers
Chicago Black Hawks
Washington Capitals
St. Louis Blues
Minnesota Wild
Detroit Red Wings

Too many teams to decide.  So I enlisted the help of C and G, who at this point were sitting next to me but looking longingly at their homework.  "Only a couple of more minutes" I'm sure they were thinking to themselves.  I asked them which team I should start rooting for.  It took about 10 minutes for them to consider this question since they asked approximately 7,000 questions about these teams before we started.

C:  What about the Bruins, Dad?  Why can't you just root for the Bruins like me and G? (Because I'm not, and I'm your Father, so stop asking me!) OK, Probably the Capitals because they have Alex Ovechkin.  They are a good team.  Alex Ovechkin is one of the best ever.  Oh yeah, we visited Washington D.C. a couple of years ago.

G:  [The Blackhawks] because they are a good team.  They have Patrick Kane who played in the Olympics against the Canadians last year.  And they win every time.

"Do you like Chicago?" I asked him after he finished writing.

"Uh no." He commented.  His sister started playing his Nintendo DS; he was clearly getting a little distracted.

"Do you like the Chicago Cubs?"  I then asked.

"Who?" asks G.

Then C chimes in.  "The Chicago Cubs, dumbo!  They play football against the Patriots!"  Before G gets in his zinger, I shake my head and move on. 

OK, So I have a choice of the Blackhawks and the Capitals.  I'm still not sure, but I do know that I'm starting to run out of time - the boys are in full-out restless mode and I told them they had to sit with me until I picked a team.  So I pick up the quarter that DLG dropped next to me a couple of hours ago, I mean this isn't life or death or anything.  Heads its Blackhawks and Tails, its the Capitals.

...Waiting... as I flip the coin.....

Chi-Town it is.

The Hartford Whalers Whale Bowl Was All We Needed

Not sure where this, my 100th post, is headed?  I don't think any milestone journal posting of mine would be complete without talking about the Hartford Whalers. 

Are the NHL Scouts over here? courtesy of hartfordwolfpack.com

I was debating whether or not to even write about the Hartford Whalers Whale Bowl that was held a couple of weeks ago.  It seemed interesting to me from the beginning, this further attempt by Howard Baldwin to bring an NHL team back to Hartford.  Former Hartford Whalers players vs. the same Boston Bruins legends who played at Boston's Winter Classic last year, followed by the Connecticut Whale playing in front of the largest crowd in AHL history (sad to tout, but touted it was). 

Sure, it was a two and half hour drive to Rentschler Field.  And fine, the game wasn't being played until 4:30, meaning if I were to bring C, G, and DLG, we wouldn't get home until 10pm, at the earliest.  But after going to the Whalers Fanfest back in August, the kids were excited to learn more about Dad's favorite team (and why Dad always looks wistfully at the ceiling whenever the subject of hockey comes up).  The trip to see the Hartford Colonials at Rentschler Field also demonstrated to me that these kind of trips were acceptable to the children.

Although, I have to ask...what the Hell is harvest-properties.com?

I made plans with a friend of mine from college who lives in the Hartford area growing up loving the Hartford Whalers too.  I started stoking the passion of the children by talking up the prospect of watching a hockey game outdoors.  Surprisingly, they all told me that their favorite part of going would have been the tailgating before the game.  I think they're buttering me up to go to a Patriots game next year, frankly.

But as the game grew closer, I grew more apprehensive.  The weather was barely going to cooperate (below freezing with 30 mile per hour winds) so DLG was probably going to choose to stay at home with Mom.  The boys' basketball seasons were heating up as they were getting closer to the playoffs.  So getting to the Whale Bowl in time with the boys was definitely in question.  The cost seemed a little high for me considering I spent half the price to see the same game in Boston a year ago at Fenway Park.  The two and a half hour drive now seemed like it would be a five hour drive, and I had to go to work the next day (or so my excuse would be to the boys).  But in retrospect, there was a more meaningful reason.  I had discussed a long time ago after watching the former Whalers play the Boston Bruins last year, that it was time to come back to the game and start rooting for a new team.  Who am I kidding, here, anyway?  It's nice to hear that Baldwin is doing everything he can to bring NHL hockey back to Hartford, but until a new stadium is built, it simply will not happen.  Winnipeg, Kansas City and the Pacific Northwest all have NHL ready stadiums.  Quebec will soon have its funding in place to build a new state of the art Le Colisee.  I've been waiting for the Whalers to come home for almost 15 years and I'm afraid that I'll be waiting a lot longer than that. 
It's just not going to happen.  And it's time to move on.

I still have an idea for the NHL that will bring hockey back to Hartford that I will write about in the future.  But in meantime, it's time to come back.  For real, this time.

Join JMR and G tomorrow as we unveil our new NHL team.  It's too late for C - he has Boston Bruins fever.  But for us, the fever is just beginning.

Hartford Colonials - Do We Have to Listen to Muskets?

Earlier this year, the kids and I went to Rentschler Field in East Hartford, Connecticut to attend the Hartford Whalers Fanfest.  It was a nice little field complete with luxury boxes, hot dog vendors and beer lines.  Waiting in the aforementioned beer lines, I noticed a couple of advertisements for the UFL's Hartford Colonials amid all of the UConn paraphernalia.  I banked that information for a later date.  These games probably aren't as rowdy as Patriots games, I thought, so it would probably be a good idea to go to one of their games later in the Fall with the family.

But our own football got in the way.  So instead of attending a game where the weather was conducive to sitting on cold metal bleacher seats, the only Hartford Colonials game we found we could go to was the Colonials last game against the Las Vegas Locomotives at the end of November.  I mistakenly decided not to bother with tickets or to read any news that week about the UFL, and determined to plow ahead.  Luckily that decision of laziness ended up not harming us.  See, while the UFL is considered a minor league to the NFL's major leagues, the league decided to charge an NFL team $150,000 transaction fee for any player they plucked from the UFL - despite the transfer occurring AFTER the season.  As a result, UFL players were seriously considering boycotting the last regular season games.  Oh jeez, and I rode two hours to a game that might not happen?

East Hartford CT.  After a quick sojourn to Starbucks where everyone was so friendly to us, especially the lady telling my wife that she was driving the wrong way down a two way street (Thanks lady!), we get to the Rentschler Field.  Not too busy, I thought, as we parked the car about 100 yards from the stadium.  The first thing we are confronted with was literally 10 guys coming up to us one by one trying to sell their tickets to the game "Less than the ticket window!  Get them before their gone!"  Are the Colonials folding after the season, I thought?  But after smartly purchasing 5 $20 tickets for 60 bucks, we march toward the field, not thinking that this might be the Colonials' last game.  I was too busy dissuading the kids from falling for the various hawkers selling programs and hot dogs, with the promise to get them sick with junk food throughout the game.

We walk toward our seats, while I start fishing for my junk food money.  I observe that we're behind one of the end zones, so immediately I feel compelled to talk my sons into thinking that these are good seats because we might be able to catch missed field goal attempts and keep the footballs.  I don't know if that's really true, but I figured the chances of us catching a football were much less than Dad being caught in a lie.  And I am about to pat myself on the back when I'm struck by a little sign on the back of the seats.

"Family Section - No alcohol permitted beyond this point." 

The scalper was awfully kind to give us family section seats, but what the Hell is this all about?  A nice usher, seeing the looks on our faces as the wife and I continue to look at the sign and mutter to each other, came over and told us that we could sit anywhere except the blue seats along the 50 Yard line, that no one checks tickets.  Let's sit in the sun the girls decide.  I'll get some beer, I decide.

Beer lines!  Finally, with beer and food in hand, and as we're walking to our newly found bleacher seats on the 20 yard line, I notice a couple of guys milling around the field, wearing period clothing.  And they're carrying what looks like muskets, and they're standing near what looks like artillery cannon.  We're sitting 50 feet away from the ACTUAL colonials!  Oh no, this is not going to end well, I can already tell.  My younger son G is still scarred from the Patriots game I took him to and his first experience with musket firing after scores.  He's still afraid of these things and I constantly have to explain that there are no muskets at the Basketball game, or the movie theater or Cape Cod.  But they're here!  So when he asks me if there are any guns, I figure that if I tell him nonchalantly that they are here, maybe he won't even notice that I confirmed his worst fears.  All of a sudden those end zone seats don't seem so bad.

"They shoot guns, Dad?"  He asks with a slight quiver in his voice.

"Yes, but maybe the Colonials won't score."  I explain, and not three minutes after I say that the sound of Cannon fire fills the stadium as the teams are introduced.  I never noticed that the Hartford UFL team's name was an ode to the New England Patriots who just 12 years ago were going to be playing football here.  Nice "scorned wife" touch.

After drying tears on two of the kids, we finally settle in our seats to watch the game.  I can't tell the teams apart since the home team rarely wears white jerseys anymore, so I figure that they're wearing their home blues.  My wife doesn't care.  She decides to scoff at the cheerleaders wearing outfits that belie the fact that its windy and 40 degrees out and snicker about the minutemen staring at the cheerleaders.  (In fact, she tells me later that they were "lecherous" and should not be holding any sort of fire arms - even if they're shooting blanks.  But they're from the 1700's!)

After the First Quarter, the Colonials are winning 10-0 after an incredible interception return for a touchdown by Danny Lansanah.  Only two children have cried over the musket and cannon fire.  My oldest son is snickering when the cannon goes off looking at his siblings, so I figure he's not going to make it 3 for 3 in the crying department.

As the Second Quarter starts winding down, we all start huddling closer together.  The sun has gone down and the wind has started picking up.  I had forgotten how cold it gets around here and I hadn't realized how warm beer makes you at football games until you go without it.   The Locos had just scored to make the game 13-7 and we were all starting to get the "if we leave now what time will it be when we get home?" looks on our faces.  At the same time, the Colonials are stringing together a couple of nice plays to get to the Locos end of the field as the clock starts winding down.  Then Colonials' quarterback Josh McNown (or Cade, I'm not sure which McNown it was) heaves up a mini hail mary.  We all stand in unison as the ball flies toward Colonials receiver Tyson Devree (who made up for dropping two TD passes in the half).  It's a well thrown ball...maybe this can be caught...and it's CAUGHT FOR A TOUCHDOWN!  We all start yelling.  I'm high-fiving the guy sitting next to me even though he's wearing a Yankees hat.  My daughter looks around wondering what just happened.  Muskets and cannons are being fired.  No children screaming.  It's great.

We decide to stay.  About four minutes into the Third Quarter, the Colonials nab another interception and take that one back for a touchdown too.  It's now 27-7.  Aren't the Locomotives supposed to be good?  Aren't the Colonials playing against the defending champions who are going to be playing for another championship next week?  Well no matter, all of the kids start talking about leaving because they are so cold.  I can't blame them, I'm cold too.  So toward the end of the Third Quarter we decide to leave with the Colonials winning by 20 points.  They go on to win their season finale 27-14.

*   *   *   *   *

We're all still talking about the pass that ended the First Half.  C starts to analyze the great pass blocking that led to McNown to have enough time to throw the ball in the first place and then declares that HE could have caught that pass too.  Thatta boy!  My younger son, mimicking his older brother also states matter of factly that he could have caught the ball too.  My daughter is asleep.  Judging by their reactions, I think we'll have to make this an annual trip.   It's a great place for a family to watch a game and is about 25% of the cost of an NFL game (well except for the $10 Guinesses, those are the same everywhere).  See you next year.

Bring Back the Whale, For One Day At Least - Hartford Whalers Fanfest

For more information on Hartford Whalers Hats, Hartford Whalers Apparel, visit Vintage Team Store's Hartford Whaler's Page.

I endured the laughs, even from my own family.  I endured the jeering from "friends."  I endured resistance from the children - even the 6 year old who wanted to go to his little league game instead of spending time with his Dad, the nerve.  But, I would not be deterred.  Maybe I'm not optimistic about the Whalers being reborn, and I'm on the look out for a new NHL team to root for, but for nostalgia's sake, this is something I needed to do, go to the Hartford Whalers Fanfest.

Even my wife asked me if I was sure that I wanted to take the three kids by myself on the hellish 2 hour drive down to Rentschler Field in East Hartford.  And JUST to go to some fanfast for the Hartford Whalers?  She must have a short memory of that last game in 1997 against the Tampa Bay Lightning - where we stayed late to listen to the Brass Bonanza, with tears flowing, and shaking hands and hugging everyone around us - yeah, I'm going.  And while I'm at it, maybe I'll even forgive Peter Karmanos and Chuck Kaiton for moving to North Carolina all those years ago.  Well, probably not Karmanos.  Incidentally, when I felt my wife's sympathy and mentioned that it would be great if she came too, she gave me a blank stare as if I just asked her to take out the garbage after a two week summer vacation.  "No I can't go, I have to be at work in 8 HOURS!"

11am.  East Hartford, Connecticut.  I had never been to Rentschler Field, so I had a little bit of a "Look kids, Big Ben, Parliament" moment as we drive down the road toward the backside of the field, when it was just a long drive down to the local Cabela's.  A poor man's version of Bass Pro Shops, it was, but the only way out was to drive by the place again, and again.  The elderly man still making his way to Grand Marquis was shaking his head as I whizzed by him a couple of times in the parking lot trying to find the exit.  Christ!   

Despite those couple of detours, eventually we made it to the field with minutes to spare.  I was concerned that we weren't going to receive the free posters that were being given out to the first 3,000 people to enter the fanfest.  As we were making our way to the back of the line, though, I wasn't worried about being too late as I was in awe of all of the fans dressed in Whaler Green and Blue waiting to get in.  Jerseys with names like Francis, Dineen, Burke and Sanderson on them brought back great memories - and permitted me to tolerate one of the first (of many) long lines of the afternoon.

As we finally stroll in, I see that the the Whalers have a new mascot, Pucky the Whale.  Another chance for DLG to be completely freaked out.  I keep trying to get Pucky's attention, but sensing that he was going to be facing a screaming little girl, he wisely went in the opposite direction.  Did I mention that once we got IN, we had to wait in another line to obtain the posters?

Gripping the recently received posters, we strolled around some of the booths for a little while surveying the memorbilia landscape.  I wanted some harpoon or Pucky logo gear, hopefully this was the place to do it.  I can just sense the growing hunger in the kids, so I suggested getting some grub.  "Yes!!" I hear in near unison.  

After a lengthy wait in line for some food for the famished kids (I mean it was 11:30 and they hadn't eaten since 9am) and beer for a stressed out Dad (Sadly, an experienced kegmaster was missing from the fest since all of the beers were foamy messes), we were fortunate to discover that we were feet away from Chuck Kaiton introducing all of the former Whalers who were signing autographs that day.  Believing that waiting for the introductions was cheaper than walking through all of the memorabilia dealers, we staked our place in the front row of the stage. The kids were confused.  "What are we doing here, Dad?" I think I heard one of them say.

Names from the past were introduced by a hoarse Kaiton.  Of the players introduced, Eddie Kastelic was one of the enforcers of the early 90's who quickly became a JMR family favorite, Andre LaCroix got all of the old timers excited (I only had a fleeting memory of his career) and Kevin Dineen (my favorite player) received one of the largest ovations.  I thought that part was really cool, frankly.  Nice touch.  My wife was convinced that I was just taking pictures of the Hartford Colonials cheerleaders when she reviewed the photographs the next morning.  Thanks, honey.

Some pucks and other hockey memorabilia were purchased to pass some time until we were called into the autograph line.  At least a thousand people deep, we slowly trudged our way down to the end of the line.  I figured this would be quick, these guys don't want to spend 6 hours signing posters for fanboys like me, so we waited...and waited...and waited some more.  During the two hour wait, I think I even got into an argument with the guy in line behind me about whether Gordie Howe was charging $30 for his autograph or $70.  I was convinced that his book was $30, but if you wanted a picture and something else signed, it was $40.  He was convinced that Howe was signing his name for $70 a pop.  I also spoke with Jack Earle Haley who was waiting to get Joel Quenneville's autograph, because he was a Chicage Blackhawks fan.  Even my 8 year old son looked at him unevenly.

And, it was all worth it in the end.  I talked to Kaiton about the irony of him losing his voice.  I spoke to a couple of guys I had never heard of, frankly.  My boys were fascinated by the tag team of Eddie Kastelic and another fighter type, Grant Jennings, signing side-by-side.  "Are they going to fight each other??" My six year old asked me.  I even had a chance to spend 5 minutes with someone who lived in my hometown while the WHA's New England Whalers were based in Boston.  Although I missed Ronnie Francis and Mike Rogers, I did manage to get one of Kevin Dineen's last autographs of the day before he left as my kids and I ewre the last ones in the makeshift line formed as Dineen was walking by us.  It was a fitting end to the day.

I looked at the kids as we pile into the car.  And granted, they were looking at their recently purchased Pokemon and Cinderella cards, but they were a little sunburned and they were all smiling.  That's all I needed to see.  I didn't need to ask them if they had a good time.  I have to admit, the best part was my son' reaction when I told Dana Murzyn that unfortunately, my son was a Bruins fan.  "No I'm not Dad!" he wheeled around and hissed.  "I like the Whalers!"  One Bruins fan at a time. 

So when is the Hartford Whalers Hockeyfest?

photo courtesy of usatoday.com

Time to Come Back to the NHL - JMR's Redemption Part 2

It was quite a game.  As you read in Part 1, it had been a long time since I had seen a game.  April 13, 1997 put an end to my love of hockey with that last game in Hartford.  The Whalers and I both left Hartford at the same time, never to see each other again.  Until, that is, my sons started showing interest in the Boston Bruins.  I was hoping their fascination ended with rooting for the Bruins and not with dragging Dad to a rink in Bourne for 3am Sunday morning practice.  We'll see.  I would be the one with the Starbucks coffee cup and a dirty look on my half-awake face.

My son took the yellow hanky that he received as he walked in and put it under his seat.  "I'm not going to waive a yellow towel around, Dad."  I don't blame him, although I would have used it to wipe the popcorn and candy off his face, at least.  Waving a yellow towel around in the air at a hockey game seems a little overdone anyway.  Isn't this what Steelers fans do?  Most others decided to waive their flags as the faceoff occurs, however. 

A lot of action in our end to start the game and before we knew it, the Boston Bruins had taken a 13-1 lead in shots on goal.  It seemed that the Boston Bruins had a 20-1 lead in scoring opportunities, too.  At least that's what I think after hearing the moaning and groaning as the puck whizzes by the Hurricans goalie Cam Ward.  (Oh did I tell you that I had to name the 5 best Bruins on the team?  I had my head down trying to think of the best five Bruins.  Dennis Wideman and Tim Thomas came to mind. ) Luckily our seats were in the corner where the Bruins shot twice, because if we were in the other end we would have been watching the game from the scoreboard.   The First Period ended scoreless, although 34 shots on goal were recorded in the period.  It seemed that the Canes had created some momentum for themselves and headed into the Second Period with the man advantage.  Or so I thought...

The next sequence is a testament to Dad always being right.  As my son was asking for ice cream or some other sugar-laden crap, I kept telling him - let's go wait in line with a minute left in the First Period, because if we wait until the Period is over, we'll be waiting in line even longer when the Second Period starts. 

"No I want to see the end of the Period!  The Bruins might score a goal!"  If only he knew what he would miss with his hubris. 

Dad's right again.  We wait in line for 20 minutes to get Reece's Peanut Butter Cups and water and we're waiting in line when the Horn blows indicating an apparent Bruins goal.  But the TV hanging over the Concession Station is on what seems like a 30 second delay.  As soon as we see the goal on TV, the Horn blows again.  Wait, was that from the TV for the first goal, or did the Bruins just score another goal?  Everyone waiting in line was just as confused.  The confusion had everyone buzzing and then the horn sounded again!  3 shorthanded goals on the same penalty or was this some sort malfunction?  Should we get out of line and get back to our seats?  Are the Hurricanes channeling the 1982-83 Whalers?  Was Jean Claude Van Damme playing goal again?  The Bruins scored 3 shorthanded goals in a little over a minute!  And we missed them all.  I hope that candy tasted good, little buddy!

We do finally get back to our seats just in time for me to explain the two replays that occurred in the Second Period - a disallowed goal for the Bruins and an amazing play where Patrice Bergeron, in full sprint, had to stop a puck from going in when an errant pass almost went in for an own-goal because the Bruins' goalie was pulled for a delayed penalty.  That was really unbelieveable to watch in person.  At the end of the Second Period, the Bruins were leading 3-2.

The Third Period featured the highlight for us.  It was Fan Appreciation day.  The Bruins, in their zeal to empty the coffers of all of the swag that they had accumulated over the course of the year, were giving away everything but the seats we were sitting on here.  My son was suffering from a sugar coma at this point, but was roused back from his daydream to look at the socreboard with me to see if we would win anything.  We had decent seats and they always take care of the people in these seats - even if we could only afford these seats once a year.

Jerseys off our back?  No.  Tickets to playoff games or games next year? No.  Lunch with some dude I've never heard of before?  No.  One of the last giveaways, though was free burritos from Chipotle.  I don't even know where there is a Chipotle around here, but when our section was called we all went crazy.  Free burritos!  On top of that, it was like I had won a double prize because my son wouldn't come near a burrito unless a t-shirt was wrapped in it.  He was still excited though - enough to brag to his brother when we got home.  I guess they played the Third Period too.  The Bruins scored an empty net goal and finally clinched a playoff birth with a 4-2 victory.  A great game to have witnessed live. 

It's time to come back.  I came to this game because the Hurricanes and the Bruins are the obvious front runners for my new rooting interest.  My Sons' favorite team and the old Hartford Whalers.  Unfortunately, fandom isn't as cut and dry as that.  I need to find a different team.  One without much chance of moving or being disbanded.  I will need to choose one before the NHL Playoffs end.  Don't get me wrong, the Harford Whalers are still my first love.  I had a lot of great memories with my friends and family at these games; I regret though that I couldn't take my kids to the games.

Anyway, my boys have become hardened Bruins fans, but I can probably talk my daughter into rooting for my new team.  She is still young enough to believe every word I say.  Yeah.  It's time to come back.

picture courtesy of vandamme.ru

  

Time to Come Back to the NHL - JMR's Redemption Part 1

It's time to come back.

"Is it OK if I wear this hat?"  I ask my 7 year old son as I show him my Hartford Whalers wool Starter baseball cap.  I don't want to embarrass the boy, but I bought this hat in 1996 at the Whalers Pro Shop located at the long since razed Civic Center Mall, and I want to wear it.  I've only worn it sparingly since April 1997.  And it makes me sad to see it nowadays.  Not teary-eyed - mind you - the tears stopped on April 13, 1997, just sad. 

"Will you take it off before we get to the game?"  He asks me as he pulls on his Boston Bruins jersey while we're driving to the game.  Uh, no - that's the point.  We're going to see the Boston Bruins play the Carolina Hurricanes in Boston for the Bruins' last regular season home game.  I swore off hockey that day almost 13 years ago, and if I'm going to subject myself to a game, I'm wearing this hat.  My Brendan Shanahan jersey was thrown out (all right I taped over his name with the word "Traitor" first) shortly after his trade to the Red Wings for Keith Primeau.  What a jerk.

My favorite players growing up were Rick Ley and Gordie Howe.  An autographed hockey stick and hockey puck somewhere evidence that idoltry.  The Whalers practice rink was located in my hometown and I was able to see some of their practices.  (Thanks, Dad for that.)  I went to games in Springfield after the Civic Center roof collapsed in 1978.  I witnessed 6 straight First Round exits through the Adams Division, including a wonderful first round against these same Boston Bruins highlighted by me relaying the play by play for friends using my walkman.  I had beers at the Russian Lady, Coach's and Chuck's Steakhouse before games and great Mexican food at Margaritas after.  I bought season tickets with my Brother that fateful year that they had to get 13,000 season tickets to stay in Hartford, even though I lived in Boston at the time.  I was too young to remember much about the WHA days, but if you want to know something about the 1980's or 1990's version of the Hartford Whalers, I was your man.

"Is it okay if I root for the Bruins?" He then asks me.  Thinking that I might make him to root for somone else.  I don't blame him.  I was gritting my teeth for most of the ride in.  It was the traffic, I told myself.  He then adds "Are we almost there?  I don't want to miss any of the game!"  I enjoy it when he's genuinely excited about something.  Even if, when he says "game," he actually means "popcorn."

"That's fine." I tell him. "You know, you'll probably save me from having beer dumped on me again, like the last time I went to a Bruins game."  I then recount how I received tickets back in 1998 for a Bruins playoff game against the Carolina Hurricanes and was treated - well let's gently say - unfairly by the hometown fans.  I can just hear the yawn coming from the back seat, though.

1997 was a tough year.  I witnessed the Whalers' last game when Kevin Dineen scored the game winning goal to win 2-1 over the Lightning.  The players applauded us and threw jerseys into the stands as the entire Brass Bonanza played for the remaining diehards crying in their seats.  They had to change their name from "New England" to enter the NHL in 1979.  They lost their home after the aforementioned Civic Center collapse.  Their GM traded their best player (Ron Francis) to curry favor with the owners of the Pittsburgh Penguins in order to get a job a few years later with them and Brendan Shanahan pulled a Terrell Owens to get out of town in 1995.  But this was the toughest one.  After that game, hockey meant practically nothing to me.  It was dead.

12:30pm.  Boston, MA.  I'm surprised.  Except for numerous double glances at my hat, no one stops to make fun of me.  Maybe they pity me.  Considering its been 13 years since the Whalers moved to North Carolina, I don't blame them for taking pity on me.  As we sit down in our seats, I see two women fully decked out in Bruins gear coming into our row.  Okay, let's see what they will have to say when I show them the hat.

"Excuse me sir.  Our seats our next to yours."  They hiss. 

Actually they were very pleasant.  They were in fact amused by my son investigating the fresh squeezed lemonade (with half a lemon inside) like it was a hydrogen bomb as they walked by.  At the same time, I scan the seats around me looking for old Whalers jerseys.  Blue and (mostly) Green forever I tell my son; Blue and Green forever.  I don't think he heard me since I find him staring out at the rink.  After I told him that we may get a puck, he examines the glass and ice to see at which angles a puck might come whizzing by our seats. 

Referees and players start mulling around; it's almost game time.  We listen to Rene Rancourt "sing" the National Anthem and the PA announcer go "woo."  Game time.  I start sipping on my beer while my son starts eating a Reece's Peanut Butter Cup.  We're both ready for this game, but for different reasons.

Part 2 - JMR's redemption, but how does it turn out? Coming Later.