Update on Ice Hockey in Portugal
The Quest for Immortality
The NHL season's final bar fight has come to a thundering conclusion. A yearly almost mythical quest for sports immortality. Winning the championship means getting your name on the cup. And the trophy itself has become a King Arthur style treasure. Shiny, Big. Symbol of the ultimate wowie zowie of success. After the initial waves of joy subside and the two teams have completed the traditional handshake, it makes its appearance on a table at the end of a red carpet.
It has its own anthem--I kid you not. An announcer, doing his best ‘Voice of God’ says, “Ladies and gentlemen, The Stanley Cup!”. Fans rise to their feet. They take off their hats. Two guys with white gloves whose livelihood involves keeping an eye on the thing. I swear the guy on the right is there every year. I have become convinced he is actually Santa Claus.
Ok, so now the Commish, an old dude shaking not with early stage Parkinsons but incredible excitement makes a mercifully short speech and invites the captain to come get the cup. And its sparklers all the way across.
The captain's job is to hoist (we don't lift, we hoist as if to toast in celebration thereof ) and to skate around with it held high over his head. He shows the trophy to the fans. He kisses it. He howls a primal howl. He hands it off to the next senior player.
His teammates all have beards left to grow wild since the beginning of playoff season to symbolize how long their journey has been, a testament to a gruelling, properly mediated all out battle of skill and endurance. They made it through 4 rounds, and won the last game in each round to end the season for the opponents before them. The world’s best players on the best teams. And there would be concussions, broken bones, and foul language; they’d fix each other with icy glares, and voice unending challenges. The players really go after each other. Full tilt boogie—adding real emotion to incredible skill, all to have their names written next to the immortals. And to admire their reflection in the trophy itself. As they kiss it.
From now on they'll be introduced in public as a Stanley Cup Champion. You are forever blessed, the hockey Gods having shone their countenance down upon you.
The home city will give them a parade, but the single point of visual focus when it's in sight is Lord Stanley's Cup (he actually was a Lord--you can't make this stuff up). Every person who touches it will remember the location and circumstances under which they came into its astonishing presence.
Each player gets some time with it in the off season. They’ll pose with their childhood friends with it. They'll give their infant kids baths in it. And everyone will remember it for the rest of their life.
This year’s finalists came from two cities: Las Vegas, Nevada, (a desert); and Sunrise, Florida, (a swamp); and I have no idea why this finest of Canadian creations hasn’t caught on in Portugal or anywhere in the south of Europe. It’s hundreds of times more exciting than soccer. Cricket? Wake me when it’s over. Basketball, Football, Auto Racing, Baseball—none of these has a finer tradition of granting permanent ascension to the victors.
In 2011 Jane and I were invited to a friend's wedding in Boston. The wedding was held in a gorgeous downtown park in Boston, on Saturday June 18. We arrived in Boston on Wednesday June 11, a few days early to allow us some time to romp around the historical and architectural glories of Boston. Such sights are in far greater abundance in Boston than available in our home town Vancouver, Canada, such a young city.
On Wednesday evening the seventh game of the Stanley Cup finals between the Boston Bruins and the Vancouver Canucks commenced. Every bar and restaurant with a TV was tuned in, so we were able to follow along. When the Bruins scored the first goal, my happy hour was definitely over. We wandered off to dinner from the bar, and the hooting and gaiety we witnessed later that evening on the streets of Boston left no doubt as to which team won that final game, including all the smooching and hoisting of the cup so ably described in your posting.
On Thursday Jane and I walked the historical district, which has a well marked self-guided tour circuit. Ready for a break after all the interesting sights, we sidled into an Italian coffee house for a cup of goodness. Sipping on my fine cappuccino, I noticed on the TV some raging fires and a bunch of hooligans wrecking store windows and burning cars. What sort of nut jobs would do such things? Then I started recognizing some of the buildings. "That's the Hudson's Bay Store in downtown Vancouver" I pointed out to Jane. "That's our fellow citizens trashing our own town, over a spit-covered humongous chalice!" How embarrassing. We kept a low profile, stopped discussing Vancouver issues, and quietly left the coffee shop.
The following day, Friday, we took a walk along the pedestrian sea and river walk in downtown Boston. Suddenly three very tall and beefy guys appear, pushing a high-end baby buggy, the expensive beefy kind you see well-to-do athletic moms and dads pushing their babes in as they jog about. Four policemen were surrounding them, so the oddness of it caught our attention. As the buggy passed us, we saw none other than Lord Stanley's spit-covered chalice resting comfortably in the buggy. Zdeno Chara, the team captain, was one of the giants pushing the buggy about. Bostonians all around were high-fiving and basking in the shiny glow of the impressive chalice, taking selfies with Chara and his team mates around the cup-laden pram.
I was close enough that I could have touched the thing, but such sacrilege is anathema so I probably only drooled a little as I oohed and aahed. The moment was brief, Chara and associates scooted onward to share the cup with more of their Bostonian neighbours. I somehow can not imagine that if the Canucks had won, that Lord Stanley's mega-stein would have been out on the Vancouver Seawall, so good on the Boston Bruins for tempting the fates and sharing the cup around town. It was unforgettable, being that close to the big shiny iconic trophy.
The next day, Saturday, was the wedding. Bostonians had also set up a downtown parade in honour of the Bruin's victory, so as we commenced the wedding in the park, a steady stream of Bruins fans were trooping through the park on the way to the parade, all in a mighty good mood. They clapped and cheered for the bride and groom, bringing an unexpected level of fun to the otherwise well run wedding.
By Sunday, Bostonians were over it all, as their Red Sox were off to the races in the ball park. That's what happens when your city has multiple top tier professional teams. Vancouverites would have cherished the win far longer. Thankfully Vancouverites didn't carry their silly rage for more than a day in such a shameful display of sore-loser-ship.
A powerful, legendary trophy indeed.
Only three dry months to go, before the first NHL pre-season games, this year in Australia, at Rod Laver Arena in Melbourne. Because hot places need more sports that require refrigeration.
Us high school cheerleaders at old West Whalley High in Surrey BC would bravely march out onto the ice at half time, in our sneakers no ice trax, and perform our halftime routine to amp that crowd up. The biggest thrill for the audience would be who was gonna fall. One of us always did.
I only ever went to one Canucks game as a teen with my girlfriend Sandra. Her dad brought us. Sitting in the nosebleed seats, watching Sandra’s dad Hal turn into a raving hockey fan was something to behold as a 13 year old.
Watching the ice be instantly filled with hockey gloves and sticks as a rink wide brawl ensued was unforgettable.
How do they keep their eye on that puck!