The Cup

Most of you know, I am a diehard hockey fan. I can watch any hockey game, yes, even the dreaded Flyers. I will stay away from the “either you get it or you don’t” argument. But I will say most of the hockey fans I know tend to be fairly knowledgable, even if it’s only about the hometeam. They do seem to have some sort of passion, more so than the typical baseball or football fan. I see a lot of dedication with the rec players in our Monday night league. A lot of them rush from work, or travel a fair distance, eat on the way, etc. If you don’t know much about hockey, though, I am willing to bet you are familiar with the Stanley Cup. It’s the oldest professional sports trophy in the world I believe. I suppose I could Google that, but I am far too lazy to do that. It’s not like baseball of football that just make up another trophy for the winner every year. No, Lord Stanley has been around since 1892. Whenever a team wins the cup, all the names on the roster get engraved on the Cup. The names ring around the bottom of the Cup.

Being a true fan, I have seen this thing hoisted by the greatest players to ever play the game; Gretzky, Lemieux, Messier, Roy, Stevens, Bourque, Sakic, etc. Every June, I see it awarded to the winning team. Needless to say, the Cup is esteemed, admired, revered among hockey fans. It’s every hockey fans’ dream to get your picture taken with The Cup. I never thought I would have that opportunity. Until last Saturday.

Imagine my surprise on Friday when I found out that The Cup would be mere minutes away from Missile Command the very next day. How did I not know about this sooner? Doesn’t matter, either way, I was thrilled. Former Flyer Bill Clement, who’s probably better known for being a hockey broadcaster than Stanley Cup winner, wanted to raise some money for some local charities, so he was able to corral The Cup and a bunch of former Flyers to do an appearance at a technical school. Since I found out about this so late, I had it in my mind that not a lot of people knew about it. Hell, how many hockey fans will know about this? Besides, I am sure most Flyers fans do their community service on Saturdays. ZING!

So imagine my surprise when we rolled up, and saw a full parking lot; we had to park on the grass. We got there pretty early on. The line outside the building seemed fairly manageable. Until some guy said this was a “Disney Line”. In other words, while it seems like there’s a small line outside, the real line is hidden inside. Sure enough, there are seemingly 50,000 people in line. D’oh! Fuck, I really thought we could breeze through this in like 40 minutes. Guess this wasn’t so low key.

I am not a good waiter. I grow impatient easy. I am totally id driven; I want what I want and I want it now! So seeing all these puckheads in my way really cheeses me off. Actually, it’s not that bad. I mean this is my chance to get my grubby little hands on a piece of true sports history. This is a big deal in my otherwise shallow and pathetic life. So waiting for what will turn out to be 2+ hours seems like a pretty small price to pay. There are bigger fans who never get this opportunity. Everything will be OK.

It’s easy to hold on to something like that. The reality is that I am being driven bonkers by a line that is crawling along. It’s just a major victory to make it inside the building. Fuck, this is going to take forever. Poor T is not doing well. I know she’s focused on Hallowmas, and waiting in line is something that will drive her nuts, too. There’s not much to do, except people watch.

And sometimes the hockey stereo type is a reality. I see no less than 3 legit mullets. At least they weren’t wearing old Triumph shirts. It’s a pretty wide array of people. Young kids in oversized hockey jerseys. Dads who are coaches. Older women wearing shirts that were from the Cryers last Cup year; i.e. 30 year old yellowed t-shirts. I see a few brave souls like myself who are not wearing Flyers jerseys. I am proudly sporting my Avs jersey. I see a guy with a Red Wing jersey, so I go hip check him through the grass of the trophy case. Eat shit, Detroit! I see Penguins & Coyotes jerseys as well. But it’s a black and orange crowd for sure. I feel kinda bad, as there was a young couple in front of us that hung in for like 40 minutes, but then had to leave. What a buzzkill.

Slowly, the line winds it’s way to a table where you have to pay 2 bucks to get in. Mr. Big Spender over here springs for the wife. It’s the least I can do. I can tell she is bored as when I tell her how my day went. Deep down, I know she digs this, but wasn’t prepared for such a long wait. But I have a growing anxiousness. My mood is upbeat and positive. Soon, enough, The Cup will be mine.

I pay the 4 bucks, and guess what? We wait again, this time in a smaller line. It’s almost like they’re weeding out the weak. We go in, and immediately get in the line for the Stanley Cup. Yes, another line. And there it is. I can see it. The most prestigious trophy in all of sport. I never thought I would get in the same room with it, let alone get a picture with it. First impression is that it is not super bright. I guess that is common sense since it is so old. I just expected angelic light reflecting off of it or something. Again, I think of all the history associated with it. I don’t quite know the proper word to use here, but I am sure you do, so please insert it here. That’ll help, thanks.

Right in front of us is this old couple. The guy is one of those tall, craggy looking guy. His profile is dominated by a huge sloping nose, and he wears one of those old-man dickey hats that they give you when you turn 65. He was with his wife, but as we got in the picture line, he disappears. It’s just the wife in front of us. And she’s getting on my nerves. All she does is pace in small circles and is fucking constantly looking all around. I mean, Broom Hilda ain’t even looking where’s she’s going. Often, the rest of the line is like 10 feet in front of her as she stares off into the distance.

At one point, T was ready to slip by, but she turned back around. Every 2 seconds, she’s pacing around in small circles, looking in all directions. I don’t know if she’s looking for her husband or what, but it’s getting super fucking annoying. She is like a Weeble, just bouncing all around.

The line for The Cup now winds up and down three rows. As you paid, they were giving out these heinous bright orange cardboard helmets. I believe these were the same fay helmets the Cryers hand out during key playoff games. So you turn on the game, and see 18,000 motards wearing fucking cardboard helmets. They look like the SpEds that get the cardboard crowns at Burger King. I am sorry, but no self respecting hockey fan wears a fucking cardboard helmet ever. I don’t care how much Molson or Labatts you drink, it just doesn’t happen. And why the holy fuck would you put that on for your picture with the Cup? There should be a trap door on the stage when this gets through. “OK, sir, you there in the cardboard helmet. Step right up to The Cup.” Then-whoosh-trap door opens, and loser gets whisked down a Christmas Story-like slide out to the back of the line.

People do different things when they get to The Cup. I saw young girls kiss The Cup. I saw old men kiss The Cup. I saw grown men hug the thing. A lot of people have this very revered look on their face as they get to it. I see smiling families get their picture with it. I see numerous Flyers fan drape a Flyers T or jersey at the bottom of The Cup. I am sure there have to be tons of funny pictures of fans with The Cup.

Finally, we wind our way up. I do admit to feeling a twinge of nervousness-I guess that’s the word I am looking for-as it gets to be our turn. I bought 3 pictures-one of just me, one of just T and one of the both of us. That group picture kills me because she’s being disrespectful and wearing a fucking Flyers jersey. Needless to say, I am highly embarrassed that there’s a pic of me with my wife and The Cup, and she’s ruining it by wearing a fucking Cryers jersey. Finally, after over 2 hours in line, it is my chance. They are cool, and you can obviously touch The Cup. I put my hands all over it like it’s T’s ass. They have to readjust the camera or something, so I get a few brief extra seconds with Stanley. I immedialety look for the Avs names on The Cup. The only team I see is the Canadiens from the 50s. So I am not really paying attention when the camera finally does go off. I’m NOT READY! FUCKING D’OH! Fortunately, they are cool, and give me another shot, which is what you see.

Next, T comes up and we take our group shot. I swear, I am smiling ear to fucking ear. I leave and now it’s hoseheads’s shot at The Cup. Since she has a Flyers jersey on, the one guy actually directs her where to point on The Cup to the Flyers roster. Well, fuck me, the hot girl catches another break while uggo over here suffers.

And it was over. Just like that. Woosh.

2 hours all disappears. I vainly look back on my brief time with The Cup, and realize just how vain I can be. All I was really worried about was looking good for the picture. The most important trophy in the world, and I’m worried about my fucking hair. And yes, for the record, I did ask T how my hair looked before I got my picture taken. Luckily, it turned out OK. I got to lay my hands on The Cup. And I got my picture taken with me putting my hands on The Cup. Maybe that isn’t a thrill to you, but I can tell you that is top ten material for me. It easily trumps my Jenkintown Brewfest picture from a while back.

I was like a little kid. I was so damn happy.

As it turns out, this event was a huge success. They had so many people there, they had to turn people away at 1:30 because the line was so long and the parking lot was full. They estimated over 3500 people were there, and over $55,000 was raised for local charities. All the money I spent was well worth it, and I have something I will treasure the rest of my life.

As always, thanks for reading.