| 28 April 2010
I'm not sure what hurt the most: seeing the Capitals come just one dramatic goal-rush away from a tie and forcing an overtime period or driving home on I-95 and hearing a radio commercial on 106.7 WJFK proclaim "C-A-P-S CAPS CAPS CAPS Looks like it's OUR year Caps fans! Let's go get the cup!"
Hearing a bold statement like that after your team has had its last nail driven into the coffin is darkly humorous. Humorous in the "I want to kill the advertiser who wrote that" kind of way. (Not really...OK really...not really...seriously don't ever do it again).
But while the CapsNation scrambles to find answers, or better yet, more questions to ask, I'm left here reflecting on my first-ever Game 7 experience.
Back in the early 2000s, my dad and I went to our first playoff game against the Tampa Bay Lightning. Then the Caps had their miraculous playoff run in 2007 to even get to dance with the Flyers. I got to go to Game 5, but when the fateful Game 7 rolled around I was back at VCU and had to listen on the Internet radio (horrible).
I saw Game 2 of the Rangers series, missed both Game 7s last year while at VCU, but I made the wise decision of basing my apartment choice around which complex would allow me to get Comcast and thus every Caps game. I missed a Game 7 win and a Game 7 drubbing and my only knowledge of what they were like came from my Dad's phone calls as he drove him.
"Most amazing atmosphere I've ever been in," he said. "Just incredible, so red, so loud. You have to see it."
Thanks for rubbing it in Dad...snark toward my father aside, Wednesday night's 2-1 loss was my first ever Game 7.
Before the game I saw some fans were bailing on the game by selling their tickets, claiming it would be too stressful to witness (why bother being a sports fan then? This is what we live for, drama.). I tried my best to go about my normal daily routine, but a nervous shake in my leg blew any attempt I made at displaying a "oh I'm not nervous, cool as a cat man!" attitude.
The 4 p.m. to 7 p.m. hours were just one dull lull in my existence. Never have I wanted three hours to go away so fast.
I just wanted hockey and only hockey. I placed a quick call to my fiancee to tell her I love her, the game is on so make sure it's on your TV, but she gets the message: I'm about to enter the playoff zone and I'm going to be extremely irrational for the next three hours and complete and utter disappointment could be the result of all this. And there's a chance she'll have to deal with me lamenting about the Caps for a few weeks, or worse, more hockey until possibly June.
We all know what happened in the game. No point listing it all out here. You saw it, I saw it, the whole hockey world saw it. I'll just leave it at this: The true fans in the building know how to react to the loss. Leave the knee-jerk reactions to those who want them. I'll take none of them.
As for how I spent my first Game 7?
I spent most of it with my hands over my mouth and eyes wide open, afraid to blink. Each play sent waves through my body as the players darted back and forth. Throughout the regular season I've been awfully reserved with cursing or screaming at the refs, but with all the chips on the table, it's hard to not let a "that's bullshit and you fucking know it" out after spending a season of holding it in.
Sorry to anyone that was/is offended.
The third period begins and Ovechkin fires a shot at the net. Boom it's in. Bedlam. I'm jumping, my Dad is jumping. Some guy is hugging me. I have no clue who he is and I really don't care. I almost lost my sunglasses because someone's hands are flailing about like one of those blow-up wavy men you see at car dealerships. This is pure hockey ecstasy.
"NO GOAL"
Remember that reserved attitude I carry at games.
"FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU---------" you finish the rest. Biggest. Downer. Ever.
The story's pretty simple after that. Caps keep pressing, no goals, Mike Green derps out again and we're down two. Suddenly a goal, a last-ditch effort and then a loss. All in that order of course.
As I watched fans leave at the 2-0 mark, I grew disgusted, but I did a better job of keeping that in than other words that night. When the clock struck zero I sat down, looked down at the floor in what some photographer might have thought would be an excellent "agony of defeat" photo and decided it was time to go.
Strolling down the stairs toward the exit portal, I remembered that we still had one more Game 7 event to see: the handshake.
"Hold up Dad," I said. "The handshake. We have to watch the handshake."
It was there that I realized I had a great Game 7 experience even with the loss. I saw tight defense, huge emotional and momentum swings and an ending that maybe if Hollywood got a crack at it, might have been done the way I wanted it. Turns out I got a semi-Hollywood ending.
Before I could look at my Dad to give him the "let's go nod", Alex Ovechkin and a few of the Caps stopped at center ice, raised their sticks and the faithful, and I mean the faithful, cheered one last time for our 2009-2010 Caps.
When the cheering stopped, Ovechkin's head dropped to his chest and in that moment you could see a city's disappointment weigh on his shoulders, a modern-day Atlas carrying a city's hopes and dreams.
A sad, but almost inspiring, sight.
I don't think I could have asked for a better first Game 7, even with the loss. Now I look forward to one where I can experience the thrill of victory.
Wake me up, when September ends.
| < Prev | Next > |
|---|
