Memory Monday

(Okay, okay, I know. It's not actually Monday anymore, but I got in late last night, so cut me a little slack and pretend.)

Part two of the co-captains mini-series:

Chris Drury - The 7.7 Second Goal

No contest. This is not only my favorite moment of Drury, but also of the entire season, and possibly of my hockey fan career. (Granted it only encompasses about a year, but still.)

Allow me to set the scene a little: It's May 4th, and I'm on my way home from Minnesota for the summer. I'm at the tail end of the most hellish week of finals imaginable, one that required I spend fourteen hours a day cramped in a tiny design studio, constructing miniature set pieces out of toothpicks and foam core. Over the course of three days I managed to grab a grand total of eight hours of sleep, and in any minute not spent sleeping, eating, or frantically hot-gluing, I could be found running around trying to pack and store all of my stuff in preparation for the trip back to Buffalo. Even once I get home, I still won't be done, since a Monday deadline gives me just under three days to research and write a ten-page paper. I am, in a word, exhausted. And even worse, I'm hockey-deprived. Due to my hectic schedule, I was only able to catch Game 2 of the Rangers series, and I unknowingly scheduled my flight on the night of Game 5.

I pass out on the plane ride, despite my playoffs-related stress, and find myself suddenly in Buffalo at around 9:00pm. As people switch on their cell phones, all they ask about is the game, and the score spreads through the cabin in a wave. Even as I speed-dial my sister to let her know I'm in, I overhear the guy next to me repeating, "Zero-zero going into the third?" to his phone, seemingly for my benefit. My sister, listening to the radio in the car, corroborates, and I find myself sharing anxious glances with people I don't know in the slightest as we all move toward baggage claim. Through the churning in my stomach--series tied, game scoreless, one period to go--I feel a thrill. This is precisely why I drove myself nuts by booking my flight days before I needed to: to share the playoffs with like-minded strangers, fans as crazy as I am to invest so much in a game.

I meet my sister at the curb, and after a warm but quick hug, she helps me with my bags and tells me it's still tied at zero. It's about a forty minute drive back to our house, and we have a go at catching up, but we're only half-listening to each other, our main focus on the radio. Halfway home, the Rangers score, and we shut up for good. We're stung; we weren't expecting this. As the precious few seconds of the remaining regulation tick down, we can feel our playoff hopes disappearing with them. The Rangers ice the puck with sixteen seconds left, and my sister whispers, "It's over." I want to say, "But Drury's on the ice," but instead I just lean forward into the dashboard, anxious and silent as they set up for the face-off. I'm thinking, this can't happen, it can't really end like this.

And, of course, it doesn't. I don't even bother trying to process the words of the play-by-play, because I know that if, when we score, Rick Jeanneret will lose his mind, and that's all I need to listen for. As the patented RJ wail of "SCOOOOOOOORES" fills the car, my sister and I turn to each other, mouths gaping in disbelief. We erupt into screams, connect a couple of frantic high fives, start pounding on the seats, windows, anything we can get our hands on. We quiet down just long enough to hear Jeanneret yell "CHRIS DRUUUUURY, who else? Who else?" and I feel vindicated, proud. That's my captain. My sister lays on the horn so hard the car in front of us pulls over onto the shoulder. They're obviously not listening to the game. We fly the rest of the way home, and I feel lighter than I've felt in the past month. There's still the overtime period to go, but I don't have any doubts. We're not going to lose this game. Not now. When we pull in the driveway, OT has already started, so I run in the house, give cursory greetings to my parents, and park myself in front of the TV. It's not long before I can celebrate properly the win I already knew was coming. Max Afinogenov belly flops at center ice, and my household shares hugs and high fives. It's the best welcome home present I could ever ask for.

The funny part is, it's not until the next morning when I hit up YouTube that I actually get to see the game-tying goal. It is a thing of beauty. It looks (even in retrospect) like destiny. From Drury's stick, the puck finds its way through Thomas Vanek's legs, around Henrik Lunqvist, and somehow, impossibly eluding two defenders, into a tiny sliver of open net. It's truly magical. And as I'm writing this, I'm discovering, to great delight, that my love for this goal goes above and beyond anything to do with the guy who scored it. Yes, it's quintessential Drury, the kind of moment he's famous for creating, and that's certainly part of the reason I loved it initially. But it's not his moment. Ultimately, no matter what sweater he wears now, that moment belongs to us, to Buffalo, to the people who jumped out of their seats in HSBC, or on top of each other in the plaza outside. It belongs to me, in desperate need of a pick-me-up, a reason to scream my way home from the airport. And that's good to know. It's good to know that, despite a tiny twinge of heartbreak, this video still plasters a smile on my face. Because this goal is about the pure, unadulterated elation, not the guy who caused it. Still, in that moment, I could not have loved Chris Drury more.

Okay, there. I got it off my chest. Briere, Drury, you will be remembered, you will be missed. Now get out of my life for a little while and let me heal.

Memory Monday

When I decided to start this series, this forthcoming entry topped the list of planned topics to memorialize. Then, for reasons which will soon be quite clear, I put off having to write it. But it's becoming obvious that I'm going to have to write it sooner or later, and it may as well be sooner. It will be much healthier to just get this out of my system and move on. So, here goes...

I sort of casually paid attention to last off-season. I knew the kind of moves the Sabres were making, who was staying and who was going, but I wasn't obsessively checking the newspaper and the internets for the most up-to-date news. (In retrospect, I think I was much better off stuck in that mind-set, but there's nothing I can do about that now.) As far as departures go, I had mixed reactions. Pyatt needed to go (even though he was and still is the hottest hockey player I've ever seen), Dumont and Grier were gone but not really mourned, and even though McKee was bordering on heartbreak-territory (he would've been a True Sabre to the very end, if we'd given him the chance, poor guy), it was all tempered by the fact that Danny Briere was returning. My team was to have two captains again. I didn't pay attention to the cynics who were predicting that his one-year deal spelled disaster for the following summer (just like I'm plugging my ears to the noise that Brian Campbell will be a hot item on next year's UFA market... LALALALA), I was just happy to have my co-captains back. Now, it's true that things didn't really work out for the best in the end, but if I tried to pretend that I didn't love them while it lasted, then I would be a big, fat liar. So, over the next two Mondays, I'll be paying tribute to my favorite moment from the past season with each of my captains. First up:

Danny Briere - The NHL All-Star Game

Okay, on the one hand, I guess it says a lot about my level of love for Briere (not to mention his vitalness to the Sabres) that the best of all the memories I could come up with was an exhibition match that didn't matter what-so-ever, but on the other hand, this really is the most fitting. Danny is one of the New NHL's biggest success stories. In the Old NHL, he was still skilled, but way too undersized to really make anything of it, and while I don't completely buy that he never thought he was going to make it to the All-Star Game, I bet that when he was struggling in Phoenix, nothing seemed further away. Then, when the rules changed at just the right time, and he found himself in an offensive system in Buffalo that really showcased his talent, he started shining like an All-Star. I was happy not only to see him in the All-Star line-up, but in the line-up by fan vote. It showed him that he was no longer unnoticed and unappreciated; Buffalo fans were vocal, and willing to stand behind him. Still, in the weeks leading up to the game, the only story lines were about Briere's fan-voted linemates Sid Crosby and Alex Ovechkin, and how, due to last year's Winter Olympics, this was to be their first shot at the All-Star Game. The youngsters were the undisputed superstars of the Conference and the League, and in their presence, Danny just seemed like "The Other Guy." But when game-time came around, he made everyone look dumb. Sid and Ovie got one point between them, while Briere (on a different line) netted the first goal of the night and then added four assists to skate away with MVP honors, and the car keys that came with it.

Now, does this prove that Briere is a better player than Crosby or Ovechkin? Not a chance. But I couldn't help but admire the way he went in and quietly stole the show from the Young Guys and Big Stories. He just did his job, like all of the Buffalo voters had asked him to, and graciously accepted the award that was given to him for his efforts. And I just loved him for it. This isn't to say that this was necessarily the hockey high point of his season, but it was the one moment that I remember feeling most potently proud that he was my captain. So thank you for that, Danny.

To be continued next week, but Chris Drury-er.

Memory Monday

So, I should be furiously pausing and rewinding the newest installment of the "Sabres 12 to Remember" right now, but my TiFaux decided that it didn't want to tape what it told me it was going to tape, and I am gameless. Hopefully TiFaux will remember its place by tomorrow noon, and I'll be able to resume my new ritual of trying unsuccessfully to work the remote and keyboard at the same time. Writing game diaries is fun!

So instead of all that, I thought I'd start in on something I promised myself I'd introduce last week, but inevitably forgot about: Memory Mondays. As much as I appreciate the MSG retrospective, there are some important moments from the past season that won't, for whatever reason, be showcased in the "12 to Remember." So I decided to take my own look back on the season, create an Island of Misfit Hockey Moments, of sorts. And I thought I'd start at the (relative) beginning.

October 28th Vs. the Atlanta Thrashers

Those of you who know this date and this game are now wondering which crazy pills I'm taking. That's fine, I accept that. So why do I remember this game, the first loss for the 06-07 Sabres, the end to a record-tying winning streak? It's simple. It's the first game I got to finish. Cable companies in St Paul, MN, aren't exactly keen on broadcasting Sabres games from Buffalo, NY, so I was completely at the mercy of the live online stream of the WGR 550 radio broadcast, with no recording capabilities. On top of that, theatre people are semi-nocturnal, preferring to schedule their shindigs, rehearsals, classes, meetings between the hours of seven and ten o'clock central time. Otherwise known as game time. So, more often than not, Sabres game days found me listening to as much of the online broadcast as possible before scurrying off to wherever I needed to be, and periodically (read: every ten seconds, if possible) checking my text messages for updated scores from my family. And then came the 28th of October. No one was dumb enough to schedule anything semi-school-related on the Saturday before Halloween, so I finally had an evening to myself. I plunked myself down in front of my computer, and told my friends in no uncertain terms that suggestions of going to parties or carving pumpkins were unwelcome. That could all wait. My team was on the verge of breaking a record, and finally, it was hockey time. I spent the next three hours or so attached by headphone cord to my Powerbook, trying to keep up with Rick Jeanneret's radio broadcast, and keeping the uninterested room posted on who was winning, letting out either a great yell or a large groan at each goal scored.

I was down when the Thrashers scored first, and then continued to find one-goal leads throughout the game. But the Sabres always gave me something to cheer about as they dug themselves out of four consecutive holes. The last goal came with just under two minutes left in regulation, off the stick of Hecht, and I remember sitting bolt upright on the floor (I get fidgety in chairs) and yelling my customary "I'm just Jochen!" to the confusion of my roommates. The game went to overtime, where the live internet feed cut out at the most inopportune moment when RJs voice accelerated through the phrase "Danny Briere, right in the goal crease...!" This inspired several moments of frantic pushing of Safari's refresh button, and a whole lot of swearing. By the time I got everything sorted out again, I was able to ascertain that Briere had not, in fact, scored, and the Sabres were entering their fourth shootout of the season. At this point I was on my feet, pacing a circle around my laptop as large as the radius of the headphone cord would allow. I wrung my hands when Kozlov netted the first shot for Atlanta, punched the air and swore profusely when both Briere and Afinogenov missed their chances. When Vanek's attempt failed to go in, I threw my headphones off, and closed my computer with a frustrated snap.

I was disappointed that I had to settle for the Sabres tying the all-time undefeated streak, instead of breaking it. I was pissed off that I finally got to listen to an entire game, and my team ended up losing. Justice just doesn't love a Buffalo fan. But, looking back on that night, I know I felt something else, too: anticipation. By the end of that game, even though it was a loss, I was hooked on this team, this season, and I knew it was going to be one exciting ride. I wasn't wrong.