You may be broke now and you may be bored Call you delinquent or leave you ignored You’ll get what you want Drive to distraction and crash on the way Watch your reaction and wait ’til you say You’ll get what you want It hurts if you can’t
Pet Shop Boys “Very” is one of those albums that has stuck with me, and what I’d deem a “desert island album.”
I think one of the major reasons it’s this way is because of how it was new and something I listened to nearly daily when I was 18 years old. I was graduating high school, and the Rangers were on their way to winning their first championship in 54 friggin years.
I was a young suburban girl who lived a pretty sheltered life. The city was probably my biggest indulgence back then. I went in for sporting events, an occasional day trip or theater thing. I was also on my way to start college in a few months.
So when I listen to it now, it brings me back to a different time and age of “innocence,” as hokey as that may sound now. In addition, I was going through some personal tumult, and it also has me reflect on how far I’d had to go and had come when I listen to it to this day.
It doesn’t hurt when the Rangers do well, either. Listening to Very has become part of my “Rangers playoff juju.” It takes all the credit when they do well, none of the blame if they don’t.
I’ll do what you want if you want me enough I’ll put down my book and start falling in love Or isn’t that done? How graceful your movements, how bitter your scorn I’ve been a teenager since before you were born And I’m younger than some I’ve only begun
I’m much older than the average age of the 2021-22 New York Rangers. The beginning of the season, the team had an average age of 25.8 years. It may be slightly higher now due to some late season trades and moves. It matters little though. Someone on the team born 27 years ago wasn’t around for the Ranger’s last championship. They’re younger than 1994.
Several players were born in this century, even. Others were in diapers when the Rangers last won a Cup. I was still in high school. I am now an old lady.
Only their coach might remember their last run.
The 1993-94 New York Rangers was a special team. Several future hall of famers. The Captain of all Captains. One of the greatest American-born defensemen and an apple pie goaltender from Pennsylvania helped lead the team to the promised land.
Is that fire in your eyes or the glow of machines? Watch how your fingers burn over the keys So sure what you do I haven’t a clue
This 2021-22 was a special team to watch. Christopher James Kreider scored 50 goals. Mika Zibanejad and Kreider had a legendary bromance that played off each other on the ice. Artemi Panarin, while cautious during the postseason (I’m sure we’ll find out he was playing hurt), really showed why he is a top sniper in the league. Ryan Reaves beat the shit out of his opponents, and he did it with a smile.
Adam Fox might easily be my new favorite Ranger. K’Andre Miller is the future of hockey. Alongside Igor “Don’t Call Me EyeGor” Shesterkin, who had a legendary season to the extent that Henrik Lundqvist and Steve Valiquette are both in awe.
My dad told me about listening to the prelimary playoff round against the Isles on the radio in 1975, and his words, that the ending “really sucked.” He did go onto say that those upstart Isles “had a good run” that year. While the team itself was a baby, the team makeup was also very young.
I often wonder if dynasties can exist anymore. If it’s possible to win multiple championships like the Isles or 1980s Oilers. The Penguins have stitched together a few runs in the last 30 or so years. Tampa Bay has won two Cups in a row and are on their way to play for a three-peat. We could attribute that to being weird seasons due to the pandemic, or maybe they are just “that” good.
I can’t help but wonder though, if this Rangers core is the real thing. That those years of “rebuilding” (and let’s be fair: there have been several attempts…they just never called it that so that the fan base wouldn’t get mad) might be turning out, that it would all be somehow worth the wait.
Young offender What’s your defence? You’re younger than me, obviously Young offender, how you resent The lovers you need It hurts when they bleed Young offender Why the pretence? You don’t agree, I know, I know Young offender, why the pretense? You don’t agree, I know, I know – Pet Shop Boys, “Young Offender”
These young guys, these kids…Kaapo Kakko. Alexis Lafreniere. Filip Chytil. Fox. Miller. They give zero fucks. They are unencumbered by the past and unfettered by the history of this team. I’m sure they are quite aware of the shortcomings in the past. But they are not going to be complacent and to just show up. They are not willing to sit and smile, and get the pats on the head for a “good job.”
No. They don’t care. And by not caring, I mean they do care. They have the desire to win. It’s like the 1986 Mets or the 1994 Rangers. Even when they seemed down, they didn’t seem completely out. Unfortunately, that mojo ran out last night, and their inexperience caught up to them, as one last backs-to-the-walls comeback wasn’t in them.
But that’s okay. In his sophomore year, current Denver Bronco quarterback Russell Wilson once asked, “Why Not Us?” And I have to ask, yes, why NOT us? Can this team be for real?
This team has enough time left to have good playoff runs each year. We do have the luxury of time here. Let the young offenders become young defenders of championships each year.
Stranger in a crowd Treading fire after dark Lost in a city Pulsing to the sound Of the spirit and soul
How do you survive after the worst that has happened?
When studying literature and post-modern works in college, we were often asked that question. This was typically in response to some of the more traumatic events of the 20th century. The Great War. Pearl Harbor. World War II. The horrors that only humans can inflict upon other humans.
How individuals respond to trauma can set forth a lifetime of either depression or understanding, and it can be the driver for how collectively populations react.
The grief doesn’t leave you. At least, I don’t think it does. It becomes a ghost, something that you carry around with you. But it also shows resilience and fortitude. Whether one survives isn’t a factor in what makes one strong. You were likely already strong; tragedy reveals who you were.
A city that is breathing Living through the cables Alive across the wires Faces without names
I didn’t cry that day.
Sure, I grieved. I mourned. I was very sad. I didn’t know anyone who was directly affected that day. I knew of people who knew someone who KNEW “someone,” so I felt spared.
I didn’t cry.
It felt odd. Like an out of body experience, it’s the only way I can describe it. For months leading up to September 11, 2001, I had walked around Lower Manhattan every day to go to work. I had started a job in that area just under a year prior to the attacks.
As contrived as it sounds now, there was a very ominous feeling hovering over New York City. I don’t know if anyone else felt it. I remember walking down Broadway in the financial district with just an overwhelmingly negative feeling. I don’t like to think back to that time, not just because of everything that happened, but also of how disconnected I felt from everything at that time. It was very personal. I was in a relationship, but there was a lot of uncertainty. I worked at a job where I was not happy. I had an odd schedule, which ironically spared me the worst of that day.
It was a weird feeling that I could not put my finger on. It’s easy to chalk it up to being a lot of negative people in Manhattan. When the planes hit and the towers fell, I wasn’t surprised nor shocked. I was just numb. The negative energy I had felt all those months was gone, and it was replaced by fear, anxiety and grief.
But still, I did not cry.
It’s a beautiful dream It’s a beautiful life It’s just a reflection A world I must survive We’re children of the past Who look beyond today
At the time, I buried myself in my work. My relationship suffered. Unlike me, he had been in the city that day. We were never quite the same after that. Perhaps the negativity I felt prior to the attacks was an extension of knowing that my relationship had a clay bottom. But we were truly never the same after that day.
Lots of things I enjoyed, I simply did not anymore. Baseball, hockey, sports in general became secondary. Joy took a lot out of me. I stopped writing. I didn’t even watch the Mets game on September 21st. See, the ex wasn’t a big baseball fan. Plus, I’m not sure I had the capacity to watch it. I did see the news stories and papers the next day about Piazza’s dramatic home run.
In the years after, I compartmentalized. A lot. It was survival. I didn’t cry, noooo, I didn’t do that. But I distinctly remember walking around the area close to “Ground Zero,” that seemed like a hollowed-out abandoned post-war village. I remember, vividly, thinking to myself, “Why are all these shops closed and windows boarded up?” To think that I had forgotten momentarily about the horrific morning just two years before, thick black and grey smoke, contrasted with beautiful blue sky. I walked past the abandoned market I had first bought lunch when I started working downtown. I couldn’t imagine the horrors outside while they served breakfast unknowingly for the last time.
Before that day, I used to walk the downtown area, resentful and angry that I had to work evenings for a job that I didn’t agree to do. Everyone else got to go home and enjoy their nights…but at least I had the Financial District to myself after hours. Once the Towers fell, I didn’t even have that. It was no longer MY city; it had lost a big part of its identity let alone the overall feeling of loss that permeated the atmosphere.
We live in a dream Keeping visions alive It’s just a reflection A world that never dies
I don’t think I had a “Survivor’s Guilt” per se, as I was not in the city that day. I didn’t know anyone in the Towers. I didn’t know anyone, personally, who was lost. When I worked mornings, I used to grab coffee at a cart across the street from the buildings; she called me the next day and recounted how she had to run for her life.
My guilt was surrounded by how I had never cared for the buildings. I was there every day simply for necessity; I had to walk through the transit center to get to work. I had basic reasons for not liking them: I am afraid of heights.
About five years ago, the 9/11 Memorial Instagram page had a post with signage for the World Trade Center PATH train that had been damaged in the collapse, but it was preserved for the museum. It brought back a lot of feelings I didn’t even know I had. I had walked past those signs many times in those preceding months. Had I not noticed them? Or did I and had I just blocked them out?
Three years ago, the MTA train station that ran underneath the towers reopened (the PATH train I had taken from New Jersey had been reopened for several years at that point). It was also that day that I had gone to see the exhibit of Sports and September 11th. I know the power that a shared moment of sports can have. I had attended the Rangers home opener a few weeks afterwards, where Mark Messier had worn a firefighter’s helmet. I had never known the back story to it.
I had some slight panic attacks going back to the area. Never when I worked there, post-tragedy. Only when I returned after I had left.
The ghost of grief was rearing its ugly head then, I surmised.
But still, I did not cry.
The image we create Now image we designed It’s a beautiful life So when is the future?
– When Is The Future, VNV Nation
It’s been 20 years since that fateful day. My life has changed in many ways, not worse or better, just different. I’ve been paying attention to the past, how it impacts the future, but live in the now. Because if 9/11 taught us anything, it’s that we are all here one day and gone the next.
A few months after the attacks, People magazine ran a cover story on widowed mothers who gave birth shortly after that day. People went back every few years and did features on them. They are now about to turn 20, they’re in college, and of course have no memories of the dads who were lost that day, but are a symbol of hope when they are just being themselves.
Art wasn’t able to address 9/11 on its own terms. It was either “too soon” or “too close to home” or inappropriately profiting off the death of others. But how else to grieve without a collective creativeness to help us move forward from such unspeakable tragedy?
“Trust me, it will get better.” One of the bereaved said this in the article. I think for a long time, I didn’t believe that. I certainly didn’t THINK that. My attitude had nothing to do with 9/11, but just how the world is just tough to comprehend sometimes, humans are shit, and the pandemic did its best to drive us apart, only because we simply cannot be together. Unless outdoors, spaced apart and wearing masks. Don’t forget to wash your fucking hands either.
One of the stories stood out for me though. The daughter of one of the victims said her father would sign off correspondence with Peace.
Peace.
She asked her tour groups to think of conducting an act of peace in her father’s memory and in making their communities better.
And THAT, my friends, is what made me cry. Even recounting it now as I write, I’m a blubbering hot mess. I made the mistake of reading this on the bus, and I got all welled up. In short, I sobbed.
Peace.
I realized that in the past 20 years, and especially in the last goddamn how long has it been? Well basically since March 2020, I have not felt that. Peace.
I had a huge disconnect after the attacks on September 11th that had a ripple effect of negativity that probably impacted me in ways I didn’t know. I hadn’t found peace. Even when I went to the reflecting pools that stand in the footprints of those towers that frightened me. Even when I went to the museum and saw the beautiful shade of blue that represented the sky that day. I still cannot believe what perfect weather we had that day, that served merely as a backdrop for the worst that could happen.
We were together for a short period. Now we value the individual over the collective. “Fuck you, I got mine.” And shit, it has been so fucking long since I have felt any peace, and I know that many of you have too.
Yet look at us. We have survived after the worst that’s happened. We are still handling shit that the universe throws at us, and we still make plans for future.
When is the future? It was 20 years ago, but it’s also right now.
Why… This uncertainty? It’s not clear to me Would you rather be independent? Have I lost your love? Have you had enough? Do you feel too much resentment? How can I make you see When you disagree That you just can’t leave?
My arc as a New York Ranger fan is pretty simple. My dad took me to a hockey game, I was 13 years old, some dude name Brian Leetch was a rookie.
They won the first game I went to at the Garden in 1989. Even without a win, I was hooked. I loved New York City, even as a child. It was so different and interesting and going right to midtown for a sporting event was just mind blowing. I was used to going out to the boondocks in Queens for Mets games at that point.
What got me was the crowd. They were INSANE. Forget the 1986 Mets fans, which was also a crazy time. Rangers fans were gritty, foul, drunken, loud, crude, obnoxious. Everything that I loved about a fanbase. They had every reason to be. My dad told me about the Broadway Blues and Broad Street Bullies. He told me stories about the rivalries of the ’70s, how his best friend got in a fight and broke his arm. How he listened to the Rangers being eliminated on the radio in 1975, in the parking lot of Tom’s Tavern in Farmingdale, New Jersey (If you know, you know).
Within a few years, our hockey team that we pledged allegiance to made it to the top of the mountain: the Stanley Cup. Lord Stanley placed his hand over the Garden, and we celebrated this victory like it was 1999 (though, it was only five years before…in 1994).
That summer made such an impression on my then-young life (ha, keep your comments to yourself), that I still think about that run with such shock and awe. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it. Even the Mets making it to the playoffs or the World Series, that electricity I felt with the Rangers is second to none.
If you’ve followed Gal For All Seasons since the beginning, and especially my posts about the New York Rangers, you’ll also know that I associated that fateful run to the Cup with one of my “desert island” albums: Pet Shop Boys’ VERY.
Whenever the Rangers made it to the playoffs, I always made it a point to listen to the album, if not in its entirety, then at least the first five songs. That was part of my juju that year. And the opening chords of “Can You Forgive Her?” can just bring me back to my car and driving to my dad’s to watch the games. Then on the way to the train station when we brought our juju to the city.
What also made an impression were goaltenders. I fell in love with Mike Richter that summer of 1994, and he remained my favorite New York Ranger, almost uncontested. Sure, I loved Leetch, and Messier and Graves and all those guys. But Richter was something else. He was the first jersey I ever bought. I broke it out when they retired his number in 2004.
That’s why after the strike that canceled hockey for a while, I gave up on it. Richter was retired. The Rangers had traded Leetch away (whyyyyyyy?). Messier was old and done. They were a shadow of themselves, not making the playoffs for years and years and years on end. When you think about how many teams DON’T make the playoffs, it just made me think that they were never serious about winning.
Then my dad told me I should consider coming back. “You gotta see these new guys, T. Their new goalie? Lundqvist? …
His number will be hanging from the rafters someday.”
I… Won’t stand in your way I can’t make you stay Though, of course, I feel rejected You’re a part of me You’re the family I can’t bear to leave
So I went back. Picture it: winter 2007. The Rangers didn’t score at all, until overtime and won the game 1-0. Allegedly, I also wrote about this for a Mets site that is now-defunct.
Almost singlehandedly, Henrik Lundqvist not only changed the Ranger dynamic, he brought ME from the dead, a person who said she no longer needed hockey, that it no longer served her well, and she was just fine without it.
With his coiffed look, suave and sophisticated manner, yet aggressive style of playing, no one defined being a Ranger better. And who realized that he’d not only change the team, he changed the fucking FRANCHISE.
Sure, we had Eddie Giacomin. And we ALL KNOW about the “ED-DIE! ED-DIE!” return to the Garden. Sure, Giacomin was a legend to Ranger fans.
Henrik took it next level: He’s a Viking fucking WARRIOR.
I don’t know if the Rangers will ever see a competitor or a player like him again. I don’t know if New York sports will see one like him either.
I keep talking about Henrik Lundqvist in the past tense.
I think I gotta go back to 2014 to full capture that I felt the beginning of the end of Henrik’s time in hockey. He was 32. He wasn’t getting younger. And the Rangers made an improbable run to the Stanley Cup Final that year. They didn’t win. But they made the Eastern Conference Final three times in his tenure with the Rangers. But after 2015, they sort of fell off the cliff. I blame Alain Vigneault. But I think the Rangers just did a terrible job of building around Henrik. Even guys like Martin Brodeur had Ken Daneyko and Scott Stevens in front of his net. Who has Lundqvist had?! Can’t tell you how many times we scream about Marc Staal or Tony DeAngelo just fucking everything up in front of him.
I just knew that something was…ending. It’s now the year 2020. Everything is ALL fucked up. Henrik Lundqvist is now 38 years old. He has many individual accolades under his belt. He is still missing a Cup. I look back at 2014 and realize that was the chance. The chance we let slip away, and acted like it was so cavalier.
Right before the world ended, Mika Zibanejad scored five goals in a game, that I still think about, and it gives me chills. I could live to be 100 years old and not see another game like that. Now, if I wasn’t hooked on hockey, then, I would’ve been after that.
What stood out was when the world ended, it meant endings for so much else. No full baseball season. No fans in attendance. Basketball season stitched together. But without a full season of hockey, we would have no idea how the Rangers fate would have been settled. In a year that was long touted as “part of the rebuild,” Artemi Panarin and Mika Zibanejad were having monster seasons.
Henrik was mostly watching games from the bench this season.
I have no idea if this was by design. If he and young coach David Quinn with his new philosophy had come to an understanding of some sorts. The team was going with youth, and that also meant in the crease.
I knew, no matter what, before COVID-19 changed all of our lives, before Zibanejad scored five goals and before we knew Panarin was a Hart Trophy finalist, one thing was for certain:
It looked like we would be preparing for a future Rangers without Henrik Lundqvist.
And as long as hockey and sports didn’t restart, we didn’t have to deal with that reality.
Feel… Free… To leave… If you think you’re trapped, but Please… Believe… I’ll always want you back
The fairest way that the NHL could look at 2019-20 was to have a “play-in” of sorts, and the Rangers were a team that made the cut.
And goddamn COVID for not only uprooting our lives, but for denying us the chance to see what this team was actually TRULY made of. For making them perform lukewarm and not in a home ice situation.
And for having us see possibly our last vision of Henrik Lundqvist as a New York Ranger, sitting on the bench, and not in his rightful throne: on the ice, in front of the net.
That is goddamn tragic.
I was prepared for a sweep, I was prepared for the Rangers not doing much.
What I wasn’t prepared for was how I felt about seeing Henrik like that.
It was almost more than I could bear. I joked about crying myself to sleep, but it wasn’t far from the truth.
One in a million men Could change the way you feel One in a million men Baby it’s up to me
– One In A Million, Pet Shop Boys
When people don’t go to work or make their coffee run or stop at a newsstand to have some sense of normalcy around these parts, they might pick up a New York Post in the morning. They may see the backpage as clear as day.
“HANKS for the Memories.”
Larry Brooks makes sense of what Henrik Lundqvist and the Rangers could do for their mutual futures. But the writing was on the wall for a long time, at least as long as the “regular” regular season was, and much like the youth movement that made Henrik Lundqvist a star and legend for the Rangers, he would no longer be part of their future.
They’d come full circle.
In 2014, I made it a point to incorporate Pet Shop Boys’ song titles in my posts. They may not mean much to my two readers, but they have a special place for me. So my blog, my rules, all right?
I never was able to incorporate the song “One In A Million.” But it appeared I was saving it for Henrik Lundqvist all along.
I wasn’t around for Rod Gilbert. Eddie Giacomin was long gone by the time I ended up a Rangers fan. I was able to see Brian Leetch, a home grown Ranger, in his prime, and for that I am eternally grateful. I got to see Mark Messier, widely regarded as an all-time hockey great, wear a Rangers jersey and bring a Cup to this long suffering fanbase.
But Henrik Lundqvist, man. I’ll never see another player like him in any sport across any city in my lifetime.
He truly is one a kind. One in a million, if you will.
I hope that whatever happens, he gets what he deserves: a chance to skate around the rink with the Cup of Lord Stanley.
Summer nights and long warm days Are stolen as the old moon falls My mirror shows another face Another place to hide it all Another place to hide it all
Sunday, May 21, 2017. We are well into the Eastern Conference Final of the Stanley Cup Playoffs. I’m sure most of you are well aware that my team, the New York Rangers, did not make it past the second round. I wasn’t going to write about it, make it all “okay” or anything typical of what you are to see here on Gal For All Seasons. I kind of did the Five Stages of Grief, but backwards. I let everyone know that once the Rangers lost Game Five, after gutting out two wins on home ice to get the series against Ottawa 2-2, that I had made peace with the outcome. And late into the game, it appeared as though that outcome was a loss. And it was.
Then literally the next day, I had sadness, and anger came and went. As I said, I did my five stages in my own unique way.
So once again, I see a team that is not mine playing for a trophy that each season that passes, seems more and more unlikely that I will see this generation win a Stanley Cup. I don’t want to get peaceful about it and say it’s all good, because it’s not. As I was saying to NotJeff and Will the night they were eliminated, we will be the same assholes next year who watch and don’t see another championship. Because I can pretty much guarantee that they won’t do right by Henrik Lundqvist and won’t win while he is on the team.
That, my friends, is acceptance.
Sleeping with a full moon blanket Sand and feathers for my head Dreams have never been the answer And dreams have never made my bed Dreams have never made my bed
Yet, this time of the year, while baseball is in full swing, I get nostalgic. If you have been following this site as long as I’ve had it up and running, you will know that the Pet Shop Boys hold a place near and dear to my heart when it comes to watching Rangers playoff hockey. Which is odd because I highly doubt when they wrote and produced the album “Very,” they had an 18 year old hockey fan in mind.
But mostly, I get to thinking. Not so much nostalgia, but what my life was like as a fan of a team that won a title. Sure, the Seahawks won one not too long ago. But I felt as though I was on the peripheral, that I hadn’t yet quite paid my dues. And when the Mets won in 1986, I was 10 years old. I had only been a fan three years at that point, sure. But I certainly had no idea that to be a Mets fan, there is usually a lot of pain involved in the process.
With the Rangers though, it’s more an exercise in futility really.
I’ve been thinking a lot about 1994 lately, and it has nothing to do with the Rangers. Certainly, that was a significant event in my life that year, including graduating from high school and going away to college. A coming of age process for sure, and the Pet Shop Boys were a huge soundtrack in my life then.
Now I wanna fly above the storm But you can’t grow feathers in the rain And the naked floor is cold as hell This naked floor reminds me Oh the naked floor reminds me
And then there’s Soundgarden and the Seattle “sound” of the ’90s. I disliked Nirvana, but I loved the other significant bands that grew out of that era. That summer, Soundgarden’s Superunknown was a significant portion of my playlist (before I even knew it was a term).
Black Hole Sun. Day I Tried To Live. Fell On Black Days. Some of it very dark, dreary (much like the weather that inspires the Seattle 1990s sound). Heavy. I’d belt that shit out as I drove like no one’s business.
I went through a lot that year, personally. My high school sweetheart and I called it quits after being together since freshman year, I was going through some home turmoil because I was leaving to go to school,
I also had great joy. The Rangers won a championship. I had a new set of friends. I dated a lot of cute boys. I went to a lot of concerts. I borrowed my mom’s car (without permission) to go to Woodstock. Now, that was a fun summer. Two dark albums though got to the heart of my conflicting feelings, feelings in dealing with the inevitable changes that were happening in my life whether I liked it or not. The Crow soundtrack still makes me sit and listen, which was a biggie that year. And there was Superunknown, through several moves and maybe someone “borrowing” and never returning it, it’s been misplaced. I haven’t listened to it in years, unfortunately.
But I loved Chris Cornell’s voice. I still have a copy of Singles, the quintessential early ’90s movie soundtrack that was required listening of Generation X.
When I heard about the death of Chris Cornell last week, I thought of several things. Of course, the first thought was loss, and my own regret of having never seen him or Soundgarden live when I had the chance. (Note to self: your rock gods do indeed pass away at some point).
I thought about that summer when I really started to listen to different music and go to different shows. And I realize I always tie in my love of sports and music together.
My next thought was sadness. While it’s always sad to lose a rock icon, you can’t help but think due to his age, that he still had more to do and more to say in this lifetime. His music catalog is what remains, his art will live on and blah blah blah.
I couldn’t help but feel connected to a song that die hard Cornell fans would know about, but also one that struck me at a very poignant time in my life.
If I should be short on words And long on things to say Could you crawl into my world And take me worlds away? Should I be beside myself And not even stay
Three years ago, the Rangers made it to the Stanley Cup Final for the first time since that fateful 1993-94 season. I was at a weird spot in my life, professionally. I was building a business, participating in the “sharing” economy, and not very sure of what my next steps were. Huge difference from when I was 18 years old, ready to face the world and pretty much thought I knew everything. (Spoiler alert: I didn’t). Though they were down in the series 3-0, I had a chance to jump at discounted tickets (in the sense that they were nearly a grand less than they were before game three). I went with my friend Joanne, and they won their only game, a home game. Even though I had a lot of tumult in my professional life (and subsequent personal life), I just knew I had to go to that game. Mostly because I was pushing 20 the last time they made it, and I was then pushing 40. I didn’t want to be 60 the next time they made it, regretful I didn’t take my shot in 2014 to see them play live in a Stanley Cup Final.
In the hot late spring of ’94, I spent a lot of time traveling to the city to watch the Stanley Cup Final games with my dad. On my way home, I’d listen to bands like Rage Against The Machine, Violent Femmes, Live, Pet Shop Boys, Mother Love Bone, Green Day. Different styles, yet they totally made sense to me.
Each year, I think about the pain and agony that ultimately succumbed to absolute joy, only to have things change so dramatically by leaving home and starting school. Basically, I went from comfort to not knowing shit. But I’d get in the car, put on some Pearl Jam or Soundgarden, and I was ready to get introspective.
I think about that time, and wonder if I’ll ever have that payoff again with my team. Any of my teams. Which is why I turn to that year (1994) a lot in my writing. Basically because it’s something I have. But it was also a year that I grew, as a person, and the Rangers and music made me that way.
And I’m lost behind Words I’ll never find And I’m left behind As seasons roll on by
– Chris Cornell, Seasons
Another sports season has come and gone in the life of the Gal For All Seasons. I spend 365 days a year obsessed about where and how I will watch my games, or figure out a way to get to find out what’s happening. One of the struggles I had with being a blogger who followed sports was thinking about my angle for when I would write about it. I spent a few days after the Rangers were eliminated wondering if I would ever want to talk about it.
I thought about how I can think about football season and when my next trip to Seattle will be. While some people may wonder how it was easy to jump ship at a later age to a different team and city, it wasn’t difficult for me. I often say I was born to be a Mets and Rangers fan. But I was meant to be a Seattle Seahawks fan because of my ties to a city I didnt know I had.
A big part of that why is my association with music and sports is so closely intertwined. One of my first thoughts on hearing Chris Cornell’s death was how my Seattle friends would feel, and what the city would do to honor one of their sons who put the city on the map, musically.
Seasons change, and people change and grow. Chris Cornell’s “Seasons” changed me in ways I had no idea how, until today. It was a song on the Singles soundtrack, and believe me, if you’ve made it this far, you can wonder how I can be “short on words and long on things to say.”
Every year that I am reflecting on a season that could’ve been, I will think of potential of years, time and people lost. I’ll think of thought processes I’ve shed that make me evolve and not exist. How my life has changed dramatically in ways in 10 years, let alone since I was 18 years old. It’s not good or bad, just different from what I expected. And that’s okay.
Music and sports though, that’s the one constant I can rely on. Sure, each year I shake off losses, but as I get older, I realize how finite our time is here on Earth. And wonder if I’ll get that euphoric feeling again of sharing in that moment of a great win. And the seasons get harder to pass, and I’m not getting any younger. But it makes me feel as though the journey will ultimately make it worthwhile.
‘Darling, you were wonderful, you really were quite good I enjoyed it, though, of course, no one understood a word of what was going on, they didn’t have a clue They couldn’t understand your sense of humour like I do’
You’re much too kind I smiled with murder on my mind
There’s something to be said about when things click on all cylinders for a team. Especially teams of mine, when I’m so used to disappointment and ennui. I’ve been fortunate for the last few seasons with the Mets, that I don’t feel too down when they got off to a not-so-hot start this season. And the Seahawks. well, I almost feel bad that I haven’t suffered for years like most of their fans have. But I know dips and valleys happen in sports. It’s cyclical.
By clicking on all cylinders, all aspects have to operate soundly. Teams are a “sum of its parts,” as we like to say. Sure, you can have an outstanding individual, but it’s not everything. Depth is an aspect to consider. Having proper backups. Regulars need to operate at a high level. Injuries happen, but one should not be enough to bring the entire team down. All the way up to the coaching. No excuses! Blah blah blah.
The anger that usually comes about for me while watching my teams doesn’t usually come out until the spring. I equate this time of the year to when the Rangers are in the playoffs. Last year, I knew they weren’t going to make it far. So I didn’t get too angry. I reserved that for the Mets and their shitty handling of injuries in 2016.
Yet, my husband pointed out that while the Rangers have had an unusually successful regular season, and they’ve made the playoffs every year since after we got married (I don’t count 2010, the year we actually got married, because we got married after they didn’t make the playoffs), I’m still mad at everyone.
I consider myself a very happy person. Sports fandom can make a person crazy. I’ve often maintained that all I want is for my teams to do is be competitive, and then making the postseason will ultimately be a reward for said competitiveness. Out of all the teams I root for, I’ve said that the Rangers would’ve been my first guess on winning a championship in the near term. (Note: I said that five years ago).
Yet, every year my frustrations of not winning it all gets the best of me. Though, on the surface, they are having a very well-maintained successful stretch. And every year, I walk away disappointed, even though I’ve gotten what I’ve wanted, technically.
Why am I so angry?
‘You have a certain quality which really is unique Expressionless, such irony, although your voice is weak It doesn’t really matter ’cause the music is so loud Of course it’s all on tape but no one will find out’
YOU DON’T SCORE FIVE FUCKING GOALS AND LOSE THE FUCKING GAME IN OVERTIME THAT YOU WERE WINNING IN THE THIRD, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLES.
So yeah. Because it’s all I fucking deal with in rooting for this goddamn team. Being good, but not great. Getting to the dance, only to not show up when it counts.
Remember this gem from 2015, when the Rangers tied up a 2nd round playoff game late in the 3rd period only to have the Capitals surprise score a goal, not sending the game to OT anyway?! It was the one fucking time I was actually rooting for a playoff OT game.
And when the Rangers allowed Ottawa to tie it up late in the 3rd, with an extra skater (not to mention the shit show that barely allowed them to keep a two-goal lead intact), I joked about that game in 2015.
I went to a game in 2015 when NYR tied it and Caps went ahead like 3 seconds later in 3rd. That could happen now. Yeah NOT
But did the Rangers come back? No. As my dad later texted me, it was about as worse of a loss as he can remember for a long time. Me too. Momentum typically doesn’t carry over in hockey like it does in say, baseball. But if playoffs are a crapshoot anyway, and that means Ottawa is now on a hot streak, are they now the team “who gets the hottest?”
If so, then fuck us all.
And who knew that of my teams playing at this point of the year, it’s the Mets who would be my darlings?? (NOTE: I started writing this post before the shitshow of a game started on Sunday).
Then we posed for pictures with the competition winners and argued about the hotel rooms and where to go for dinner and someone said: ‘It’s fabulous you’re still around today You’ve both made such a little go a very long way’
I also told my dad in that same text that I’ve just about had it with Alain Vigneault. He has no clue how to get the most out of this team at ALL.
The only reason the Rangers made it as far as the Stanley Cup Final in 2014 was guys like Martin St. Louis and the heart of other players. They overachieved that ONE year. Though they have had relative success in his years as head coach, they have consistently underachieved after that. And if they don’t make this series interesting and at the very least win, it will be another squandered year.
I have maintained that the Rangers have squandered away Henrik Lundqvist’s talents and his best years. He turned 35 earlier this year. He is not getting any younger.
By squandering his best years, the coaches and front office have squandered OUR chances of seeing a Rangers’ Stanley Cup championship and subsequent parade.
If you want to know why I get so angry and curse up a storm on Twitter, THAT is why. As a fan, yeah, it fucking sucks that I’m used to seeing my teams fall short every goddamn fucking year. But what I really hate is wasted talent. Squandering away Hank’s best years doesn’t do him or the team or the people who support them any good. And they’ve certainly failed him.
By failing him, we have also been failed. That is why I am the way I am, as a sports fan.
Yesterday, when I was mad and quite prepared to give up everything admitting I don’t believe in anyone’s sincerity, and that’s what’s really got to me
Then when I was lonely I thought again and changed my mind
The Pet Shop Boys saved my sanity in 2015, and they saved me yesterday.
While walking home from that game against the Capitals, I purposely didn’t want to listen to Pet Shop Boys (my go-to album during the hockey playoffs is Very, explained here). Yet, my iPod knew how I was feeling and put up another song of theirs, “What Have I Done to Deserve This?” It inspired me to write again, and try to reconcile how I felt about the ending of that game.
The Rangers ended up winning the series. Momentum didn’t of the Capitals at the end of that game didn’t change the narrative of the series.
And outside of sports, I typically reserve my anger to go towards the MTA here in New York City.
Yet, I went to go pick up dinner after the game and took a much needed moment to myself. Listening to my music, what comes on? Oh, my iPod knew once again what I needed to hear. It was a song off my favorite Pet Shop Boys album. And thankfully, one that didn’t inspire a title for a post on this site.
I guess my parable in life is this. I don’t get too jacked up about small stuff. Like waiting in line. Have you ever been standing in a line, and the person in front of you starts complaining about the line. I mean, what the fuck are you gonna do about it, am I right? I remember once a woman was complaining about a line at a bank (back in the day, when we actually stood in line to transact in banks). She asked why I was so calm. I said, “Look, when I walk out of here, I’m never going to remember waiting an extra five minutes at this bank. In fact, I’ll be in my car going to my next destination.” She told me that she liked that philosophy and got quiet. I mean, I’m certain I never saw that woman again. So I wonder how she took it to heart. But think about it. Is it something you can control? No. Let it go.
(My husband would disagree, as he thinks I’m very impatient. That’s not entirely true. I have my moments. And usually in my defense, he sees me upset about losing time with the shitty transit system here which is where he gets this).
I purposely wrote this post the day after the loss, because now Saturday is “Yesterday.” And yesterday, I was “mad.” I figure at this point a Rangers’ devastating loss in the playoffs is my penance, and something I just need to deal with because I didn’t think they’d sweep the Senators or any team, for that matter. But I mean, I was pretty pissed off.
Admitting I don’t believe in this team is tough, because I do believe in them. Russell Wilson once said, “Why Not Us?” And I often think that about my teams when they have a chance to win something.
But I would be really sad if they blew their chance. If they blew Henrik’s chance. And anyone else. Even if AV wins something, that’s fine. I can handle a coach I can’t stand getting a ring.
I got lonely without sports to watch and realizing we have to wait till Tuesday to see another hockey game.
Dreaming of the Queen
visiting for tea
You and her and I
and Lady Di
The Queen said: ‘I’m aghast
Love never seems to last
however hard you try’
And Di replied that
‘There are no more lovers left alive
No one has survived
so there are no more lovers left alive
and that’s why love has died
Yes, it’s true
Look, it’s happened to me and you
If you’re into reading your dreams, a dream about a queen or meeting someone in power (royalty) can take on certain meaning. One of the encapsulating summaries I read on the topic was this:
If you’re a queen in your dream, it’s likely that you have an as-yet unrealized desire for power, influence, and increased social standing or status. If you’re present in the dream but someone else is queen, especially someone you know, you may be expressing repressed envy for that person, or more specifically, qualities that this person embodies that make them fit and right to be a queen. (Your Dream Interpretation)
The Pet Shop Boys on their Very album had a song called “Dreaming of the Queen.” I realize now that the title and most of the lyrics were intentional, that they had used the parable of meeting both Queen Elizabeth and Princess Diana, using dream sequences like being in the nude (I thought it might have been an Emperor’s New Clothes reference, but we’ve all had dreams about being naked in situations that didn’t warrant such an outfit). Even the song itself was about waking up from a dream, inconsolable that love had died.
This song was written over 23 years ago. The album made a huge impact on me, personally, in the spring and summer of 1994.
This was the last time the Rangers won the Stanley Cup.
The album framed my first year of college, and was rounded out by Princess Diana’s tragic death as I was about to start my senior year.
Both the Rangers and Diana had an enormous impact on my life, and two events that I often intertwine with those life events. (Think of when Kennedy was shot, or where you were on 9-11).
As it all ended yesterday…I was at a bachelorette party, for one of my best college girl friends.
Fitting, as though one chapter of life was beginning, another one was ending for the New York Rangers. And it all started when I was in college.
It was appropriate, in my opinion, given how the year would pan out.
Then carriages arrived
We stood and said good-bye
Diana dried her eyes
and looked surprised
For I was in the nude
The old Queen disapproved
but people laughed and asked
for autographs
I’ve been prepared for several months that they would not be out of the first round alive this year. While I felt I was mostly being facetious and at best, putting up a defense mechanism for the team performance, I didn’t think they would go without at least the most minimal of a fight.
Even we saw signs back in November, when my gal pal, Tracey, and I went to a Rangers game. I buy a few tickets from NotJeffGorton each year, and this was my first game of the year.
It was a few weeks after the Mets had lost the World Series. I was still feeling the sting, but the Rangers and Seahawks were doing well. It was a bunch of good distractions, to say the least.
The Rangers were actually doing pretty well at the time. There were weird things going on in this specific game. Rangers were hardly taking any shots. Refs were calling penalties on imaginary fouls. Tracey and I were having fun being snarky bitches, making comments a la Statler and Waldorf in the stands.
The Rangers ended up winning, definitively that game. However, a Rangers blogger made a comment, basically about how the Rangers didn’t win enough for his liking. That somehow, a 3-0 win in a game where they were getting called left and right on penalties wasn’t enough.
I started laughing. Like come on, dude.
I do remember that same person in February commenting during a Rangers struggle stretch, saying that “he knew they were *this* bad back in November.” To which another smart ass hockey fan responded about him being a hockey hipster, “I knew they were bad before anyone else did.”
It was funny. But maybe, just maybe, the hockey hipster was onto something. Usually, those hipsters, even if it’s not popular opinion, can see things the rest of us cannot.
No one likes being naked in public. We try to wear clothes, even in the hottest of situations, but the Rangers’ uniforms were exposing a some very weak links. And they were slowly but surely being exposed.
I remember this was also around the time I started to say, they’d be eliminated in the first round of the playoffs.
Just because I was prepared for it didn’t mean I was ready. It still stung.
I noticed that the Pet Shop Boys write a lot about “surviving.” They note that no lovers had survived in their song. There was also a song on a later album called “The Survivors.”
There was no doubt in my mind last season that the Rangers wouldn’t go to the Stanley Cup Final again. That burned. That stung.
Mostly, the sting part was about Henrik Lundqvist. Here we are, we are 11 seasons into his tenure with the Rangers. The whole not properly building around him. Eleven seasons where Jim Dolan to Glen Sather to Jeff Gorton have not improved the team the way they should. If anything, we did it. We were happy with just making playoffs at first, since that was the team needed to do to compete. Rick Nash? Bust. Keith Yandle? Bust. Alain Vigneault? A guy who caught lightning in a bottle his first year as coach. (Lightning that, by the way, if it was fully contained, we’d have been very happy about).
It was weird this year. There was less banter between me and my Rangers twitter peeps like NotJeff or Will, because we sort of knew already. They were facing a very hot team at a very bad time. Henrik’s 11 years have exposed him as well. They had plenty of opportunities to not squander his talents and give him a worthy team. Now we’re looking at an exit strategy.
So here we are. It’s another year. Another year where it is not our fucking year. Another year where there is uncertainty for the future.
I’m sure along with Henrik, we can drift to sleep, and dream of the crowning achievement that we all believe is possible at the beginning of the season. Only to see how reality decides to treat us in the end.
I wanted to give myself a few days before fully addressing how I felt about the New York Rangers’ 2014-15 season. I’ve gone through the emotions of of sadness to anger and being pissed off and near tears at the same time. I saw a guy wearing a BLUESHIRTS playoff tee in the supermarket, and I got all choked up. A friend of mine told me (not a Rangers fan, to say the least) that this is the most upset he’s seen me as a Ranger fan yet. And it’s true. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way about this team, and it’s not even disappointment, though that’s part of it.
It’s not even my wanting the Stanley Cup – damn, how I wanted that fucking trophy this year – it’s more of a squandering an opportunity kind of thing.
This is the year I realized that it’s getting close to the later years of Henrik Lundqvist. Glen Sather and James Dolan have dicked around to the extent that they could have possibly wasted his best years as a top flight goalie. Guys like Henke don’t grow on trees. He’s a one of a kind player and goalie, someone we’ll be rare to see in our history of Rangers greats. And believe me, there are more players who were *great* but never got the championship than special players who actually did win a championship. But I also think of losing guys like Darren Turcotte and Tony Amonte in 1994, great role players who were traded away for a “win now” attitude that did “win now,” yet ultimately set the team back decades.
Yes, I do realize that they won their only championship that year those two guys were gone. They could’ve forfeited years of multiple titles had they held onto them too. We’ll never know.
So my tears after the last horn sounded, signaling the end of the season, was not because of a loss of a game or a series. It’s almost something of a loss I felt, like it’s the end of an era. I don’t think things will be as storylike as they were this season. When they lost in OT to the hated Devils in the ECF in 2012, I was optimistic. Sure, I hated losing, especially to that team, but I was future thinking. They had the goods, finally, it seemed. Then 2013 rolled around and the abbreviated season just seemed like a wash and the team knew it. Last year, that was a special year. Though I was disappointed in their performance in the Stanley Cup Final, I knew they could hold their head high by being so close to elimination and never gave up till they ran out of gas.
See, THIS was supposed to be the year they had the axe to grind. Losing this game and series, in my opinion, was nothing to be proud. The same old, “Blah blah just to play there is an honor.” Anyone who says they are “just proud to be nominated” is a lying BITCH. My friend Will says that he hates losing more than he likes winning. I could see on the faces of some of the players that the loss got to them. So they could get that emotion, hated losing more than loving to win. That loss last year was supposed to make them hungry for this year. Then backs against the wall and turning it on against the Capitals this year. Every fan I knew was confident that this was the motivation they needed (not, you know, the motivation of accolades and a championship and being beloved by the best city in the world).
I felt exactly the same for that Seahawks team. But the absence of the Rangers team from this season…yeah, not one I’m particularly endeared to right now.
I know it’s incredibly difficult to “blow the fucker up,” with salary caps and being able to move guys easily, but if there’s anything close that can be done for the New York Rangers to get Hank some players who aren’t treating GAME FUCKING SEVEN of the ECF like it’s a Tuesday night game in December, or as Will likes to say, “Get Hank some real bitches who can play.” Because the lack of killer instinct or wanting to win or PLAYING NOT TO LOSE (I am a Mets fan…I have enough to deal with regarding that shit), that’s what gets to me.
We live in a world where Ryan Callahan, Brian Boyle, Anton Stralman or Brad Richards all have a chance for that crowning glory. And we live in a world where Henrik Lundqvist may join the pantheon of great players who may never have an opportunity like this year to win it all. And that just sucks.
If that doesn’t anger you as a fan, I hate to play the “you are not a real fan” card, because that shit pisses me off when it’s said to me…but it should make you upset at the very least. Or as another Twitter buddy Cristina likes to say, it should make you feel as though a part of you has died. Because I know that’s how I felt this year.
I’ve been through a lot of things, being a sports fan. I got over the 2000 World Series pretty quickly. The funny thing was, I felt like that Mets team was on the precipice of something great, then they did a complete 180 and by the way, fuck Steve Phillips and Mike Bordick (hey, my blog, my rules). Yet, most fans would tell you that the 1999 team was the one that fell short and was disappointing. And I will always maintain that losing John Olerud was the hit the Mets should not have taken. And I’m about to get all worked up about what an idiot asshole dickface Steve Phillips was, so I’ll just stop while I’m ahead.
So back to this year. LAST Year was the “rah rah feel good get-em-next-year” year. THIS was the take no prisoners, winner takes all year. I almost threw a shoe at my computer when I read that Martin St. Louis said something to the effect of being proud and waiting till next year. OH FUCK NEXT YEAR. NEXT YEAR WAS SUPPOSED TO BE THIS YEAR. My goodness, I am so angry right now. I could probably throw something else in addition to my shoe.
And the regular season was a feat in and of itself. They lost Henrik for a spell, and the team really stepped up their game to give Cam Talbot, who really has endeared himself to most Rangers fans for his performance in Hank’s absence. It was really a lot of fun to watch them in the regular season. No one seemed to pass the memo onto the team that the President’s Trophy means dick if you can’t bring home the real trophy.
My friend for over 20 years, NotGlen Sather handled it all in stride. Like many, though, I want it to be just more than the 1994 Rangers. But he takes comfort in it, saying that it’s something many generations of Rangers fans ONLY have too. I was also kind of hoping that the year he expects his first child to coincide with a championship for his favorite sport.
I can’t say it wasn’t meant to be. It could’ve been. And that’s what makes me still so angry, two days later.
It is not easy the war within us but it gets easier the more we learn I don’t need to win You don’t have to lose We can choose happiness is an option
I bought a small bottle of Prosecco for the Super Bowl this year. Needless to say, I did not open it. While I had entertained using it for mimosas on a lazy Sunday morning, I decided to hold it for what I felt to be a formality in getting to the Stanley Cup this year for the Rangers. I will be moving in a few weeks, and it looks like the Prosecco will be making the move as well.
I’ve always used sports as a form of escapism, and this hockey season has left me void of something. The Chicago Blackhawks won their game seven last night and will be advancing to play the Lightning as well. But I will always believe in my heart of hearts that this could have been the Rangers’ season. You can’t even say they got beat by the better team. They got beat by themselves.
That’s the worst loss of all.
My dad said he’s been a fan for over 45 years and bleeds Ranger blue. This one sucked, but he said losing games like that doesn’t get easier over time. I could choose happiness as my option, but the reality is, I’m too angry to even consider being happy. I guess come back to me when the season starts again. But I’ve learned to not get my hopes up with this team, ever. And that, my friends, really sucks.
All I want is what you want I’m always waiting for a red letter day Like Christmas morning when you’re a kid Admit you love me and you always did Baby, I’m hoping for that red letter day today
A red letter day is any day of special significance. Of course, I was alerted to its meaning by a Pet Shop Boys song. I can’t ever really say I used the term just for shits and giggles before now, however.
For the Rangers and specifically Henrik Lundqvist, May 13th has held special significance in their history. According to some folks on Twitter and the Rangers forums I follow (I’d like to attribute this stat to someone, so if you can get me a link, it would be greatly appreciated), this is something interesting:
5/13/13: Henrik 35 saves, Rangers win Game 7
5/13/14: Henrik 35 saves, Rangers win Game 7
5/13/15: Henrik 35 saves, Rangers win Game 7
Two things stand out: 35 saves. Game 7s.
If I had known that this was a series that Rangers like to extend to Game 7 if only to give us all agita, maybe I could’ve handled a 3-1 deficit a little bit better. But it seems like when a few of us were about to give up (namely, myself and Ranger buddy KB – we were just disgusted, and she was about to start hanging up her Ranger skates and follow the Lightning more closely, I was just pissed off they didn’t LOSE), the Rangers score. And they score again. And they win. They win again.
They win again.
And the number 35 is significant or a “red letter” number if you will for the Rangers: our last Stanley Cup winning goalie WORE the number 35.
Other red letter days in Rangers history took place that Stanley Cup winning year as well. A team they owned in the regular season fought back, and clawed their way to a seven game series. Only to have the Rangers win in OT in Game 7 of the Eastern Conference Finals.
Kind of funny how that works. See, in that round, a player by the name of Stephane Matteau scored that game winner in a very stressful series.
In this series, a player by the name of Derek Stepan scored the game winner.
Stephane? Stepan? Stepan! Matteau!
Backs against the wall, Captain Mark Messier makes a declaration, and backs it up with a champion’s performance.
Backs against the wall, Captain Ryan McDonagh scores a definitive goal to keep his Rangers team alive.
Back in 1994, when the Rangers were down 2-0 in what could have potentially been an elimination game against the Devils, I guess I was naive enough to think that somehow the Rangers would pull it off. My dad on the other hand gave me the “talk” about what it’s like to be a Rangers fan. Then they win, and I’ll never forget the Dad-man singing, “Happy days are here again.”
This year, I’m on Twitter just SKEWERING the team for not showing up in the playoffs. I told someone in a forum that I guess he hasn’t been watching the series because this team hasn’t been demonstrative at all. Then they score a tying goal. Then a winning goal in OT. And then they shut me up by winning the goddamn thing.
So I guess my point is, we have days of special significance in our lives, they stand for something important and meaningful. For me, that day proved that I can’t ever doubt this team, ever. Someone is going to come through, someone is going to carry the team on their back, someone is going to stand up and say, “We’re not going to take this.”
Oh, and remember that whole thing about a team owning another in the 1994 Eastern Conference playoffs? The Rangers had a phenomenal record against New Jersey that year, yet a Game 7 was forced.
This year, Tampa Bay basically annihilated the Rangers in the regular season. By the way, the Rangers also were Regular Season “Champs.”
What does that say?
This series is about to get really interesting.
What, you thought it ended last series??? You thought this would be easy?
My life is an open book. My sports fandom, especially if you follow me on Twitter, is worn on my sleeve. I live and breathe (and sometimes, have a mild heart attack) with every win or loss.
Over the years, baseball has gotten easier for me to handle, mostly because I’m not expecting much from the Mets. My reactions good or bad is usually of the, “My, what a lovely surprise” variety.
I never gave a crap about football until recently. Even so, the stakes are a little bit higher because there are fewer games. Even the playoffs are a one-and-done type of deal. Don’t let the door hit ya on your way out either.
Hockey has always been a different animal for me. The game is so fast paced, and because of that, I can be very reactionary. My reactions are incredibly visceral. You go crazy and cheer a goal. You goad two goons fighting. You boo the opposing team’s star center.
Every so often (okay, more like, every day of my life being a sports fan), I want to give it all up. You know what? Just FUCK IT ALL, and I’ll take up a hobby that’s boring and doesn’t leave me feeling all empty inside. Like knitting.
Last night’s shit sandwich of a game against the Washington Capitals was one of those nights that knitting really seems like a good hobby for me to take up now. I am getting way too old for this shit.
*************************************
It’s that time of the year, folks. It’s the time of the year where two of my favorite sports collide and overlap. Prioritizing hockey games over baseball games now, because it’s the Cup. Rather, because…playoffs. These games are clearly not of the One-and-Done variety like football, but the high stakes of elimination are evident in every game. Lose one game, I am a big sour puss. If the Rangers can firm up a victorious round before the seven games…AWESOME! Go to seven, I will hate everything and everybody. No offense. I just take this time of the year very seriously.
This is usually every other word that comes out of my word. Actually, just “fuck.”
I’ve mentioned previously that in the playoffs, not only have the Rangers faced the Washington Capitals an extraordinary amount in the playoffs, I’ve seen them play the Caps an extraordinary amount. I saw a game in 2011 that the Rangers lost in OT. A game, I will point out, they should have won in regulation.
I saw another game in 2012. A year, by the way, the Rangers made it all the way to the Eastern Conference series. They lost THAT game.
When NotGlen Sather invited me to the 2013 playoffs, I initially told him no. Not that I could not or did not want to go. I absolutely won’t turn down a ticket that he graciously paid for (but had a cancellation, I believe). I told him, I couldn’t bear the burden of a loss. The Rangers were down 2-0 in the series. That game was a “must win.” He said, he’d take his chances with me. And they won. They ended up taking the series too.
So I thought, maybe that dragon was slayed. I dislike the Capitals a lot because of this playoff history. But as I said last night in a tweet, I’d have straight up died before Game Two had this series been against the Islanders. Don’t get me wrong: I’d have enjoyed it. I preferred it, actually. But I don’t think I would last long.
Anyway, I was telling my dad how positive I felt going into this series. If you know me and follow me, you know that is the LAST thing I think about with this team. Even though they won the President’s Trophy, it is simply not enough. It’s #CupOrBust for me in 2015. Otherwise, this year will be an ultimate disappointment. There, I said it.
But I told my dad, I felt as though the playoffs were just a formality. (I also said that about the Seahawks this year. They did make it to the Super Bowl. The ending wasn’t what I wanted…but I digress.)
Then I made the cardinal mistake of mentioning that I felt like the Rangers would be a little “rusty” having had no hockey for almost an entire week.
The game was interesting from the get-go. The Rangers certainly had their opportunities early on in the game. When Ovechkin gets a “surprise” goal (meaning: no one really believed it went in), I found it hard to believe that would be the only goal scored until late third period.
What’s more: the Rangers did not bring their A-game. AT ALL. Missed set ups and passes, futile breakaways. Of course, there’s the inevitable save here and there by Braden Holtby. But still, there were plenty opportunities, hardly any were fruitful.
The crowd was in rare form. For all the renovations have done regarding the fan experience, some people have complained that the fans don’t do *enough*, they are too quiet, etc. I beg to differ. Before opening face off, the crowd was raucous and fun. It reminded me of the old days.
Man, I’m so pumped, in ready to lace up my skates and get on the ice for the BLUESHIRTS #NYR#ChangeTheEnding
The guys sitting behind me, though, they had a difference of opinion. An alcohol-induced opinion, for sure, but opinions nonetheless about how bad the fans were. In fact, one of them generated a laugh from me when he said in so many words that all the fans were doing amounted to “playing with their dicks.” If you follow me on Twitter, you know those words have come out of my own mouth from time to time. When they started picking fights with other Rangers fans (Seriously…YOUSE ARE ROOTING FOR THE SAME TEAM), it was time for the bros to go.
I almost had to break up ANOTHER NYR fan on NYR fan fight – instant assholes: just add alcohol
Right after they were tossed from the game though, a miracle happened…The Rangers finally scored! Who cares they tied up the game late in regulation…they scored!
But looking back at the entire evening, the fact that the Capitals scored the go ahead goal with less than 2 seconds left in the game, it was pure poetry.
Whether it’s the week off, missing Mats Zuccarello, Rick Nash and Martin St. Louis taking a dump, I’m not sure. Something was certainly off this entire game.
Anyone who says the Rangers should have won that game clearly knows nothing about hockey nor watched the game. They had no business winning that game. Even if they did, sure I’d be in a better mood than I have been all day, it certainly would have been in spite of their previous play.
Seriously, they lost significant leads in the Stanley Cup fucking Final last year, and this year, they let their guard down in Round Two. I may have felt at the beginning of the game that it was merely a formality to play these games. I mean, that’s how confident I felt as a fan in this series. Now, not so much. I hope Alain Vigneault threw the book at these assholes.
*************************************
I bought you drinks, I brought you flowers I read your books and talked for hours Every day so many drinks such pretty flowers, so tell me What have I, what have I, what have I done to deserve this? What have I, what have I, what have I done to deserve this?
Every year around this time, I get a little nostalgic. The summer of my 18th year, I discovered the Pet Shop Boys, and one my “desert island albums” is an album that come out the year before, Very. I wrote about this at length last year during their run to the Stanley Cup Final.
When I was in California a few weeks ago, I was on a train from Sacramento to Oakland while the Rangers played in game two against the Pittsburgh Penguins. It was the only game the Rangers lost in the first round. I was joking around that on my playlist, a song from Very came on shuffle. We had this one.
For some reason, I have not felt like listening to the album this time around. Which surprises me because as sure as death and taxes and the Rangers being in the playoffs on the road to the Stanley Cup, I listen to Pet Shop Boys Very.
Last night, though, after walking a zombie march essentially from the Garden to the Port Authority Bus Station (where my dad had taken the bus from New Jersey several hours before), I felt like listening to some music on the train ride home.
A Pet Shop Boys oldie came on.
“What have I, what have I, what have I done to deserve this?,” the familiar refrain repeated.
Yeah, I thought, what the fuck exactly have I done to deserve being in sports futility????
Seriously, I had great luck, rooting for teams that hadn’t won championships in a long time, and being a fan for like five minutes in the grand scheme of things, they win championships. The Mets and Rangers won in short periods of time in relation to my becoming a fan.
And yet, each year, something happens that raises my disappointment to an art form.
While I don’t believe the point of sports is to win but rather to entertain (and Flying Spaghetti Monster knows, I’ve been entertained more often than not with these bar raising disappointments), I’d still like a bone thrown my way.
And I can only surmise that after last night’s shit show, things can only go UP from here.
So please, get out of the bathroom, stop taking a shit, and just fucking PLAY BETTER.
“Now I sit with different faces/In rented rooms and foreign places/All the people I was kissing/Some are here and some are missing/In the nineteen-nineties I never dreamt that I would get to be/The creature that I always meant to be/But I thought in spite of dreams/You’d be sitting somewhere here with me
‘Cause we were never being boring/We had too much time to find for ourselves/And we were never being boring/We dressed up and fought, then thought: “Make amends” And we were never holding back or worried that/Time would come to an end/We were always hoping that, looking back/You could always rely on a friend“
No one can accuse my husband and me of being boring. And even what others might not find interesting, we keep ourselves entertained with some pretty stupid shit.
Take for instance, our pop culture games. There’s a diner in Manhattan called Big Daddy’s, that is basically an homage to popular culture of the ’60s/’70s/’80s/’90s. There’s never a dull moment. Usually a song or a picture in there sets us off on some of our trivia contests, like “Name as many ’80s songs that serve as euphemisms for masturbation” or the backing performers or a band known mostly for its lead singer, like Bruce Hornsby. “Whatever happened to ‘The Range’ anyway?”
Like I said, some really stupid shit.
So why did it not surprise me when he told me I was banished from my own apartment during the Stanley Cup Final?
In case you missed it, we live, breathe and eat the philosophy of “It’s Only Weird If It Doesn’t Work.” It worked during the Seahawks and their amazing run to the Super Bowl championship.
I came up with a weird rule during the hockey playoffs this year. It was totally by accident. I missed the deciding game of the Rangers/Flyers first round series because I had fallen asleep, and forgot to set my alarm for the game. By the time I had gotten up, the Rangers were winning. I didn’t want to mess with the juju. They advanced.
During the semifinals against the Penguins, I was so drained. I missed a game because I was at a networking event. They won. So guess what? I thought, it was me, and I need to not watch a potential elimination game. So…
I missed the last three games of the series against the Penguins. They won.
So the superstition reset itself each series. And now, I was able to see the entire Eastern Conference Final games. And I felt like the jinx had worked. I was holding up my end of the bargain, as was @NotGlenSather and @Metstradamus. NotGlen had his McDonagh jersey on his couch; Metstradamus had to take the bus.
This changed though. Metstradamus was in international waters, negating all principles of the superstition. NotGlen decided to watch an away game at a place other than his house.
“It’s Only Weird If It Doesn’t Work” got us all the way to Game Five of the Stanley Cup Final this year. Sadly, it didn’t go further.
“Home is a boot camp/you gotta escape/Wanna go and wander/in the ticker-tape/
You feel the deal is real/You’re a New York City boy/So young, so run/into New York City/ New York City boy/you’ll never have a bored day/ ’cause you’re a New York City boy/where Seventh Avenue meets Broadway”
I love New York City. It’s the city of my dreams. As hokey as that sounds, I was 10 years old when I first visited Manhattan (though I had been to the surrounding areas numerous times, going to Mets games most Sundays as a child, I’d at least see it). The New York City I fell in love with was not a Disneyified version you see of Times Square today. No, it was drug dealers on one corner, prostitutes on the next, fake IDs and homeless people…I knew I needed to be there. I’d go into the city when friends or family from out of town came to visit. I’d walk everyone around, carefully mapping out what and where we needed to go. I’d always try to take a walking route through Times Square, no matter where we were going.
I didn’t go to my first Rangers game till 1989. It was a January game against the Pittsburgh Penguins. These were the young days of Mario Lemieux. I had been what I considered a sports fan, but I could never get with hockey on television. It was only when I went to my first game at the Garden that I was hooked.
The term “1940” meant absolutely nothing to me. I was young and unaware, unfettered by the whole idea of no championships. Two years later, Mark Messier came to the team.
Now, I knew who HE was. I had carefully followed other teams in the Hockey Digest I now purchased as a teenager. He played for the Edmonton Oilers, Wayne Gretzky’s old team. Gretzky was then a Los Angeles King. Messier had something else to prove, though his team had won a championship without Gretzky (and surprisingly, Gretzky never won a championship without Messier on his team).
I had an aversion to the Kings even back then, actually. See, my first ever favorite player on the Rangers was Tony Granato, who was one of the young rookie upstarts along with some dude named Brian Leetch (ever heard of him???). Granato was later traded to LA for Bernie Nicholls. Nicholls, was in turn, sent to Edmonton for one Mark Messier. Yes, that trade chain ultimately brought the team a championship, the first one in 54 years. My first ever Stanley Cup experience as a fan. The only one I had so far, and the only Final appearance I’d seen in my 25 years of being a Rangers fan.
When I became a Mets fan at age seven, I only had to wait a little over three years before I saw a return on my investment. The Rangers had won a championship with Messier leading the charge five years after I had become a fan. Detect a theme here? One thing I hadn’t yet seen as a fan of those teams: a ticker tape parade. Hell, I was AT game seven in 1986, and my dad wanted to stay for the parade the next day. However, my mom’s car got broken into and the windshield was smashed, presumably from a celebrating fan. We just went home. Being 10 years old, I wasn’t all that disappointed. Besides…back then…WHO KNEW THAT THE METS DYNASTY WOULD BE QUASHED BY 1990????
When the Rangers last won the Cup, I was a senior in high school. The parade coincided with finals. I found out some other diehards skipped out and went to the parade. I didn’t though, mostly because I was a goody two shoes. Plus, I didn’t have any friends. At least, the few I did have didn’t really give a crap about hockey. That spring and subsequent summer solidified my determination to getting to the city, eventually. The Rangers played a big part in that, especially when I saw Madison Square Garden. It was now the home of legends. But I had not yet been to a ticker tape parade. There have been a few here on the Canyon of Heroes. But none for my teams.
“You’ve got a clever way of haunting me/I’m never scared, but you’re still daunting me ’cause I know what you’re likely to say/and I know that you’ll get your own way And all I wanted to say was that I love you/but you’re telling me now you don’t believe it’s true You got a different, a different/a different point of view/You got a different point of view“
Someone asked me how I felt going into game one. I said, “If they lose, it’s not the end of the world.” And I still talked many Rangers fans off the ledge after the game one loss. I understood the distress of giving up a two goal lead, then losing in overtime. That was a huge momentum shift. But it was GAME ONE. It didn’t have to dictate the entire run of the series. Till it did.
I was adamant that the Rangers had a fighting chance against the Kings, that while the Kings won just two years ago, things had changed. The Rangers had their snipers Rick Nash, Brad Richards and Martin St. Louis, two players whom already won championships. The Kings for the most part were also two years older. They hadn’t faced any true “tough” competition, like Henrik Lundqvist. Hell, I even refused to pick a rooting interest in the Western Conference because I knew whomever I did pick would have a chance to beat my team. Careful what I wish for, is what I thought.
I work for myself, and there is a saying in my business that you can use a setback as motivation or an excuse. I’ve really been living that because you don’t want to lose out on opportunity because you feel bad for yourself. You don’t want to wonder “What If?”
I was surprised more fans didn’t feel the way I did. Yes, I know a few bad calls were made at the Rangers’ expense. Fact was, in that non-call for goalie interference in game two, the Rangers STILL had the lead. You shake that shit off. Put your big boy pants on and deal with it. Instead, they give up the lead, go to OT and… That was the series right there. They were in the Stanley Cup fuckin Final, and they’re being little bitches. That game infuriated me and kept me up at night more so than other loss in the series. They win that game, they’re still playing today. Game one didn’t change the dynamic of the series. Game two definitely did.
“We’ll stand around forever/regardless of time or weather/ordering drinks at the bar Looking for love and getting/nothing that’s worth regretting/but wondering why we travelled so farTo speak is a sin/You look first, then stare/and once in a while/a smile, if you dareTo speak is a sin/You’d better beware/but once in a while/a smile, if you dare“
In 1995, I bummed a cigarette off a young gentleman at the Rutgers University infamous grease trucks. He and his friend invited my friend and myself to a party. I found out this young man was a Rangers fan. That sealed it, and launched a friendship lasting nearly two decades. This gentleman is @NotGlenSather. He’s someone who I value not only as a person, but someone whose humor I get when I need it, and whose humor I will never turn down to get me through some rough spots. Especially when dealing with the Rangers and playoffs. He brought me to a Rangers playoff game last year where I held my breath and hid behind him for the last full minute of play of the game. He also helped me when I realized I was hyperventilating.
The night we met, I remember him telling me stupid rules, like “no laughing in the house,” or “no talking in the car” as went to the diner. Of course saying stuff like that made me want to laugh or to talk.
Of course, we both broke rules for the Stanley Cup Final. He didn’t park his McDonagh jersey on the couch. I knew that in the event of an elimination game, I wouldn’t NOT watch. So swoops in my husband to tell me that he couldn’t watch the game. This was something he discovered. The link was that he couldn’t watch. I had demonstrated that I could be at a game, watching elsewhere. Just not at home.
You can’t defy the nonsensical reasons. Because it’s sometimes all you have.
Two decades have gone by quickly. I sometimes can’t believe that in a few short years, I’ll be 40. Before I know it, another 20 years will have passed.
I went to that game on Wednesday so that it wouldn’t be when I was 60 the next time they made it. I’d at least have the experience now. The best case was that the Rangers would win and force a game five (they did). The worst case was that I’d see another team celebrating their championship on my home ice. I guess it was a win-win, that outcome.
“I woke up in a sweat/desolate/For there were no more lovers left alive/No one had survived
so there were no more lovers left alive/and that’s why love had died/Yes, it’s true/Look, it’s happened to me and you“
Twenty years has changed me from a fun loving night owl who was up for anything unpredictable into a cranky old fart who prefers staying at home and drinking in my sweats and fuzzy bunny slippers. I live in New York City. The daytime has taken its toll on me in the city never sleeps. Yes, a city that doesn’t sleep, and I manage to find eight hours a night. Not having children can give me that luxury.
Since I had to find someplace else in public to watch the game, I knew I had to pick the right place. Only problem was my choices. I had Blondie’s, a famous sports bar, but I knew that I would be competing with bros and World Cup elitists. Couldn’t deal.
There were a couple other bars that have a reputation of filling up, one of which I ended up choosing. Not before making a quick pit stop to Uno on 81st and Columbus, where the creepy bartender guy who looked a serial killing rapist on Law & Order SVU, ignored me until other men came into the bar. When I brought to his attention that I had been sitting at a mostly empty bar for nearly 30 minutes and he hadn’t once asked me what I’d be having, he turned it on ME, the customer, for not bringing it to his attention. Yes, stopping him from his CLEARLY busy activity of chopping lemons, refilling the maraschino cherries bin and making like he was SO busy so he wouldn’t have to serve me.
I ended up choosing St. Games Gate, on 81st and Amsterdam. But not before telling both the host AND the manager at Uno that “I had planned on spending a lot of money in here to watch the game, and your douchebag of a bartender ignored me for thirty minutes when NO ONE else was there. Oh and he blamed it on me.” The host said, “Who?” I point to the bartender and said, “I won’t set foot in this joint that I typically frequent if this DICKHEAD is behind the bar again!” (I like their chicken spinoccoli. Sue me).
Within 15 minutes, a bartender tried to locate me a summer shandy that they didn’t even HAVE as an option, but set me with a dark and stormy instead. By this time, the Rangers had fallen 1-0 in the game. In due time, it was 2-1 Rangers. I thought, wow, this is working. So it’s totally NOT weird that my husband kicked me out and I had to bring my Rangers bear out with me to watch the game.
Till of course another questionable call happens. And I just knew, then, it wasn’t the Rangers year. Sure, it took almost two full overtimes to determine that. Despite all best efforts of the superstitious ones, despite the rally towels and the playoff beards and everything else, 2014 would just be oh-so-close. But just another year where the Rangers fell just short of a glory they had deservedly earned.
“Cross a windy bridge/one winter night/Past Embankment Gardens/enter warmth and light Face the music (it’s never easy)/Forget the chill Face the future (it’s never easy) /Find the will
If life is worth living/it’s got to be done One might be forgiven/for thinking/it’s a life on the run Many roads will cross through many lives/but somehow you survive“
You know what, Rangers fans. We’ve been through a lot together. Whether it was years of futility in the early aughts, whether it was the “real” Glen Sather making questionable moves like trading Brian Leetch, that rocked us to the core of our being. Whether it was getting beat by the Devils in a sudden death overtime in 2012. The truth is, I know most of us wouldn’t trade being a Rangers fan for anything in the world.
I sometimes curse my pop for getting me into the teams that have done nothing else but break my heart. I defied him by being adopted by the 12th Man in Seattle. But I’ll never stop being a Rangers fan. I was a fan of destiny.
I can go on and say that it was an amazing ride, and it was just simply an honor to be at the big show. But as RuPaul says, whoever says “it’s an honor just to be there,” is a lying BITCH.
I went to bed sad, woke up sad, had a few tears even.
The Pet Shop Boys are mostly known as a “one hit wonder” here in the United States, due to their big top 40 hit, West End Girls. That song is almost 30 years old. Yet, I know them as a band that has quite literally changed my life, and alternatively saved it. As an angsty teenager, I had listened to their Discography and Very, and they empowered me. I realized West End Girls SUCKED compared to what they could really do.
I could look at the bright side of things. Henrik Lundqvist still has a lot of good years left in him. They’re being led by another young upstart defenseman named Ryan McDonagh. Like it or not, Rick Nash is on the team for awhile. We wanted him, we got him. Now we have to deal with him. At the beginning of this season, we didn’t think they’d go anywhere, much less the Stanley Cup Final. This was a special team that banded together during the worst that could happen when a teammate lost his parent and STILL played his heart out. They seemed to adjust well (albeit on the slower side) to a new head coach, who seemed to get the most out of his players despite his quiet and subdued demeanor.
And hey, the Rangers losing wasn’t so bad. I did say that I would eat my own socks if they won a Cup in the first year under Alain Vigneault. It wouldn’t be SO terrible if they won in 2014-15. My socks and my digestive system would get a reprieve at least.
Yes, I woke up sad, but like that saying that you can be happy that it happened, I wouldn’t have traded it for anything else. The city became electric, like nothing I had seen before. All for a sport that most would think was a second or third choice behind baseball and football. Some teams just endear themselves to your hearts.
This was one of them.
We can take the spring of 2014 and put it in our back pocket. Cherish the memory, but know that something great is literally right around the corner. I felt it this year. It will be back before we know it. Whether it’s in 12 months or two decades.
Let’s hope it’s the latter. But in the meantime, I am going to hold onto my ticket stub from game five of the Stanley Cup Final, and hope that all the superstitions in the world bring it back here sooner rather than later.
“Come outside and see/a brand new day The troubles in your mind/will blow away It’s easy to believe/they’re here to stay but you won’t find them/standing in your way
Se a vida é I love you/Come outside and feel the morning sun Se a vida é I love you/Life is much more simple when you’re young Come on, essa vida é/That’s the way life is That’s the way life is“
***Many, many thanks to the New York Rangers for giving me something to complain about or be hopeful about, all at the same time, and the Pet Shop Boys for providing the soundtrack of my life (though I doubt when they wrote and composed their music, they had National Hockey League playoff games in mind).***
A Gal For All Seasons 