I got an anonymous text today:
"I didn't know if u heard but the penguins lost last nt Have a nice day."
When I asked, they told me it was the ghost of penguins past. Dude, I don't have anything against harrassing texts or emails when they're done properly but really? Calling me up and breathing heavy would have been more interesting than that.
I'm not by any means a fair weather fan. I went home after work last night and watched the replay on FSN just to live through each grueling and painful moment with my fellow fans and the objects of our collected fandom. I was sad and depressed and told my boyfriend that it was his fault (I couldn't be mad at anyone in particular so it made sense to be mad at the one person who gets off easiest in my life).
I was distraught. Not even a piece of cheesecake could console me properly. But I stole some of my boyfriend's birthday cake anyway and sat down with a beer. Yes, I mixed marble birthday cake with a Magic Hat No. 9. Judge me, I dare you.
Watching the replay was a twisting knife. It was sad because watching it I knew everything that each one of those players was capable of and I watched them come up short again and again, not because of Halak (and his wonderwoman string of games) but because their heart just wasn't in it.
The skill got the Pens to the playoffs again but their hearts just weren't in the game.
It's sad when you think about Lady Mellon's send off being so similar to her induction: a Pens loss to the Habs.
But in the wake of the Penguins ending their season last night, millions of individual memories that were created in that building are being overlooked. Memories that if you're a regular reader of The Pens Blog, you'll have read and enjoyed and maybe even talked about with other friends.
I think of the Mellon now and its still the Civic Arena to me. It's the huge white magical dome where I sat and saw the Ice Capades and Stars on Ice when I was a kid. It was where Mario and Jagr won their Cups back when I was 11 and 12 years old and just didn't care about hockey. It was where I saw David Copperfield live. Recently, it was where I spent my 2nd date with the Boyfriend to watch the Pens lose to the Carolina Hurricanes last season before beginning a Cinderella run of their own to the Cup finals. It was where I dragged him this season to see Stamkos and Vinny in March then listen to him tell me about how he got a write up for going to a game with his girlfriend when he had called into work.
There really is something magical about that building. It's old fashioned, just made of concrete and steel where the aisle numbers are often written in chalk to help patrons find their correct seats. Through all of its glory and even more through its age, its somehow began to sparkle. There's a gleam that isn't quite sunlight that reflects off of it's shiny white exterior. Magic isn't really the word because magic doesn't really exist.
Does it?
I'd call this post my tribute to Lady Mellon but tribute doesn't do the building justice. A tribute has a sort of sad goodbye connotation and frankly I'm just not ready to put on Sarah Mclaughlin's Angel and cry into my Iron City Light.
I hate that beer.
With my season as a fan coming to a close, I can only look towards next year. I've already started talking about getting tickets for away games. Maybe a Washington or New York or even a Philadelphia hotel will be getting a reservation with my name and credit card attached in the future.
In the meantime, I've forced Gary Roberts to give up his station on my twitter profile and started looking at Bucco game dates to see which ones I can make it to in the near future.
It's going to be a long, long summer.
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