After a magnificent round of golf at one of the Top 25 public courses in the US, Bulle Rock, we headed north on I-95 from Maryland and finally into New Jersey. It's a little more than three hours, and we arrive in plenty of time to shower, don our trademark flag shirts, and head out to the Meadowlands.
We decide to take a taxi for three reasons. First, hockey equals drink-fest. Second, RV driving in city traffic is not pleasant. Third, we have no idea where we are going. So, we grab a cab. Our first stop is the Sheraton where ShowMeTickets.com is doing its "will call" for Game 1 tickets.
Another few minutes, and we're in the parking lot of Continental Airlines arena and trying to track down our good friend, Mike, and his gang of Jersey Devils tailgaters. Thanks to the wonders of cell phone technology, we're partying with the whole crew in no time.
Eventually, it's time to head into the game. Actually, it's time to take a piss, which is tantamount to the same thing. Tickets in hand, we make our way through security (very lax) and into the arena amidst thousands of inebriated Devils fans.
We asked for and received excellent seats for the game, three rows back on the blue line, adjacent to the ABC sports desk erected and broadcasting the live pre-game show with Chris Berman, Mike Turico, and a few other guys. We looked for their hotty, Samantha Ryan, but didn't see her.
Both teams entered the ice to cheers and applause. The starting lineups faced off and were introduced. As each Mighty Ducks name was called, somehow, in unison, the entire stadium would yell "SUCK." For example,
Announcer: "Starting Forward, Paul Kariya"
Crowd: "SUCKS!"
Announcer: "Starting Forward, Adam Oates"
Crowd: "SUCKS!"
We joined in, and let us tell you, it was fun. The players we're clearly not at all happy about it, though. I suppose some level of respect should be accorded to a team that reaches the Stanley Cup Finals. But, this is home ice advantage at its best. How do you not suck after 20,000 fans scream it?
Now, before getting to the action, we have a few things to admit. First, we do not know hockey. The intricacies of icing, checking, offsides, and shift changes are not knowledge that we carry around with us. We're here as spectators, as fans of sport, not as tried and true hockey super-fans. If pressed, we might, be able to name 10 hockey players between the two of us. So, if we happen to screw up any of the descriptions in this account, live with it.
As the game started, the fans went nuts. It seemed to our untrained eyes that the Devils were getting the best of it in the period. There were several close shots, but none in the net. Our seats were fantastic when the action was on our end of the floor, but less than adequate with the puck at the other end.
First period ended in a deadlock, and we headed out to meet Mike and the gang at section 223. Fighting the crowd took a good 5 minutes, so we madly rushed to secure adequate hockey-fuel before catching up with Mike. Mike is a hockey madman, a true devotee, a season ticket holder, and a carrier of the Devil torch. He knows every player, has analyzed their "lines" and knows the team inside and out. He did not look concerned by the tie score. "Devils are just testing them. We'll start hitting in the second, and then watch out." He's a sheet to the wind, but clearly he believed what he was saying. The others agreed.
Second period started with some fireworks. Jeff Friesen made a miracle shot giving the Devils a 1-0 lead just 2 minutes into the second. The crowd went so wild and orgasmic you'd have thought the top 50 female porn stars had gathered at center ice for a pillow fight.
With the action back underway, it was clear that the Devils were dominating. Anaheim had a hard time getting the puck past center ice. It was during the second period we noticed a strange phenomenon. Every so often, seemingly for no good reason, most of the entire crowd would yell at the top of their lungs "Rangers Suck!" We were baffled. Did it happen when a certain player entered the ice? Did it happen when the puck reached a certain spot on the ice? How about on a great save or shot attempt? None of these things made sense. The timing was too precise, intervals too erratic. And come to think of it, why were they focusing on their cross-town rivals, the NY Rangers, instead of the Ducks whom they were playing in the finals?
After another Devils goal, the second period ended and we fought our way through the noisy crowd and back to Mike. He and the rest of the section 223 crazies were ecstatic. We asked about the "Rangers Suck" and were informed that it is an old tradition that is kicked off when a particular fan whistles a familiar musical phrase very loudly.
The third period was more of the same, Devils Devils Devils. They scored yet another goal, but more importantly, their goalie, Martin Brodeur, kept everything out of the Devils net. He made some absolutely brilliant saves, even brilliant to the untrained eye. This lead to an impromptu crowd chant that would stick for the rest of the finals: "Marty's Better!!! [clap, clap, clapclapclap]." We were pleased to have gotten the reference to Anaheim's goalie, Giguere, who was brilliant all throughout the playoffs, and the main reason the Ducks were in the finals.
For tonight's game, we decided to bring down the Blue Monster. Our friends know how to tailgate - we'd give them a good 7.8 out of 10. However, nothing can kick it up a notch like the RV: Dacquiri Whacker, karaoke machine, kick-ass grill, satellite TV, and speakers on the rooftop change everything.
We arrived at around 4pm, plenty of time to set up and rage. The weather was nice out for a change. We parked in the Media lot and immediately sent all the guys our location via email. Speaking of emails, do these guys actually have jobs? All day, they were emailing back and forth. "Who's bringing the buns?" "What kind of beer are you bringing?" etc... By our count, there were 28 emails exchanged during the day.
The gang all arrives, the barbeques are fired up, and Dacquiri Whacker is whacking away. All the USA newbies were overwhelmed by the RV. We were definitely the hit of the parking lot.
We closed up shop just before eight and head into the game. We asked
ShowMeTickets.com to get us seats higher up this time, since we wanted a different view. As good as our row 3 tickets were for seeing, hearing and feeling the hits against the boards, there were spots at the other end of the rink that were obscured by the rink siding.
Game 2 started much the same as game 1. A scoreless first period, followed by complete and total Devil domination throughout the rest of the game. Brodeur, the Devils' goalie, was on fire and stopped everything. Devils won in a rout.
It's Thursday night, the Devils lead 2-0, our friend Mike is a little tipsy and ready to party. We decide to join in on the post-game fun at a Hoboken, NJ bar called Madison's. We drop off the RV at the RV park and head straight out by taxi. We arrive slightly after midnight, the bar going strong. Game on.
After a few drinks, we're loosened up and ready to try a few slap shots. Rafe had one attempt hit the crossbar and angle deep into the crowd. Phil tried a "wraparound" shot, but was checked into the bar by a defensewoman. At 1:30, we both tried shots from the blue line, but the *ucks sailed quite a bit wide. Game over, a scoreless, hollow defeat.
Before the game tonight we have to do David Letterman. Now, don't get excited, we're not on the show. Yet. But, we do have VIP tickets arranged by our friend, Tanya Streeter, the world champion freediver who gave us lessons way back in February.
We're guests of "talent" and head straight to the best seats in the house. As we are seated, we're plotting and planning our question: "Hey, Dave, we're headed to the Stanley Cup Finals right after the show, do you think you can arrange a limo for us?". Paul Schaeffer and the CBS Orchestra come out to a roaring round of applause. Then Dave comes out for a few minutes before the show to gauge the audience and "get us warmed up."
The show starts, Dave's monologue is hilarious, the Top Ten is hysterical, and we break for commercial. Barbara Walters is on for a good 8 minutes, another commercial. Then Tanya Streeter comes on and does an amazing job - she looked fabulous, she was very well spoken, and Dave and the crowd were eating it up. We were very impressed and we know this is the big break she really needed. Check out Tanya at www.redefineyourlimits.com and read about our training earlier in the tour.
After the show, we rushed outside in time to see Tanya and her husband, Paul. They were signing autographs and debating where to go in their CBS limo. We suggested the Meadowlands, but they had other plans. Ah well. Thanks, Tanya and Paul, for the tickets, and best of luck on your upcoming world record try! No Sambas!
We walked down through Times Square and eventually ended up at the Port Authority Bus Terminal. It's a massive, sprawling complex, and it took a good 10 minutes to find the ticket counter and purchase our transfer to the Meadowlands. The bus ride was comfortable and quick.
We soon found Mike, Joe and the gang in the parking lot already going strong. These guys really do tailgating in a big way. Filet Mignon, shrimp cocktail, hamburgers, sausages, chicken breasts... and beer, beer, beer... There were about 20 of us out there. Soon we got a call from Luke from American Tailgater. He was there with his (dare say we?) girlfriend, Amy. Now Amy is the kind of girl it is really, really easy to fall for. She's tall, athletic, great looking, clearly intelligent, and a charming personality. Not only that, she's a huge sports fan, has a cute Midwestern accent, and plays golf. Um, sign us up! We spent the next hour plotting how to nudge poor Luke out of the picture.
With the series tied 2-2, both teams opened up a bit. There were plenty of breakaways, spectacular saves, and brilliant shots. The Devils were getting the best of it though, and true to form, carried the game away in the second period.
Mike gave us a ride back to Hoboken for yet another assault on Madison's. "Hey, weren't you guys here last week?" some girl says. That's a good sign (or is it?) When we moved in and started talking to her and her friend, we got the cold shoulder almost immediately. "You said the same exact thing last week, boys. Get some new material." Tough, tough, tough. That's 2 minutes in the Penalty Box for Phil, with Rafe, Joe, Mike, and Kevin left to play shorthanded, 4 on 5. Apparently the old adage that "Jersey girls are easy" hasn't made it to New Jersey yet!
What luck! We were ecstatic to see Anaheim step up to the plate in Game 6 - one way or the other, we will see the cup tonight. These are the moments that we live for on tour.
We were up late last night playing poker tournaments at UltimateBet.com. If you haven't experienced online poker, click through and sign up for an account at one of the best sites on the internet. Phil's nickname is "tallphil" and Rafe is "tiltboy".
Being up late means we woke up late. The emails from our Devils friends were flying back and forth. Nervous, excited, and ready to party, they were all killing themselves to get out of work early and down to what now feels like our home away from home (...away from home), the Meadowlands parking lot.
After a long, tiring, and frustrating drive through afternoon rush hour traffic, we finally arrive near the stadium to pick up our tickets. Rafe and Phil were at each other's throats over nothing, a state that can only be induced by driving the RV in traffic. There are already a few of our friends in the lot, waiting for us to get the tailgate going. We rallied and didn't let them down, putting out the Daquiri Whacker, the TV, and the grill. Soon enough, it's a full fledged rager, everyone excited and ready for what we hope will be an epic Game 7.
It's 7:30, and we shut down the party and prepare to go into the arena. There are fans everywhere begging for tickets. $1000 for upperdeck will get you laughed at. These fans are rabid, and an upper level single is going for well over $1,200. No one was selling. For that matter, no one was even entertaining the idea.
Our seats were dead center ice, but on the highest row possible on the second level. We quickly ascertained that we were amongst all ShowMeTickets.com clients. They all seemed happy about being at the game. One problem with the seats was the camera mounted right above Phil's head. The operator didn't seem concerned that Phil's 6'9" body would end up in the shots, but Phil told him he'd try to stay out of the shots.
In Games 1, 2, and 5, the fans were completely nuts. Game 7 they stepped it up a notch. As the game started, the racket was completely deafening. Even more disconcerting, however, was the fact that the arena was shaking. And we're not talking about a gentle rocking, we're talking about 2-3 centimeters of up and down. It was quite amazing.
First period went as in Game 1 and 2. Both teams seemed a bit tentative and after the first 20 minutes we were scoreless, as usual. We walked down the 60 or so stairs to the corridor and made our way over to our friends. Mike was beside himself with concern. This was life or death, the Devils must win.
The second period started much like the first. The crowd, cheering loudly on every single shot and save. They were willing a Devils goal, and for the first time since the tour began we realized what home court/field/ice advantage was all about. These fans were not going to let their beloved team down, and the team was not going to let them down.
Just a few minutes into the quarter, the Devils did not disappoint. A clever shot, right through the heart of the defense. Red lights. Sirens. Cataclysmic applause. The Devils in the lead!
The cheering continued nonstop after the goal. The Mighty Ducks looked a little confused, startled, off kilter. That must have been the reason that just a few minutes later, the Devils did it again. Another goal. Thunder. Lightning. Electric, intense outpouring of emotion. High fives. And even weeping.
The rest of the game went quickly. Devils slid back into a defensive posture, only coming out to attack and score a Cup-clenching third goal with five minutes to go in the game.
Game over. Devils win! Joyful tears, bawling from fans and players alike. Jumping in the aisles, dancing on the ice. Minutes pass with only brief lulls, quickly replaced by a swelling cheer or the automatic chant of "Let's Go Devils!" (Note to Devils fans: they just won the Cup, where else can they go?)
The media swarmed the rink, and it was quite comical to see them slipping and sliding all over the ice. The red carpet was rolled out. Both teams lined up, and like brothers meeting again after a war, they embrace each other, shake hands, one by one in a display of sportsmanship and camaraderie rarely seen in the world of jaded professional sports. This is a great moment.
Finally the presentation of Lord Stanley's Cup, a silver trophy coveted by all who have ever held a hockey stick or laced up the skates. The presentation was quick and short, and eventually Scott Stevens, the 39-year-old team captain and inspirational leader of the Devils, magically raised the Cup above his head in victory. He passed the cup to his teammates so that each one could have his turn, another hockey tradition. One by one, skating round the arena, the Devils players and coaches held the Cup high above their heads, pressed it to their lips and hoisted it yet again to the raucous applause of the fans.
The celebration inside the arena lasted for a good 30 minutes. Eventually, the players headed to the locker room to celebrate with champagne toasts from the Stanley Cup, their ultimate dreams having come true this night.
We left the building with a great feeling and headed back for a "post-tailgate" party of epic proportions. The entire gang joined us, we fired up the grill yet again, popped beers, blended up some frozen rum drinks, and watched some of the highlights on the TV we set up outside. Our party in the parking lots was not unique - everyone was celebrating strong - but we were clearly in a league of our own.
About 1:30am, the crowd dissipated and we were left alone in the arena parking lot. Suddenly, knock-knock-knock! We open the door to find our friend, Lindsay, that we met at the beach last weekend at the Jersey Shore. It seems as if Rafe had been flirting big time with her and somehow used his powers of persuasion to convince her to drive an hour from her house in South Jersey up to the parking lot. Hmmmm. Unfortuantely, she was joined by a "friend," which would have been just peachy had the friend not been a boy.
After an hour of small talk, it became crystal clear that Lindsay would not be staying over. Saying goodnight, we locked up, shut the curtains, and spent the night, dreaming of the Cup, in the arena parking lot.
Postscript
We'd like to thank all of our new friends in New Jersey for the unbelievable hospitality and good times during the last three weeks. In particular, we are enshrining Mike "The Mayor" Suppa into the Ultimate Sports Adventure Hall of Fame. Joey Vegas, you rock as well, though a bit more effort will be required during our next visit to attain Hall of Fame status.
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