Friday, Jan. 5
6:00—Hopefully my unsolicited sobriquet for our rink, Gund Arena, doesn't remain as some kind of albatross for the rest of the season. A malfunctioning pipe has left a gaping hole in the ice right inside the blueline. I experience the novel sensation of my ACL wincing.
7:06—The temperature having been turned way down to aid in repairs, captain Chris "Chipsy" Warrington contemplates leading the team over to the Duchin Room to keep us warm. A lack of skate guards and the possibility that resort management might not appreciate twenty guys in full equipment hanging in the lounge stymies his plan.
8:00--After rumors of cancellation and the coldest warm ups in history, we're ready to take on the Philadelphia Independence. We're going to play two 25-minute halves rather than the standard three periods because of the delay. Well, if Shania Twain ever finishes the National Anthem that is.
8:07—Philly gets on the board first. Seeing how this has been the trend in our six victories so far, no one blinks. Then again, this might be because our eyes have frozen.
8:11—They score again.
8:20—And again.
8:23—And again. Uh, fellas?
8:32—And again. Seriously, this is getting ridiculous. Up against the least-skilled team we've faced this young season and we're on the verge of being embarrassed in our own barn. Our inability to prevent the puck from going into the net is more frustrating than trying to keep my two-year-old nephew from peeing on the floor when I change his diaper.
8:40—Finally the horn blares, bringing an end to the half and respite from our misery. Some could see five goals as an insurmountable lead. "Great moments come from great opportunities." These are the immortal Herb Brooks' words, used to motivate his team before they played Russia in the 1980 Olympics. Coach Fester opts instead to let us know what we are playing like—it rhymes with 'spit.' Somewhat less poetic, but inspirational nonetheless.
8:47—The legitimacy of our "Beat the Sun" game is called into question as our three competitors coincidentally share the last name "Benson."
9:03—Fester's words have apparently taken effect, as the Suns look like a new team, and an angry one at that.
9:05—Ivars and Villi, our Latvian connection, put us on the board at last. The jubilant mood on the bench quickly turns to outrage, however, as the Independence punish Muzzy for his goal by means of a vicious leg check. This is the cheapest of cheap shots, so wholly inappropriate that the usually reserved Chipsy flies down the ice and delivers a roundhouse blow that sends the perpetrator tumbling. Most amazing of all, the referee doesn't call a single penalty, appearing more confused than an American tourist in a Tokyo subway station.
9:08—Villi, whose inherent stoicism makes the Dali Lama look like a flamboyant Broadway star, goes berserk. I'm pretty sure we he could go on the ice by himself and win the game singlehandedly. My heart is now pumping at about 220 BPM.
9:10—Jamie Ellison floats a two-on-one pass across the net to Rico who redirects it in with the shaft of his stick. Forget snowballs, our momentum is a slab avalanche right now.
9:12—Eric "D-Day" Demment sets what must be a Suns' record for most hits in one shift. However, after making a play in the neutral zone he receives a crosscheck square on the chin, the back of his head hitting the ice on his way down. While he skates to the bench on concussion-induced spaghetti legs, there's the noticeable absence of a whistle. Stevie Wonder could call a better game at this point.
9:13—Paul Baranzelli announces that we are officially back in the game via a rocket slap shot over the goalie's glove.
9:14—While I in no way condone violence, it would be difficult for me to find a better feeling than smoking someone with a nice clean check. Conversely, there are few things more enraging than getting two minutes in the box for said hit. This ref would have been perfect as one of the teachers in Pink Floyd's 'The Wall.'
9:15—A beautiful give-and-go between Chipsy and Villi puts us within one. The near-capacity crowd is deafening, especially in the 'Beer Garden,' where their zealous celebration results in a pane of glass popping onto the ice. I share a high five with Muzzy, slightly awkward because he's standing and holding an ice pack to his knee. I ask him if he wants help up to the locker room to change. "Hell no!" he replies. "This is the best seat in the house."
9:16—I haven't felt this much collective energy during a game since, well, ever. Every part of me is thrumming with nervous anticipation when I'm not on the ice.
9:21—Villi continues to put his money where his mouth is, making a beautiful behind the back pass to Barnzy for his second goal of the night. Tie game. I pop up from where I'm lying on the ice to join in the pig pile. As far as we're concerned, this is Game Seven of the Stanley Cup and we just erased a five-goal deficit. No way we're letting this team snap our unbeaten streak.
9:55—As time runs out in the second half, Villi has a backhand blocked, but John Miller is there to shovel in the rebound. However, the Disney ending is negated by the frantic motions of our favorite skating zebra, who claims the buzzer had already sounded.
10:05—We finish a five-minute overtime and I can't remember any of it. I think I OD'd on adrenaline and blacked out.
10:10—Some hockey purists believe that ending with a shoot out is a perversion of the game. They can get bent for all I'm concerned, because there is no way to replicate this kind of excitement.
10:11—Perhaps we don't deserve Al Michaels screaming, "Do you believe in miracles?" But when Barnzy gets his hat trick and Ryan Thomson vindicates himself by stopping three straight penalty shots, it sure feels like we do. We mob our heroic goalie then stand as a team and salute our heroic fans, whose loyalty was rewarded with the best finish I've ever seen.
10:25—For the first time I don't feel like a complete fraud when little kid asks for an autograph.
10:28—D-Day and Adam Swain, who also suffered a concussion in the first half, sit together in the corner of the locker room trying to piece together what happened like the guy from 'Memento.' Their memories of the victory may be a bit fuzzy, but they're enjoying the exuberance just the same.
Saturday, Jan. 6
6:30—In the words of the Steroid Guy from 'The Program,' "Starting Defense! Place at the Table!" With our defensive corps currently more depleted than North Korean uranium, I volunteer my services. Hopefully I can remember how to skate backwards in warm-ups.
6:32—Hey, they've unfrozen Frank The Tank for the second week in a row.
6:35—Pretending to be angry, Barnzy kicks over a trash can in the locker room then mutters, "I'll get it" in reference to the mess he's created. For some reason everyone finds this hilarious. Guess you had to be there.
7:00—After last night's ridiculousness, it's difficult to imagine that either team has any energy left.
7:42—Fortunately the referee has enough for both teams, calling eighteen penalties in the first period. With approximately a minute-and-a-half played at full strength, this game has about as much flow as Boston's rush hour traffic during the Big Dig.
8:02—One of the Philly players spins away from me and I decide it's a good idea to grab the back of his jersey and yank him toward the ice. If I were a European soccer player I would argue this call vehemently. Instead I stay silent, acknowledging my idiocy.
8:48—Sitting in the locker room after the second period, I feel flatter than a can of Coke that's been sitting open for a month. And I thought playing defense was easy.
9:25—I promise you, we're not playing badly, we're purposely letting the Independence back into the game in order to make it interesting for the fans once again. I swear.
9:40—See, I told you; Scottie Winkler, God bless him, scores with 12 seconds on the clock. Our second memorable end in as many nights. I'm not sure if I'm happier about the win or not having to play overtime because I'm going to need all the rest I can get before Jackson.
