It’s embarrassing, I know. I went to high school in San Jose and
have lived in or around the Bay Area for a baker’s dozen of years,
but until Saturday I had never attended a Sharks game as a fan.
Just about everyone I told this to let me know how strange this
is for someone addicted to sports. They let me know I was missing
out. Some said I was a loser.
It’s embarrassing, I know. I went to high school in San Jose and have lived in or around the Bay Area for a baker’s dozen of years, but until Saturday I had never attended a Sharks game as a fan.
Just about everyone I told this to let me know how strange this is for someone addicted to sports. They let me know I was missing out. Some said I was a loser.
For some unexplainable reason, almost like some kind of juvenile pride, I resisted and avoided hockey.
I can recall a time in high school former Sharks coach Darryl Sutter walked into a barber shop while I was getting my haircut. The older gent cutting my hair leaned over and asked me if I knew who he was. I said yeah. He asked me if I wanted to meet him. I said no. My barber couldn’t believe his ears. Blasphemy. But for all I cared, Sutter was the Bitter Beer Face actor from Keystone Light commercials.
Some people can’t stand soccer, others don’t appreciate NASCAR, hockey has always been the one game I couldn’t sit through. I still don’t know if I’m going to be watching many games on TV, but now, having attended a game, I can put things in better perspective.
There is something uniquely different about the feel of a live hockey game compared to your average pro football, basketball or baseball game, and I don’t mean the cooling sensation of sitting in the stands. Anyone who’s been to Candlestick can tell you being cold doesn’t automatically equal a good time.
Before Saturday’s game even started, though, I knew I was going to be entertained by what was going on in and out of the rink. It started with the Sharks players’ taking to the ice through a decapitated Great White’s head.
Then three shifty looking guys grabbed seats on both sides of my friend and I, when the guy next to me bent down in front of his seat. A quizzical look came over his face as he picked up a ripped ticket stub I had thrown on the floor just a minute earlier. (Yes, I litter at sporting events.)
I turned and said howdy to the guy. Nothing. I wasn’t on the guy’s radar.
I watched him turn the folded stub over in his hands quite a while longer, still looking unsure, and finally said, “Yeah, that’s mine. I’d be careful. I put my gum in there.”
He gave a slight, sheepish turn before looking back and saying, “Oh, I collect ticket stubs.”
Now it was my time to pause. This wasn’t the kind of ticket stub one genuinely considers collecting. It was ripped and had the consistency of putty. He kept it in his hand.
“Cool,” I said. “I probably should have told you sooner.”
He continued to look shy and embarrassed and said nothing. He then turned to his friend on the right and that was that.
I turned to my friend. She looked like the guy to her left had just asked to give her a foot massage. I’m not sure how he crossed the line, but her raised eyebrows told the story. The guy was uncomfortable like a wool Christmas sweater, but he and his compadres kept it cool. They left after the first period and were never heard from again.
What a first period, by the way.
San Jose’s Milan Michalek had a beautiful redirect for the game’s first goal and we were even treated to a fight between the Sharks’ Brad Staubitz and the Los Angeles Kings’ Raitis Ivanans. I have no idea who either player is and what kind of reputation they hold in the fight game of hockey, but the pair did a fine job of holding each other up in between glancing blows. It wasn’t rock-em, sock-em, but the brief bout gave me enjoyment to no end. I cried for blood.
Unexpected fights that don’t end in serious injury tend to make me happy as long as I’m not involved.
There is no denying that a natural rhythm to hockey goes unnoticed on a cropped TV screen. Line changes are fluid motions. Skaters look exponentially faster in open space. And intermissions … I swear they might be the best idea ever introduced to sporting events.
There’s no rushing for a hot dog or pizza or another beer or popcorn or an ice cream sandwich or – let’s just say the family sitting in front of me had time to buy and consume more snacks than I knew was possible at a sporting event. For this reason, I’m in favor of adding intermissions to every other sporting event. If it requires cutting back a quarter, so be it. Think of intermissions as sports siestas. You can choose to relax or run errands during the breaks.
It has to be said that Saturday’s game had everything a local fan could want: San Jose scored first, the Kings answered back by sending the game to overtime with a second period goal, there was the fight, and the Sharks won a thrilling shootout that went seven rounds.
And that’s the best part about Sharks games right now. No other professional Bay Area sports franchise can call itself a winner in the last year.
Baseball’s adage is it’s a shame if the home team doesn’t win. The Sharks won Saturday, but I can’t help but feeling it’s a shame it took me this long to take in a game.
