Congratulations Blackhawks and Chicago!!

2010 STANLEY CUP WINNERS

chicago chronicles, part 2: Sunday, Sunday, Sunday

I mentioned the long car rides into the Chicago skyline.  Our family auto was large and long and luxurious.  Seat belts were perfectly rolled up and tucked away.  Electronic windows and door locks and power steering graced our ride.  The soundtrack from Saturday Night Fever blasted from the 8 track tape player and taught me every word to every song the Bee Gees and Diana Ross sang in the 1970's.  Staying alive and stepping out.

Each Sunday we stepped into Hockey jerseys and headed to the city. Our destination: the Chicago Stadium and the Chicago Blackhawks hockey game.  Dad had 5 season seats for the five members of our tribe.  Part of our routine and tradition of Sunday games was the dinner preceding.  Greek Town!  Roditi's or the Islands.  Either establishment welcomed my dad and his entourage.  Dad seemed to know everyone...host, server, guy cutting off the gyros meat from the lamb on the big spit.  My early journey into restaurant etiquette and fellowship.

I was a picky eater as a kid, so Greek food did not interest me.  That's OK, I had chicken.  Every Sunday in Greek-land I ate the same food:  appetizer of crispy bread and pats of butter, baked Greek chicken with rice, and a scoop of chocolate ice cream in a cold metal dish.  I didn't eat the flaming Saganaki cheese, but I definitely wanted the waiter to light that fire at our table.  OPA! Boy did I have stories to tell at school the next morning.

For years I thought valet parking was how all visitors to the city were treated.  Our car was usually pre-heated by the man in the knit cap and gloves, and pulled up to the curb just as we  walked outside.  Bitter Chicago winds were no match for well-tipped valets.  Dad's regularity kept all parties in anticipatory trust.  And his children knew that a night in the city with father was never boring.

On the drive between dinner and hockey is when I realized that I wasn't in Kansas anymore.  Maybe twenty minutes, sometimes felt like five.  Lots to spy out my car window.  Lots to learn about life outside suburbia.  Differences marked memories and similarities invoked imagination.  I was passing through someone else's life without invitation.  My visitor badge was not pinned on my lapel for quick identification.  My anonymity represented my naivety and I felt invisible behind the glass.

The Chicago Stadium is no longer.  In the 1970's and 80's it housed the Blackhawks games, almost two every week during the season.  Standing proudly on Madison Street, west of the blocks of sky scrapers and business and shopping and tourists, The Stadium, as everyone called it, was in the middle of nowhere.  In other words, I heard my parents say it wasn't in a very nice area. Reminder to lock the car doors and walk closely to the adults is ingrained on my childhood brain.  I never knew what I was being protected from.  I only knew what I observed through that glass.

Neighborhoods.  Schools with playgrounds.  Churches. Grocery shops and bars with neon signs.  Chain link fences and chain basketball nets.  Boarded up buildings with broken furniture on their stoops.  Row houses with front gates and little lawns and children playing.  Police station proudly wearing its number on the stone front,  above the giant double wood doors, in front of the regal staircase, like the one on Hill Street Blues.  Everything appears larger than life, more important, different.

Usually the drive was near dusk.  In the thick of winter we drove through darkness.  The games started at 7:30.  Dad brought us early to watch our team practice, or just following, so we could hunt for pucks shot under the red seats.  As we approached our destination we also approached fandom.  And my view changed.  Gone were the lonely streets and lives of citizens. We merged into a mild chaos of hockey fanatics.  

Walking in the same direction.  Wearing the same colors and emblems.  Shouting and waving tickets and holding signs.  "Need 2"  "Have 2"  "Parking $10" Red and white jerseys painted the once dull scape.  Parking lots filled up with queued vehicles.  Lot owners bundled in flannel and down and Indian head regalia, accessorized with waist aprons full of cash.  Flashlights bounced at the intersection where uniformed police directed our traffic.  Sometimes the cop held a whistle in his mouth, just like the ones on TV.  My eyes danced and my heart skipped.  My senses stimulated into overdrive.  This is it!  We're here! The rush and thrill and buzz emanated through the car and into my mind.  My first taste and touch and tour...of my kinda' town.

 

~to be continued soon... GO HAWKS!!!

NIEMI...my hero

Since I'm having a hard time motivating myself to clean, plant, cook, or grocery shop, I'm dabbling in blog land. Going through my dashboard reader I peruse the variety of magz, blogs, and photo ops I've bookmarked for my reading pleasure. 

The chosen article this morning is an ode to my hero, Antti Niemi, Chicago Blackhawks goalie extraordinaire.  Stanley Cup game 2 recap @ RosenBlog. Add this author to your reader if you like sports, he won't disappoint.