Your Witnessing History Quizo Update

A bit of business first, folks.

I heard from Greg last week, and he swore by the name of Gym Shorts No Underwear - which is either very intense or blasphemous to the point of "hey, look out for that lightning bolt" - that he had nothing to do with the shenanigans involving my Barnes and Noble discount card. I believe him, especially when he mentioned that apparently anyone with the requisite information can affect a change like that online. I have recalled the exploding androids and put my vengeance on hold for a while and officially exonerated him.

Now, however, in light of this new information, you're all suspects. I wonder if I can still hire, like, Pinkerton detectives to track down which one of you is responsible. Because when I do, oh yes, boom.

Moving on to the meat of our discussion this week -

Though, as a Devils fan, I have seen the Flyers play the Devils several times at the Meadowlands over the years, the last time I saw the Flyers play the Devils in Philadelphia was in 1987. When I was that age I wasn't the Devils Fan that I would eventually grow up to be; at the time I just loved sports and watched whatever my Dad watched, which was the Flyers. For some reason, though - and even 20 years on I remember that at the time my reasons were murky at best - I had this strange, irrational hatred of Ron Hextall. I couldn't explain it. I hated the guy. Even though at the time he was the best goalie in the NHL that year - as as a rookie - and the next season would go on to be the first goalie ever to score a goal, I hated the guy. I hated watching him play. My father will back me up on this. For some reason I COULD NOT EVEN EXPLAIN AT THE TIME, at ten years old, I absolutely hated Ron Hextall.

Then, towards the end of the season, I found out (can't remember how) that Glenn "Chico" Resch was going to play an upcoming game against the Devils. As I hated Ron Hextall and Pelle Lindbergh had decided to drive home blowing a .24 the year before I was a huge Chico fan. I loved Chico Resch. He was old school. I begged my Dad to take me to the game. I probably didn't need to beg. My father is the person who taught me one of the abiding lessons of my existence, "life is good when you have the hook-up." I'm fairly certain he got those tickets for free from somebody, one of the unseen thousands of people he knows that can get you anything at any time. Except Phillies tickets, he always used to buy those from scalpers.

(Seriously, a .24, who gets that drunk at PRACTICE? I wonder how many people my age around here learned that drinking and driving is bad directly from that Swedish fuck.)

My memory of the game is remarkably specific. It was a Sunday afternoon, the Flyers won 7-5, and Tim Kerr (who at the time I was pretty sure was God, no matter what the parish priest said) and Peter Zezel scored 2 goals each. Dave Brown won a fight. And Chico Resch played. It was awesome. As it turns out that ended up being Chico's last game. After the Flyers got bounced out of the playoffs one game from winning the Stanley Cup he retired.

I've always thought it was pretty cool that I was at Chico Resch's last game. That, however, has been eclipsed.

Flash forward to now when I am given an early birthday present: front row tickets for Flyers-Devils at the Wachovia Center Saturday night, which is just ten different kinds of awesome wrapped up in one. I'd never been that close to a hockey game before.

Here's something you learn sitting in the front row that you don't from watching it on TV or up in the upper deck: hockey is very, very fast - much faster than you can imagine - and INCREDIBLY violent. When you're that close to it we're talking, like, Saving Private Ryan violent. Our seats were on the face-off circle in the Devils' attacking end in the first and third periods. About a minute into the game Patrik Elias slammed Jim Dowd into the glass directly in front of me and I just yelled "HOLY SHIT" because it hurt ME that much sitting there watching it. You see all the stuff that happens behind the play and you get a sense of how unbelievably fast they are and how hard these guys actually go at each other and you realize TV does not really do justice to how tough a game hockey is.

Going into the game I was worried that the Devils - who are not exactly having a stellar year - would get plastered by the Flyers - who are - and I would have to sit there in quiet consternation, simultaneously watching my favorite team get demolished by my second favorite team while trying to avoid getting my ass kicked by angry Flyers fans. We actually somehow luckily ended up sitting in a row full of old people and half a dozen Devils fans, and of course the demolition went the other way, the Devils ran to a 6-2 massacre, and me and the other away fans down there were up and screaming and high-fiving each other the whole game.

And - and and fucking AND - the game was Martin Brodeur's 500th career victory. FIVE HUNDRED WINS! (And, Flyers fans, how many Stanley Cups? Is it three? I think it's three.) He will almost certainly surpass Patrick Roy's record next seaon and then some. The next contender isn't close (and is so ancient the Ancients on Stargate are actually modeled after him).

Best. Birthday present. EVER.

Chico Resch's last game and Martin Brodeur's 500th win. Witnessing history indeed. Well, hockey history, at least.

JLK