{"id":28428,"date":"2006-07-27T11:44:51","date_gmt":"2006-07-27T16:44:51","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.uscho.com\/2006\/07\/27\/euphoria\/"},"modified":"2010-08-17T19:56:36","modified_gmt":"2010-08-18T00:56:36","slug":"euphoria","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.uscho.com\/2006\/07\/27\/euphoria\/","title":{"rendered":"Euphoria"},"content":{"rendered":"
Euphoria. How else to describe 60 intoxicating minutes of hockey that swiftly dispatched all disappointing and bitter memories of the last 16 years? <\/p>\n
In the Wisconsin Badgers’ thrilling 2-1 national title victory over Boston College, those controversies, inconsistencies, and abject collapses magically vaporized into the emotionally-charged April night. The heartbreaking results of ’92, ’95, ’00, and ’04 were rendered meaningless — statistical footnotes in Wisconsin’s classic sixth NCAA title tome.<\/p>\n
Though not a religious man, the cleansing feeling that washed over me when senior BC defenseman Peter Harrold’s deflected shot bounced squarely off the far post with 1.7 seconds left can only be likened to a baptism. The sudden, astonishing, even violent jolt I felt as the final horn sounded left me exhausted. I gutted it out, though, standing and clapping vociferously throughout the postgame accolades. <\/p>\n
During this surreal experience, I even managed to capture some classic snapshots, including a picture of the JumboTron, a perfect montage of encapsulated joy. Its framework a recap of the game just completed — expired clock, timeouts remaining, total shots on goal, and final score defining its relevance — surrounding, at its heart, the capturing of the best part of the college hockey season: the championship team photo.<\/p>\n
But then I could cheer, or stand, no longer. My mom, a perfect companion for the Frozen Four (as it was she and my father that instilled this insatiable love of college hockey in me at the age of five), had just left the building. Also beside herself with glee, she was on her way back to Madison, the birthplace and epicenter of this just-completed crusade, the starting point of a championship trek a poignant four years in the making.<\/p>\n
So now I was alone. My entire section had cleared out. But in section 419, row S, seat 14, I, finally at peace, remained.<\/p>\n
Given that this was my fifth consecutive Frozen Four — per NCAA mandate, the more championships you have attended, the better your seats — I was a bit disappointed when I first saw my precise location in the arena. Mere moments after Wisconsin freshman forward Jack Skille beat Cornell netminder David McKee top shelf (where mama hides the cookies) in the third overtime to send the Badgers to their first Frozen Four in 14 years, I finally opened the envelope that had been sitting on my desk since Bucky began its postseason run. <\/p>\n
So befuddled by my seat assignments, I even went so far as to discuss the rhyme and reason of such placement within the arena with an NCAA representative. Upon arrival at the Bradley Center on Thursday for the first national semifinal, I found my fretting — and pointed questioning — was much ado about nothing. Though seemingly too high up from the ice, the seating chart was a bit misleading. In actuality, they were perfect seats.<\/p>\n
With Wisconsin, the tournament’s overall number-one seed, as the perpetual home team, the Badgers would be attacking in the zone directly in front of me for four of the six regulation periods. Alone, that was a major boon. What elevated my Frozen Four seat to a higher stratum, though, was its position on the aisle.<\/p>\n
In the biggest games of my life, I would have free rein to fully utilize — and display — my formidable cheering prowess. And due to the abject lack of security, my (routine) smuggling in of two bags of Ritz crackers, two cans of Coke, my “GO 11” sign, and trusty cowbell was appallingly easy. In fact, for both Wisconsin games, I had dueling cowbells at my disposal — a byproduct of ensuring I’d have at least one to kill penalties with, given the worst-case scenario of security guards confiscating the other from either me or my accomplice at the gate.<\/p>\n
Confirming my initial seat suspicions, in the second semifinal, after senior captain Adam Burish scored the first Badgers goal, a young gent bounded by me with a Black Bear hanging from a noose, dangling from a hockey stick. For those unaccustomed to the rituals and pageantry of Badger hockey, such an honor is bestowed upon the mascots of road teams, immortalized in the cheer “Goalie, sieve, [insert mascot here] on a stick.”<\/p>\n
Mostly absent the last couple of seasons, this mascot maltreatment — once a Kohl Center staple — was to me a sight for sore eyes. But before I could process the enormity of the situation, back up again the stairs the young man came, delving out high fives to all those clad in red, like me, sitting on the aisle. <\/p>\n
Given my seat locale, from that point forward, I, too, utilized this flexibility to slap hands with all fans female and male, small and tall, young and old, in my vicinity. Ross Carlson’s nimbly dexterous game-turning second period short-handed goal began this nouveau tradition in earnest. <\/p>\n
Another welcome sight was Phil, “The Sign Guy” to the uninitiated, Phil was a section over in the front, flanked by his wife, Mrs. Phil, and a phalanx of signage, including placards that read “GO, RED, LET’S GO RED,” and individual numbers beginning at one and ascending ever upward. <\/p>\n
This trio of fanatics coupled with the general boisterousness emblematic of their followers — and contagious to all in the vicinity — morphed my section and the one adjacent, 420, into a sublime fit with my enthusiastic personality.<\/p>\n
To wit, after a great save by Wisconsin netminder Brian Elliott in the middle frame, I — overcome with determination and buoyed by ample evidence to support my postulation — sing-songly chanted “HOB-EY BAK-ER” three times in succession. The optimal effect was achieved. <\/p>\n