Bruins lead series 3-0
The basement was cold, musty and when alone a little scary. A space heater hissed and crackled, hot to the touch, ugly yet comforting. Asbestos tile covered the floor, doors on one side of the room opened to a narrow passageway where the heart of the home sat, called upon to provide warmth when needed, forgotten when not. The “Christmas Stuff” waited in the little closet under the stairs, now and then a little smell of Christmas would escape between the louvers of the door, spreading more warmth into “The Garden.”
A couch sat in front of an old RCA television console, reserved for game night. Wires snaked from the back of the cabinet, stapled against the paneled walls, into the passageway and out the cellar window, up the side of the house next to the chimney and onto the roof. The latest in television technology was planted there, much like the American Flag was planted on the surface of the moon earlier that summer, only this was no flag, it was a rotary antenna.
Some nights the picture was almost clear when the antenna pointed North, toward Boston. Sometimes turning it Northeast worked better, and for some mysterious reason pointing it South provided the best picture on the weekends. Even the best picture was always obscured by “snow.” It never occurred to us that some day we might actually see the puck.
If there is heaven on earth, it was in the basement of 19 Haley Road on Game Night.
My father watched nearly every game on that old TV, inviting his fan club to his lair where we would make it through the first period, slumber during the second and be out cold by the third. Occasionally a thrown empty would crash against the TV screen, the anger directed at some hooligan from the other team, usually a Canadian, but the bums on the Rangers weren’t much better. If the noise woke us, we might see the end of the game before sneaking up the stairs to bed.
The year before he died my wife and I took my father to Boston Garden for a Bruins game. The old place was scheduled to be torn down soon, we were afraid we were running out of time. Turns out we were, but not for the reason we expected.
He had followed the team since the thirties and never set foot on the hallowed ground. It was a magical moment when he entered the arena, stopped in his tracks as he looked toward the ghost filled rafters and saw first hand the championship banners that had collected over the decades. It was if the earth stood still. He stood, hypnotized, tears filling his eyes but not escaping; never escaping, and took it all in. For a man who started following his team by listening to the “Original Six” on the radio it was a near perfect moment.
For his son who spent the best years of his childhood in a magical basement it was.
Bruins Hockey. Nothing better. Especially when the Stanley Cup is in sight.
I fell like I’m there. Well written, Sir.Buddy has shirt that reads “My drinking team has a hockey problem” He’s glued to updates.
Excellent post, but I must end it with a LET’S GO RANGERS!! Chant.All in good fun, bro.
I thought it was you and your older brother who took your father to Boston Garden that night. I guess I was mistaken.
Actually it was four of us, me and my wife took my mother and father to a game, one of the last good times I can remember with them as a couple. Herbie, if you must be a Rangers fan try to keep the chanting to a minimum!