No Bulls

The speculation was, sadly, true.
The San Francisco Bulls folded in mid-season. Couldn't even muster one last home game.
That's life in bush league hockey, I suppose. Too bad.
Of course, the ECHL is a dicey business proposition. Just ask the Fresno city council.
If you don't believe that, I have a large inflatable dog to sell you.

Not A Bull Market After All

Sad news that the San Francisco Bulls appear unlikely to make it through the season, at least not in San Francisco. I always wondered how they could make it financially at the Cow Palace and it appears the answer is they couldn't given its poor location and its ownership by a state agency about as responsive as the DMV
I kind of appreciated the decrepit nature of the Cow Palace, as it contributed to the Slap Shot-esque nature of the ECHL game that gave Bulls hockey its entertainment value, so there's something appropriate about the venture foundering on flaky underfinanced ownership.
Looks like there'll be another jersey for the Cow Palace memorabilia display.

Monsters of Ice

Nov. 8, 2013: Fresno, Calif.
Gateway Ice Center
San Diego Gulls 6, Fresno Monsters 5 (2OT)
My unplanned meandering through the lower levels of North American competitive hockey has already led me through Canadian Major Junior and Junior A and U.S. Tier II. At this point I ought to close the circle. That leaves Tier I and Tier III, but since I had a short weekend to work with the process of elimination led me to the Tier III Fresno Monsters of the Western States Hockey League.
Which may lead readers to the same question I asked myself -- what the heck is Tier III? A question I asked again after watching the Monsters play their season opener at what is basically a recreational ice rink without a grandstand.
How do they support a team that was able to play cohesive well-coached hockey, with trappings that include a mascot, without much capacity to sell tickets? Turns out the answer is simple -- the players pay to play.
I didn't figure that out until after the game, which is just as well as it might have clouded my thoughts to think that these kids' parents are paying so much to chase what for most will be an elusive dream of a college scholarship. Never mind the NHL.
It was the home opener for the Monsters who were riding high in the standings after several weeks of road games and they played a very disciplined game against the last-place Gulls.
But it was the Gulls that came out on top of the see-saw contest.
A couple things made a difference for the Gulls -- differences that highlight some of the factors that have these players in Tier III.
Number one -- goalkeeper Brody Cavataio played a terrific game for the Gulls. I almost said 'played over his head' but that wouldn't be nice because, well, he's not tall, a factor apt to limit his advancement despite his evident competitiveness, reflexes and positioning. Indeed, the Monsters potted their third goal over his shoulder.
X-factor two was the Gulls' massive Latvian defenseman Kalvis Ozols, who had come over from Europe less than three weeks prior. His uniform was lettered for a guy named Peterson.
Ozols was a man apart in a way I can't recall ever seeing in competitive hockey. He didn't really speak to his teammates on the ice, during warmups, or waiting for a whistle.
He basically had only one play: gather up the puck, storm up the ice, cross the blue line, and fire it - hard - at the Monsters' goal. And he was terrifically effective, with an assist and two goals, including the overtime game-winner. His raw speed and skill level -- despite basically not being able to integrate his play with his teammates -- was an indicator how far they would need to go to rise beyond Tier III.
Hockey Nights in Fresno: Recent years have been full of bad news about hockey in Fresno and it was far from clear the Monsters would get to play this season.
First Time Experience: Instead of a shootout, after the first overtime the game went to 3-on-3 second overtime. Thanks to Mr. Ozols, there was no need to find out what happens after that.
Nice Touch: The freshly built beer garden at one end of the rink.
My Wife Will Be Happy to Read This: There were no fights.
She Will Be Happy to Read This, Too: Moves are afoot to ban fighting in US junior hockey, according to this New York Times story with a dateline from Fresno of all places.
Odds & Ends: Fresno game report;box score.

Bulls Update

Sunday, Jan. 13, 2013: Daly City, Calif.
The Cow Palace
Bakersfield Condors 4, San Francisco Bulls 2

A quick report on my recent return to the Cow Palace to see my second Bulls game:

Things that haven't changed:

- Too much loud music as a substitute for actual fan involvement

- PA announcer still out of sync sometimes

- Food still ghastly and overpriced

What has changed:

- The hockey was much better. Time spent playing together looks to have made a difference, even though both teams have been through some turnover after the NHL lockout's sent  roster dominoes falling.

The second Bulls goal was a great hockey play -- with the team down a goal, the defenseman pinched when he needed to pinched, moved the puck to the corner where it was cycled when it needed to cycle, setting up a bang-bang pass to a forward moving into the slot. A thing of beauty.

Sad that the Bulls lost. They had the best of the play throughout the game, but, some unfortunate goaltending at the beginning of the second period put them down two goals and they couldn't come all the way back. That's hockey. Better luck next time.

Loose ends: My wife will be happy to read this: no fights. Game report here and boxscore here.

Wanderer At Home

Saturday, Oct. 13, 2012: Daly City, Calif.
The Cow Palace
San Francisco Bulls 6, Bakersfield Condors 5

As a hockey fan, I was happy to hear that the ECHL was adding a team in San Francisco, for the simple reason I would be able to afford to attend nearby hockey games.
The Bulls sold out their opening night, but I dodged the hoopla and headed over the next night, where a more intimate crowd was in attendance.
The Arena: I'm a fan of old arenas with character, and the Cow Palace is old and has character. That said, it's not an ideal hockey arena. The layout, as its name suggests, reflects its original purpose as a livestock show venue. As a result, most of the seats are more distant from the action than would be ideal.

History is on display throughout the concourse, with many vintage photos of the National Western Livestock show, rock concerts and best of all, a display case with uniforms and mementoes of previous minor-league hockey tenants -- the San Francisco Seals of the 60s, the long-forgotten Shamrocks of the 70s, and the one-season wonders of the 90s, the San Francisco Spiders.
Hats off to the hard score Spiders fans who are still rocking those sweaters at Cow Palace hockey 17 seasons later!
Yes, It's the Minors: The team feels compelled to constantly blast mediocre hard rock through the PA system at any pause in the action. I'm sure this is a scientifically market-tested technique that is proven to improve attendance, but it's one of those things that makes me more inclined to stay home. I think it betrays a management's lack of confidence that the people who paid good money to watch a hockey games can be trusted to enjoy a hockey game.

Feel the noise: The Bulls' in-house PA announcer frequently interjected himself into the action with frantic shouts to "Make Some Noise!" Judging from the awkward timing of some of his outbursts and his inability to sync with the rhythm of the contest,  I suspect the Bulls' second game was the second hockey game he had ever seen in his life.
Mr. PA was also completely oblivious to the turning point of the hockey game -- when the Bulls picked up a five-minute major in the third period, and compounded it by taking another minor penalty during the major.
In the first two periods, the Bulls penalty kill was about as effective as the Maginot Line, so it was all the more remarkable that the team killed off the entire major, including two minutes of being two men short.
The PA announcer didn't say a thing about any of this (he didn't even announce all the penalties during the game as is customary) but the fans definitely picked up on it and cheered accordingly -- perhaps us Bulls fans know a thing or two about hockey?
My wife will be happy to read this: There were no fights.
A note on the food: It was utterly ghastly. But it was about as expensive as a meal at the French Laundry. At least a handful of the beer taps had adequate alternatives to Coorsweiser, though the beer is also very expensive.
Just to be perfectly clear: I enjoyed it and planned to come back. My nitpicking aside, it's hockey. I like it. It was a spirited contest that went down to the wire. Game report here and boxscore here.

Turn, Turn, Turn, Turn, Turn

Europe on Five Wrong Turns a Day

By Doug Mack

Perigee, 2012

It's a great premise: tackle modern-day Europe using a 1963 Frommer's guidebook for direction.
I suspect the premise was better-suited to something the length of a magazine article, rather than a book.
Basically, all the restaurants Frommer cited are closed or have become unholy tourist traps, and the hotel business has changed a lot in 49 years.
To be fair, there's plenty to offer in this book, including a thoroughly researched, engaging look at the postwar history of US travel to Europe.
The premise works for a while when Mack is on the road, but by the time he reached the eighth and final destination, Madrid, I'd tired of it and it's pretty clear Mack did too. It led to a lot of digressions into topics like the circular debate over the nature of travel versus tourism. (Mack's short answer, and I agree, is they aren't as distinct as some people like to think.)
On the plus side, the tale is enlivened from a distance by Mack's mom, who toured Europe in the 60s and left a cache of postcards and letters that enlightened his 21st century tale a bit more than the old guidebook did.
The author’s acknowledgements include one to Arthur Frommer himself, “though we’ve never spoken or met.”
Too bad – Arthur still has a lot to say, and I think Mack would be a great interviewer.

Heading Out To The Highway

China Road
by Rob Gifford

Country Driving
by Peter Hessler

A long road tells a story of its own. It can also serve as a means of telling another story, as Rob Gifford does in an effort to draw a bead on modern China.

The book's construct is simple: Gifford, closing his tour of duty as NPR correspondent in China, sets out from Shanghai on State Road 312, a 3,000-mile journey across the breadth of the land to its border with Kazakhstan.

It's an effective tool, carrying the reader from the teeming megalopolis to the dusty deserts of China’s hinterland.

The book paints a picture of a country changing at a pace it's own people have trouble assimilating, and Gifford’s road effectively touches on those struggles, including the dislocations created by the mass migration toward cities and factories, the hopelessness of country life that helps drive it, pervasive corruption, the one-child policy, and the fate of ethnic minorities in outlying regions.

China Road, in my personal experience, suffers from only one major flaw for which it cannot be blamed: it was published in 2007. Given that relentless change is a primary theme of the book, one wonders if is also out-of-date. (The book itself grew out of an NPR series that ran in 2004).

By coming to 'China Road' so long after its publication I unfairly subjected to comparison with Hessler's 2010 'Country Driving,' another book that uses a road trip in China as a storytelling vehicle.

Gifford's straight-ahead journalistic approach is effective, but it's an unfair fight to compare it with Hessler's more literary non-fiction; 'Country Driving' is one of the best books of any kind I've read for years.

The title’s not completely accurate.

The driving trip in question is one of the book's three parts. The other two detail Hessler's long-term experience as a part-time resident in a country village outside Beijing, and following the story of a single factory in southeastern China.

These two immersive experiences are at the heart of Hessler's book; the end result is insightful about the strengths and the weaknesses of Chinese society as it attempts to thrust itself into the First World. It also has a lot of heart.

Is that all there is?

Sept. 25 2010: Red Deer, Alberta

Red Deer Rebels 8, Edmonton Oil Kings 1

A major junior game's been on my hockey bucket list for some time. I can check that box off now, but this game wasn’t bucket-worthy; it didn’t come with the drama and intensity of the Junior A tilt the night before in Brooks.

Why major junior? In the ways that matter to me, it's the highest level of competition in North America short of the NHL. The very best - your Crosbys, your Tyler Myers, never play a minute in the minor leagues. They just move straight from juniors to the NHL. And the teams aren’t part of a farm system – they are out-and-out competing for the Memorial Cup, without having to compromise their competitiveness to meet the needs of a parent club.

This was the home opener for the Rebels, and they laid on quite the ceremony - complete with balls of fire - to introduce the team.

The Red Deer fans were out in force, and I assume they love the team since they buy a lot of its licensed merchandise.

That captures part of the reason it wasn't as much fun for me as Brooks; it lacked that down home volunteer-run aspect. Of course, major junior is effectively professional, so it's their job to put on a professional-quality event. They do a good job of that in Red Deer.

THE GAME: This game was much more NHL-like than the Junior A game, though not in a good way. As in the NHL, there's a lot of emphasis on defensive positioning, taking away passing and skating lanes - which is how to win games, but not necessarily fun to watch. Neither is a rout. The Oil Kings looked like they barely practiced with each other, rendering them unable to move the puck out of their own zone in the early action. This, combined with a starting goalie who played like a human pinball machine spitting the puck back to Rebels' forecheckers, made for a game that was out of hand early. Edmonton had to make do without captain and first-round Buffalo draft pick Mark Pyskyk, who was not back from the NHL camp. Of course, he hasn’t practiced with the team either.

About Red Deer: I can’t tell you anything. Plans for a leisurely drive through the Alberta badlands, with time to check out the town, went up in smoke when my rented Sentra abruptly gave up the ghost Saturday morning.

It took seven hours for Hertz to truck the replacement in from Calgary so all I could do was drive to the game.

Whaddaya Got? What are the Rebels supposed to be rebelling against? After all, the whole foundation of Canada is based on the act of not rebelling. Then there's the logo: a cow skull with hockey sticks through it. Who are they rebelling against, their bovine overlords? In Alberta that battle’s been decided.

It was probably all put together by marketing consultants. And they achieved their goal, judging by the aforementioned licensed merchandise sales.

Since I’m a sucker for tradition, I appreciated the Oil Kings for picking a name with historic resonance, for their tasteful uniform design, and even the crown logo borrowed from the Dionne-era L.A. Kings.

My wife will be sad to read this: There was a fight. Props to Edmonton's young Jesse Pearson, who took on older, bigger Colin Archer late in the first and, I say, won the decision. Still failed to light a fire in his team.

The arena: The Enmax Centrium's squat concrete form presumably reflects the practical needs of a place with cold, windy winters. The olive green seats prove Red Deer no slave to fashion. I figured the place was built in the 70s, but it turns out to have opened just before the Rebels’ first season in 1992. Not much else to say except the sightlines are good.

Game reports: Here and here.

Dynamic Heavy Haul

Sept. 24, 2010: Brooks, Alberta
Calgary Canucks 4, Brooks Bandits 3 (OT)

This blog's back to the rinks for a two-game tour of Alberta junior hockey. The goal: experience hockey in one of its spiritual homes.
The itinerary was dictated by time-off constraints and frequent-flier availability. That placed me in Brooks, about two hours east of Calgary on the prairie, for an Alberta Junior Hockey League game, in the second tier of junior, one step below major junior.
When it comes to arenas, I prefer old barns with character. Not what I found here; Centennial Regional Arena is barely 10 months old, rising out of the prairie south of the town, paint still gleaming.
It stands to reason; the town is small but seemingly prosperous thanks to quite visible petroleum drilling. So they're going to build the nicest darn ice arena they can. The Bandits are celebrating their tenth anniversary, and they clearly have strong volunteer support.
The game was clearly a social scene, though the place was less than half full. I overheard one fellow say, 'It's such a beautiful arena; we just haven't grown into it yet.'
The game had lots of end-to-end action, due perhaps less to the teams' offensive abilities than their inabilities to nail down their defensive systems early in the season. It ended with a 3-on-3 overtime - the latest carnival sideshow hockey's powers that be have developed to avoid ending games in ties.
Hokey minor-league touch: Select Bandits wore sponsor's names on the lower back of their sweaters. Captain Brett Howe, for example, wore 'Dynamic Heavy Haul' on his butt. He lived up to the billing, scoring all three Bandits goals. He was a force on the ice, and his force of will gained Brooks a game-tying goal late in the third. He demanded the puck from a teammate, bang, bang, BANG stick on the ice, he got it, he buried it in the net.
Really minor-league touch: Less than half the Calgary players had their names on their sweaters. Maybe Matt Heseltine will get his name on after his hat trick tonight.
My wife will be happy to read this: There were no fights.
Player notes: Calgary goalie Dusty Nickel didn't start, despite his awesome name. I'm also pulling for Bandit Lane Menage to rise through the hockey ranks, high enough to play in a game broadcast in French. Then he needs to score a hat trick, so the announcer can say 'Menage a trois.'

Game report here and boxscore here.

Alberta bound

After a long hiatus, hockeywanderer is about to live up to its name, assuming SkyWest can roust a crew for my flight to Calgary. Look for updates, depending on wifi access on the Canadian prairie and my patience for writing on a phone keyboard. This is hockeywanderer, signing off from SFO.

A Book Report

"Africa United"
by Steve Bloomfield
This book called to me in June from the new releases table of the local bookstore. A book on African soccer! Just before the first African World Cup!
In other words, the book had the exact effect on me that the publisher desired. Ka-ching!
That topicality turned out to be one of the weaknesses of this still quite interesting book. It came off as having been assembled hurriedly to meet that marketing-driven deadline. Then again, how else does a book on African soccer land in an American bookstore? "Africa United" is a snapshot of soccer in 10 African nations, evidently put together as author Bloomfield, a Nairobi-based correspondent for British publications, conducted his reportage.

Stories range from the fairly well-known story of the Ivory Coast team's role in brokering a case-fire in the nation's civil war, to a timely (and prescient) chapter on the institutional problems that weakened the South African national football team. Bloomfield also talks about the less-well-known world of domestic football in nations like Congo and Nigeria, and football's continuing cultural resonance in the midst of the social destruction wrought by wars in Somalia and Sierra Leone.

The word "football" reminds me of my pet peeve about the book, at least the U.S. edition. Apparently the American publisher just ran an auto-replace of the word "football" with "soccer" to the point of maddening distraction - even in proper names. For example: "Leo Mugabe, the president's nephew, was chairman of the Zimbabwe Soccer Association (ZIFA)." Memo to the editors: the audience for a book like this already knows the game is known as football in most of the world.

Final summary: a good read if you find the topic interesting.

Published by Harper Perennial.

Author's website: http://www.africa-united.co.uk/

Pominville, Arizona

Jan. 18, 2010: Glendale, Ariz.
Buffalo Sabres 7, Phoenix Coyotes 2

I usually try to see my beloved Sabres in San Jose on their rare West Coast swings. This year I tried something different: instead of driving the Nasty Nimitz to San Jose, I flew to Phoenix. It allowed me to burn a soon-to-expire Southwest frequent flier ticket; helped me deal with a case of cabin fever; and advanced the HockeyWanderer mission of experiencing sports in exotic environments (hockey where cactus are native).
It was also a great value proposition. Thanks to the dubious economics of the NHL in Phoenix, I got a seat three rows from the ice for less than $35, even counting the Ticketbastard fees.
As a Sabres fan, I was not alone. In the parking lot, on the concourses, in the stands, the blue jerseys were everywhere. Well not everywhere; there were more than 6,400 empty seats, (see photo) so jobing.com would have been pretty empty without the Buffalo diaspora.
Surprisingly, or maybe not, a lot of those Buffalo fans were rocking Tyler Myers jerseys. He thanked them with an early goal. Sabres fans had a lot to cheer as the game quickly got out of hand, largely because of Ilya Bryzgalov's shaky netminding.
The population of Pominville increased by two on the night, but fans in the arena thought it was three because the PA announcer never publicly corrected the scoring on a goal that was corrected to linemate Hecht. So a load of hats got thrown on the ice -- how often does that happen to a visiting player?
Anyway, jobing.com was a nice enough place to watch a game, at least being able to sit below the phalanx of luxury boxes that curse modern sports arenas. It also enjoys their blessings, such as free flowing concourses, and short lines for concessions and bathrooms. (The low attendance must help.) Unfortunately, it is not actually in Phoenix; it's a fairly long drive out to Glendale, which may well be one of the Coyotes' problems.

Fan-friendly touch: free parking!

Leading economic indicator?: The 'Yotes can't even sell ads on one of their Zambonis.

Token observation about the actual hockey game: Myers is good. Scarrry good.

Game reports here and here.

I don't know how they slipped away from me

John Prine
Oct. 2, 2009, San Francisco
(A special Music Wanderer post)

There I was, trying to hold back tears among 30,000 perfect strangers.
That wasn't part of the plan. I just thought I'd take advantage of the chance to enjoy one of my favorite performers, John Prine, conveniently playing for free on a Friday afternoon after work.
A chance to taste a small slice of Hardly Strictly Bluegrass, which had been an annual ritual before the arrival of my son complicated life's logistics and the increasing popularity of the festival made attendance on the weekends less like fun and more like work.
Anyway, when Prine launched into 'Souvenirs' and his lines about hating graveyards, broken toys and faded colors, my mind flashed instantly to my Mom's funeral this spring, and to cleaning out her things, all her souvenirs, from her apartment.
The man is a master of melancholy.
Anyway, I don't think the strangers around me were any the wiser. It was the third time I'd seen Prine at Hardly Strictly, and the first time I could clearly view and hear him, even though I was at the edge of the huge throng. As I slipped away from the park toward the Muni bus stop, I overheard some one saying, "I forgot how good John Prine was; that was fantastic!"
Right on.

Almost a Metaphoric Moment

Tonight, while walking down Market Street, and scrolling through songs on my iPod, I narrowly avoided colliding with a man checking e-mails on his Blackberry.

JUNEDAY

Tonight I watched Brad May lift the Stanley Cup. Or as he will always be to me, “BRAAAAAD MAAAAY!”
Mr. May scored a seminal goal in Sabres history.
Of course, for many franchises, a seminal goal would be something like the one scored by Bobby Nystrom in 1980; a goal that won a Stanley Cup. But I am a Sabres fan. I must look harder for milestones.
Luckily we have Rick Jeanerette to help point them out. We go back a long way, though we lost touch for a while.
In 1993, I lived in a cheap apartment in one of Denver’s dreary exurbs, shared with a guy from Boston, as it happens.
The goal I’m talking about was May’s overtime winner in Game 4, capping a sweep for the Sabres. Having enjoyed the victory in real time, I switched over to ESPN, hoping for another chance to wallow in this unusual feeling.
First, Sportscenter showed the goal as a highlight. Then, as a special treat, they played the highlight again, this time with the Buffalo radio announcer’s call.
Thanks to the miracle of sound recording, we can play it again and again: MAYDAY! MAYDAY! MAYDAY! MAYDAY! And it was great, but I had a much more primordial reaction.
At that point, it had been many years since I lived in Western New York, so I hadn’t listened to Sabres broadcasts for a long time.
But the voice was unforgettable. I was instantly transported back in time. Back to third and fourth grade, in Ransomville, New York, when I would take my Radio Shack Sing-a-Long radio up to my bedroom to listen to Sabres games. Turning to an alternate reality away from what, even at that age, was a family environment not entirely conducive to retaining my mental health. Back to the time I became a hockey fan; a Sabres fan. Back to a time and the circumstances that may explain why hockey and the Sabres remain meaningful to me more than 30 years later.
Anyway, thanks to the miracle of the modern Interweb, I can once again listen to RJ call Sabres games on the radio, at least until they are knocked out of the playoffs.
And as I was watching Brad May hoist the Cup, the thought crossed my mind: The Mayday goal was in 1993. Holy crap, that’s 14 freakin’ seasons ago!
There are people who say some nasty things about Brad May. Talentless goon, that sort of thing. The Kim Johnsson incident gave them a good argument. But I don’t think a player sticks around the NHL that long – 15 seasons, not counting the lockout - if he isn’t bringing something to the table.
So here’s to you, Brad. Your name will look good on that Cup.

Walks In The Old Ballpark

May 27, 2007: San Jose, Calif.
Stockton Ports 9, San Jose Giants 6
It turns out that I am better at wandering than sticking to hockey. In this case, at loose ends on Memorial Day weekend, I wandered down the 880 to San Jose. I will spare readers the paean to minor league baseball, as you have undoubtedly seen it before, but the Single-A experience in San Jose is distinctive. Number one: Municipal Stadium is old. Minor-league owners have been just as effective (maybe more effective) as major league owners at extorting taxpayers for new stadiums, complete with luxury boxes and the whole yadda yadda yadda.
San Jose's civic leaders are probably more susceptible than most to throwing money at desperate attempts to attract status symbols, but the California League isn't what they have in mind. I think the Athletics' planned move to Fremont also casts doubt about the future of the minor league game in San Jose. So, at least for now, 65-year-old Municipal Stadium abides.
I wouldn't say it's particularly architecturally distinctive, but it does have something of a vague Mission style. The best thing about it is that it is utterly unDisneyfied, in contrast to most new facilities. I was really taken with the interior concourse. The walls are lined with painted pennants of minor league teams present and (mostly) past. There are murals and displays outside the stadium tying together the history of pro baseball and the history of pro ball in San Jose. It's low-key but classy.
The other key ingredient to the game experience there is the barbecue area by the third base line. It's a large-scale operation, with a bunch of picnic tables nearby and its a treat to go early get some barbecue and a beer (good selection at reasonable prices by pro sports standards).
Unfortunately, there is no shade anywhere at the stadium, at least anywhere you can see the game. It was only in the mid-70s, but the San Jose sun was relentless. And what kind of idiot goes to a day ballgame and forgets his ballcap? That would be me. So, I confess, I left early. In my defense, I watched two and a half hours of baseball, though that only worked out to six innings, because the pitchers had trouble finding the strike zone, and infielders had trouble finding the ball. As for #18 of the Ports: they need a baseball version of the shot clock for pitchers like him.
I'll make one baseball observation: even a casual fan like me can see how thoroughly the Athletics (the Ports' parent club) teach and apply the Moneyball patient batting philosophy.
Local color: Adobe sponsors the pitch speed sign.
Hokey Minor League touch: Forget dot racing: the San Jose Giants do horse racing by having horse-head cutouts, carried by some staffer below, "race" above the outfield wall between innings. Very old school!
Game reports here and here.

Hockey Wanderer is not worthy

These hockey bloggers were at the recent hockey World Championship tournament in Moscow -- on someone else's
tab. Now that's hockey wandering. They were worth every penny; offering
lots of interesting insights on hockey and Russia.I believe you can
find it all in one place if you root around at the Washington Capitals
website.

You Stay Classy, Stockton

April 14, 2007: Stockton, Calif.
Idaho Steelheads 2, Stockton Thunder 1, 2 OT
Has it really been five weeks since I watched this
game? And four since I promised to blog about it?
Luckily, it was a memorable evening. After cancelling plans
for a longer getaway, I found a fun alternative,
Hockeywanderer style -- a lovely afternoon spent
meandering through the Delta, followed by some playoff
hockey. After an al fresco dinner at Valley Brew -
friendly staff, excellent beer, edible food -- we went
down to the Stockton Arena.
Now, Hockeywanderer is fond of places with quirks, with character, with local color. That's not what you get at the Stockton Arena. You get a late-model, state-of-the-art sports arena experience, as one would expect from a franchise and venue controlled by the IFG Group.
That has good aspects (cleanliness, wide concourses, adequate restrooms) and less-good aspects (relentless, loud CrapRock played during every break in play; robotically frequent fan exhortations on the p.a. and scoreboard.)
The Thunder are in their second season, and rewarded their numerous fans with their first playoff berth. This was their first home playoff game. The Thunder drew a pretty good-sized crowd, which is not always a given in the minor leagues.
The Game:
Five years from now, the winner of the 2007 Kelly Cup will be largely forgotten. But the players in this contest fought with every bit as much heart as a player fighting for the Stanley Cup. It was a taught, hard-fought contest, and the intensity was palpable. I thought the Thunder showed a little more flair, but aside from one scoring play, they were unable to finish. Their goaltender was spectacular.
The Steelheads for their part looked thoroughly well coached. This struck me as an excellent demonstration of how to be successful in the AA minor leagues, where teams are less likely to have players with game-breaking individual talent (since such talent would likely get promoted). Idaho played a flawless positional game -- they were not often caught out of place and were consistently in position to keep the Stockton attack from building. As I write this, Idaho is playing in the Kelly Cup finals and I am not one bit surprised.
The Atmosphere:
As I noted, IFG does not let a second go by during the game without some kind of stimulation provided for the fans. I might bring earplugs next time, just for the p.a. system. It looks like a lot of Stocktonites have taken to their hockey team -- caring enough to make sign supporting their team and, evidently, rookie Troy Bodie. Many wore bright yellow wigs, which makes sense -- because, to me, the sound of thunder evokes the sight of bright yellow fake hair.
They proved very vocal in their opinions of the refereeing -- especially after the ref blew the whistle after losing sight of the puck during a scramble that appeared to have led to a Stockton goal. This resulted in a loud, thunderous chants of "You Suck, Ref! You Suck, Ref!" This caused Mrs. Hockeywanderer to look at me in a certain way, as if to say, 'So, these are hockey fans, and you are a hockey fan, and therefore...'
Anyway, the fans were quite emphatic in their criticism of the officiating, even though I am confident that 90% of them had never seen a hockey game before Dec. 10, 2005. This including the 10-year-old girl who enthusiastically soloed on the "You Suck Ref" chant regularly through the third period and first overtime. Classy parenting!
Value proposition: This was actually my second Thunder game and it won't be my last. Sixteen bucks for good blueline tickets to a pro hockey game is a screaming deal, well worth the drive from the Bay Area. The cheap seats start at $9 for adults.
Confession: As a general rule, real fans stay to the end of the game. I declare an exception when one is: A) not a true fan of either team and 2) 80 miles from home. As overtime began, I said we would stay for one overtime (my hockey senses smelled multiple overtime) and that's what we did, so I was on Highway 4 when the winner was tallied.
Doing things right: The main beer advertisers are Fat Tire and Sierra Nevada. That IS classy.
Hokey Minor League touch: A few lucky fans were called to the ice for intermission musical chairs. This was flat out hilarious! They had to wear helmets, and they needed them too; those people were vicious competitors.
Game reports here and here.

My City In Ruins

May 8, 2007: New Haven, Conn.
A recent trip to Connecticut sent me past the second place I ever saw a professional hockey game -- probably the location where I watched the most games.

Won't ever happen again, obviously.
The New Haven Coliseum was home to the AHL New Haven Nighthawks. When I was in middle school I forced my Dad to drag me to quite a few Nighthawks games. It was also the site of a few formative rock concert experiences -- R.E.M. before they got really big, Tom Petty (heading a great triple bill), um, ahem, Iron Maiden...but I digress. In all objective honesty, it was a 70s architectural travesty, but I still fondly remember the long ride down the outdoor escalators from the parking garage to the Orange St. entrance -- it helped build the pre-game anticipation. After the game there was the the fun of everyone honking their horns as they rolled down the circular parking ramps. So it's sad to see the place looking like the World Trade Center on September 12. Not that I was surprised. I was actually down on the corner of Orange and George returning a car to Hertz back in late 2005 -- they had already started demolishing the place then. This means they have probably taken more time tearing down the Coliseum than they spent building it in the first place. That's New Haven for you. I understand they have big plans to build some kind of cultural mecca in place of the old arena, though they obviously aren't in a big hurry. To me, tearing down a venue like that -- and not replacing it -- just reeks of a city that's thrown in the towel.
For what it's worth, the first place I every saw pro hockey was the Aud in Buffalo. I hear it's still standing, though it's been closed for a decade. And Buffalo built a new arena to replace it.

More rugby wanderer

April 21, 2007: Berkeley, Calif.
Cal Bears 51, New Mexico Lobos 3.


I got a call last week from a friend with a similar sports curiosity habit -- did I want to see the Cal rugby team open the playoffs?
You bet.
Cal Berkeley dominates U.S. college rugby. It has won 15 of the last 16 national championships, and 22 of the 27 since the first one in 1980. It's an impressive record of organizational achievement, even if a cynic might compare dominating of American rugby to being the top team in German baseball.
Cal hosted the opening rounds at Witter Field. It's located in Strawberry Canyon east of the football stadium, and offers a fantastic view of the Bay. The crowd numbered in the hundreds, but the demographics were definitely high
Cal plays rugby union, which gives five points for a try, instead of the four in rugby league. That's about all I learned about the differences, though I can confirm that I am unable to understand the kicking away strategies in either code. In any case, one didn't need to know much rugby to comprehend Cal's domination of the game, though I suppose the Lobos can claim a moral victory for scoring any points at all. I was kind of sad when one of their players busted a long run near the end of the blowout, only to get caught two yards away from a try.

Game report here.

Cal won their next game by an even more ridiculous margin, sending them to the final four two weeks later Stanford.
Audience quote of the day: "The ref's a girl!" She didn't take any crap, either.