Homer Pangs

I just want to put up a little description of my experiences Wednesday night; a night that embodied exactly why I love sports. This one’s just for me.

Last night I was simultaneously watching the Boston Bruins in game 4 of the opening round of the Stanley Cup Playoffs in the New Garden against Girl's Buffaslugs AND the second of a three game set from Fenway with The Other Guy's Rangers. The MLB package was streaming intermittently from my computer as the hockey game flowed out of my big new HDTV in all its 720p glory. Even though I had to switch to the radio broadcast at times for the baseball game, I love baseball over the radio, so I was a happy camper. There I was, surrounded by the drama of two tight games being played by two of my favorite, nay beloved teams against personal rivals in each case. Both games were not just good, they were thrilling; they were packed with euphoric highs and heartbreaking lows. The Bruins looked discombobulated on the offensive end for 40 minutes, and Tuuka let in 2 goals to put us down to the best closing team in hockey with All American Miller in the net. The Sox got down 4-1 early, and then blew a 7-4 lead late, still failing to live up to their preseason "defense and pitching" moniker, and still being run on like they were Churchill Downs. However, JD Drew hit another $16 million grand slam, and the Bs scored 2 goals in the third period to tie the game and take away another second intermission advantage from a Buffalo team that never blows leads in the final frame. And then to top it all off, both games finished regulation in a tie. Extras and overtime all around.

There was not a single whistle from sixteen minutes to six and a half minutes left to go in the first overtime of the Bruins-Sabres game, and it was the best hockey I have ever seen. Even in those incredible USA-Canada Olympic match-ups, we never saw such a long, intense stretch of all-out pucks. When Ryan Miller would dislocate his arm to reach back and deny The Devil Himself with a flash of the glove, Tuuka would leap like a second baseman for a sharp liner, PARALLEL TO THE ICE to save a goal, the game, home-ice advantage, maybe the series. Those ten minutes were wide open, end to end, and blistering fast; they looked like the four on four overtimes of the Olympics. And after 20 minutes of virtually non-stop action, we still had hockey to play and I needed a cigarette.

After another mediocre start from Beckett and some more unexpected offense to match, the bullpens took over the ball game in Fenway. Hope seemed bleak as the Sox failed to get a man on base through inning after extra inning. The Rangers marched out their fireballing (I saw 102 on the gun once) closer Neftali Feliz who got them through the tenth and made our hitters look lost and scared. But we had fire of our own, with Daniel Bard (also throwing 100), Papelbon and Okie-Dokie combining for five innings of one-hit ball to get us to the bottom of the 12th. The Rangers had gone to Dustin Nippert in the eleventh and he put up a zero, but the marathon was going to start to tell on the pens and the Sox had a one-inning head start. They were coming up in the twelfth against Nippert, the post-closer, working in his second inning.

But first, the Bruins had work to do. The pressure on Ryan Miller was building to a crescendo, and the offensive attacks were getting stronger, more cohesive. Then came the dagger. Perhaps it was fatigue, perhaps it was a miscommunication, perhaps Buffalo is just a snake-bitten city, but a too many men on the ice penalty in double overtime? I give that great crowd a lot of credit actually. That was a tough place to play that night (as always), and they stayed with their team every minute. The Devil Himself handled the rest. I don’t know if my soul is actually in on whatever deal the Bruins made late in the season to get him, but if it is I’m not unhappy. And what a goal it was, switching to the backhand at the last possible second to foil the screen and the best goalie around and send Boston into a frenzy. I was elated, I was relieved, I was drained, but we weren’t done yet.

Finally, after 6 scoreless innings put up by the Rangers bullpen, in the twelfth the Sox broke through. With two on and two outs Youk banged one off the wall in left center for the Sox’ second walk off win in as many games. As hard as wins have been to come by this April, it was particularly special, and the perfect ending to a perfect night. I was worried until that ball grabbed wall, because I was bargaining for the Bs most of the night (at one point informing the TV that the Sox could drop 20 in a row if the Bruins took that game), but last night the cards all fell my way.

So I took off this year’s lucky hat, got ready for bed, and then sealed it all up with some quick texts exchanged between Da and I. With Girl in bed and The Other Guy too hard a worker to call after 11, I could do no gloating. Da and I just exchanged a few words back and forth, but it was the best part of the whole marathon. Knowing my father was sitting on his couch way past his bedtime with an incredulous smile on his face (just like me), after almost 5 hours of flipping between the two games, responding to that same deep impulse to share the moment with someone whom you love and who understands like few really do; that is why I love this stuff.