And for my first real post in a month, I give you (drumroll, please)...MY THOUGHTS ON A DOCUMENTARY!
First and foremost, I am a hockey fan. There was that time, much like any other NHL fan, that I severed my ties with the sport in such a way that makes Floyd Mayweather Jr. miss his father. I completely tuned out for almost a solid two years (missing most of the tail end of the Mike Sullivan Era and practically all of the Dave Lewis Era). From time to time, I would catch a game, but didn't feel the same passion I felt for "College 'Ockey" or what I had as a kid.
At the tender ages of my youth (around 8-12 years old), my dad would get hockey tickets from one of his friends and we would travel down to Boston to the Fleetcenter to catch the gold and black from pretty good seats behind the bench. I saw the Red Wings, the Islanders, the Predators, and a lot of clashes with the Capitals. Hell, I even got on television in the playoffs when I sat next to a cameraman three rows from the glass on the end of the ice.
I was there for the
Craig Berube/Don Sweeney, which eventually led to a five-on-five bout, which then turned into "Lord Byron" Dafoe vs. Olie Kolzig. You show me a man who can watch that video and not feel a sense of pride as a Bruins fan, and I'll show you a man who's full of shit. The best part would've been if Pat Burns and Ron Wilson went at it. Now that, my friends, would've brought the house down.
If there is one hockey memory from my formative years I won't forget, it involves one man, amply nicknamed "The Great One".
When I was ten years old, my dad got tickets to the last time Gretzky would ever play against the Boston Bruins (he had announced he was retiring at the end of the 1999 season earlier in the year). We went down to Boston in my dad's rickety Ford pickup, entered the vast arena, grabbed some food, and sat in our usual seats to wait for number 99 to emerge from the tunnel. My dad wanted me to see him play live, if only just once, before he retired. He didn't care if he wasn't 1980's vintage-Gretzky anymore, the important part was for me to see him play live to say I saw him skate on the ice in a National Hockey League game.
As we waited for the start of the game, they announced the healthy scratches for the game. As I listened to the list, "First, for the Rangers..." and so on, I heard one unusual thing. "Wayne Gretzky" came over the intercom. I was shocked and dumbfounded at the principle that Wayne Gretzky...The Great One...the man who won nine Hart Trophys, would be shortsighted enough to deny me the opportunity to see him play (just kidding, the man has no idea I exist).
Without him, the Rangers took down the Bruins 3-1, in the last time Gretzky would visit the Fleetcenter as a player. It was disheartening that I never got to see him play in his greatness. No one will ever be better, in the history of sport, at a particular sport (Jordan included. And yes, I am a bigger basketball fan than I am a hockey fan).
Tonight, I watched ESPN's 30 for 30 documentary series open with a film by Peter Berg, mediocre actor turned phenomenal director and producer. As I watched "King's Ransom", I feel like I was there in '88 when the world was hit by the massive meteor that was "Edmonton trades Gretzky to Los Angeles" (I hadn't even been born yet). I felt terrible for the city of Edmonton, and for Peter Pocklington, and for Gretzky for leaving. I have never watched something more intently. Something less-distracted than I have in my entire life (probably, but humor me for the sake of the tone of the piece).
I thought Peter Berg did a great job with the documentary. It taught me a great deal about something I hadn't learned much about ever, and I thought that the style of the film was ideal for that type of documentary.
My Grade: A+
Good to be back Towel Heads!
Lang
You know? It's been a solid three weeks since I've posted last. I'll figure out this whole "consistency" thing soon enough. In the mean time...
After an up-and-down season where only the craziest of fanatics would've believed the Sox could win even the pennant, the dream ended on Sunday in the glove of Erick Aybar in shallow centerfield. Truly, it was a damn shame to see the Sox go down so easily, with so little fight in them. Usually a team hampered by injuries, inconsistency, and Manny Delcarmen will go out there and at least win ONE fucking game against the Angels. One game is all I ask for out of this "mirror-image of 2005" team.
