You haven’t really looked at it since June. It’s got a special hanger, and a special place in the closet. Nobody touches it but you. It is not to be washed. But it’s finally time.
You pull it close to your face, and inhale. The faint smell of sweat, beer, and United Center nachos.
The last time you had it on, you were standing with 2 million of your closest friends, crammed on to Michigan Avenue, brushing the confetti out of your hair and straining to get a better look as Jonathan Toews hoisted Lord Stanley’s Cup over his head at the Wacker Drive intersection.
It was the first time that magnificent silver chalice has seen The Windy City in nearly a half-century. All the eyes in the hockey world were focused on Chicago, and the city turned out for a party the likes of which have not been seen in decades. And you were there.
That day, you wanted the hockey world to stop time. We could just have the Blackhawks be Stanley Cup Champions forever. We could keep the team intact, watch the news reports as the players made the rounds to the local watering holes bringing the Cup with them, and celebrate like this once a week just to keep the magic alive — and remind the world that the Chicago Blackhawks were the best hockey team in the world.
But it doesn’t work that way. Time marches on, like ants to the drop of barbecue sauce you spilled on the deck while basting the ribs. The summer comes and goes, the salary cap forces ugly and unpopular decisions, and eventually a new season is upon us.
And so it is.
The celebrations are almost over. We’ll parade the cup around a little more, and we’ll raise the Championship banner to the roof of the United Center on opening night. But really, it’s time to get serious. Training camp is over, decisions have been made. Pundits are lobbing speculations and predictions. The players are getting into shape, the coaches are watching film and juggling wingers, management is fielding offers and weighing possibilities, and the fans are gearing up.
That’s your job. It’s time.
So you pull The Jersey off its hanger, admire it for a second or two, then flip it over and put it on. It’s a little more snug than you remember (gotta lay off the bratwurst, amigo), but it’ll do.
It was a summer unlike any other, ever. There was a certain spring in our steps, a certain pride in our voices, a certain confidence in our posture. There was more Chicago Blackhawks merchandise worn on the streets than ever before. This city was more than proud, it was swaggering. It will never be equaled, and we wouldn’t want to try. It’s time to move on. It’s time to take on a new challenge. It’s time to go to work.
It’s hockey season again. The Chicago Blackhawks are defending Stanley Cup Champions.
Tim spent Saturday mornings playing street hockey in suburban Toronto before moving to Chicago at age 11. He played amateur hockey in Chicagoland through high school, got his B.A. in Communications, then wasted 7 years as a news/talk radio host. Today he tinkers with computers and web sites and yells at the TV a lot.