I went to my first Los Angeles Kings game around 1986, when they still played at the Forum, wore the original uniforms, and weren’t a playoff team.
By the end of the first period, my fandom was cemented. I loved how fast the game moved. I loved how weird it was to play ice hockey in Southern California. I loved that nobody I knew was into hockey, so this was something that belonged to me. In the 80s, being a hockey fan in LA was to be part of a subculture that took a little bit of work. Like, it was easy to be a Lakers fan during Showtime. The Dodgers weren’t that great in the mid-80s, but by 1988 they were in the World Series again, while the Kings were pretty mid, if my memory is correct.
Years and years ago, I wrote something about how much I loved getting off of work at Paramount, driving down La Cienega through the oil fields, and sneaking into Inglewood around the traffic on the 405 and 110. I would have been 16 or so, maybe just barely 17, when Gretzky came to the Kings, and my subculture exploded into very mainstream Los Angeles sports culture. I took an extended break from the NHL — and all sports, really — when my kids were little. We couldn’t justify the expense for tickets, and when I had a choice between going out for something or staying home and enjoying my family’s company, I always stayed home.
But in … I think it was 2010? 2011? … the Kings were in the playoffs against St. Louis, a couple seasons before they won their first Stanley Cup. I knew from experience that there is nothing in the world like playoff hockey, and that I had my best chance to introduce Anne to the sport, the team, and that part of me. So we went to game 3 of the series (I’m going from memory. I could look all this up and be sure about the dates, but I’m going to write this parenthetical, instead.) We sat behind the goal, about 7 rows up, not the best place to get a full view of the game and watch plays develop, but really great for dropping you right into the middle of the whole thing.
Anne was completely on board by like the third or fourth whistle. She was hollering with me, stomping her feet, the whole thing. It was great. We got season tickets the following season, and we have had them ever since.
Last night, she had an art class she’s been looking forward to for weeks, that she joind before the playoff schedule was set, so I took our son, Nolan, with me. He’s been so busy with so many things, we haven’t had many opportunities lately to just go out and hang, so I was looking forward to that even more than the game, itself.
Holy shit the game, itself. I’ve been feeling like this team is the first team the Kings have put out in years that has a real chance to get past Edmonton. Fucking FINALLY. As I wrote only semi-jokingly in yesterday’s post, Edmonton has one line and a bunch of guys. Their goalie is very beatable, and if the Kings can shut down McDavid (who, we all have to admit is the greatest player in the world right now), they should advance.
The vibe inside Staples Center was immaculate. Fans chanting in the streets, in the concourse ahead of the game, in our seats before they introduced the players. For the first time since opening night, the place looked to be nearly sold out. It was the playoffs, man, and it nourished my soul to be there.
The game was exciting and nerve wracking. The Kings took their foot off the gas at the beginning of the third, as is traditional, and let the Oilers back in. McDavid did his thing (I hope Edmonton nerds know how lucky they are to watch him year after year) and I felt roughly 17000 people go “oh fuck my life not this again”.
And then.
And then, Phillip Danault and Warren Foegele did this, with 7 seconds left.
Nolan and I jumped up out of our seats so fast and so hard, we practically hit our heads on the roof.
The Kings held on for seven intense seconds, and after blowing a huge lead, managed to win it 6-5 in regulation. It’s the first time they’ve won a playoff game in regulation in three years. I screamed so much, my throat hurts today and my voice is hoarse. Not the best thing before I start an audiobook tomorrow. Good thing I heal like Wolverine.
On the drive home, I looked over at Nolan and said, “Look, it’s the playoffs, and I would never admit to this in public or on my blog, but it’s after 10 already and I did not want to be leaving here after 11, so I feel like not only did the Kings win, we also won.”
“Yeah, I wasn’t going to say anything, but … yeah.”
We laughed about that a little bit.
I said, “I guess I know that I’m old and tired because I’m not completely sure I wouldn’t have suggested we race home during the intermission so I could watch OT on TV and then roll right into bed. I don’t even know who I am.”
He started to reply, then said, “Look out!” because a stupid fucking dipshit idiot driver whipped across three lanes without signaling to gain a car length while I was — with my turn indicator on because oh my fucking god why is that so hard for you people to do — safely changing lanes like an adult.
I yanked my wheel back to my left, was grateful I drive a Mini with a low center of gravity, and dad mode automatically engaged. “You fucking idiot fuck,” I spat at that guy. “My fucking kid is right here! What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“You okay? Sorry about that.”
“Yeah, that was intense.”
My parental anger faded as quickly as it flared. “I’m really glad you saw that. I would have missed it entirely.” In my dad brain, a vivid series of violent car crashes played in high speed.
“I barely did.”
“Yikes. That’s scary. We were so close to being in a serious crash because of that guy, and he probably has no idea.” I wondered how many more near collisions this dude would cause on his way to wherever he was going.
“Yep.”
We drove in silence for a little bit. And then, after we’d merged onto the 134, I said the thing that had been on my mind since we’d left the house hours earlier.
“I’m so grateful you chose to come to the game tonight. Thank you for making a special memory with me. I cherish this time together, and I want you to know that.”
“I do know that, but I’m still glad you said it. I didn’t expect to have as much fun as I did. It reminded me of the times we went before.”
“That was so much fun. I’m so happy that you remember it the way I do.”
When Nolan was in high school, the Kings had ticket packs for super cheap (they were NOT a good team, then) so I got him like 6 games for Christmas, mostly so we had an excuse to go do something together. At one of the games, we were screaming and cheering for the boys and they put us on the Jumbotron. Someone in the organization grabbed it, and made that video snip part of the opening montage for the rest of that year. Every game I went to, with Nolan and without, I got to see it and remember how fun it was when it happened. It was so long ago, the memories have faded to a point where they are unreliable. Last night was an echo of those memories, and it refreshed them enough to restore their clarity.
Anne’s got tickets to a show tomorrow, and Nolan is my first choice, if he’s feeling it, to be my +1. So maybe we’ll get to make another memory together tomorrow night that involves the Kings going to Edmonton up 2 games to none.
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Also, before I go, I am on Michael Rosenbaum’s podcast, Inside of You, this week. I’m working on a post about it, just struggling to get WordPress to play nice with a bit of embedded video. Until then, here are some quick links:
