How was your weekend, Jackets fans? Let me guess….you spent Friday evening throwing breakable objects at your television while our boys suffered another drop-kicking in Nashville? Were you one of the 18,000+ in attendance at Nationwide Saturday to toss dirt on the fresh grave of the Blue Jackets’ 2010-11 season? Losing 19 of 22 games to end the campaign wasn’t exactly a quick and painless expiration, now was it? Well, unfortunately for my love of my team – but fortunately from the sanity / rage perspective – I was not in the Arena District Saturday night. Instead, my weekend travels took me to a place where April really does bring sunshine and warmth: the American south.
Exactly 150 years after the war between the states began, this Yankee marched into Atlanta wearing Union Blue. My Friday night destination was Philips Arena, home of the Atlanta Thrashers. While the visiting Carolina Hurricanes were at the time playing for their post-season lives, the hometown birds had exactly the same statistical chance as our Blue Jackets of making the playoffs. (Further scientific study will be needed to help explain my magnetic attraction to bad hockey.)
I wondered what the local reaction might be to a guy sporting the Union cannon. (General Sherman didn’t exactly set an endearing precedent for Northern visitors to Atlanta, now did he?) Any fear I had of being demonized as an intended arsonist was quickly put to rest, thanks to the total irrelevance of Blue Jacket hockey in Atlanta. Twice I had the following conversation with people who saw my CBJ cannon-logo hat: “The Blue Jackets are our NHL hockey team in Columbus. Yes, Columbus, Ohio has a professional hockey team. No, not the minor leagues, the NHL. Yes, I’m sure.” Following those chats I received the same look you might give a child discussing his love of the Easter Bunny. “That’s right, Joey, you just tell Uncle Dan all about your special little Blue Jacket friends…” In fact, the only one who seemed to notice / react to my Jackets shirt and hat was the Atlanta mascot Thrash….as we passed in the concourse, he pointed and made his best sweeping ‘perplexed’ gestures…due to the fact, of course, that his mascot-face is permanently frozen into an angry, furrowed glare. (Am I the only one who is extremely creeped-out about the fact that mascots maintain their same bizarre facial expressions in all situations?)
In general, I must confess the Thrashers game on Friday actually made me feel better about being a Blue Jackets fan. Sure we’ve been a frustrating, lame-duck franchise as of late….but nothing like this. With the exception of some pretty wicked pyrotechnics in the form of dual flame-shooting Thrasher heads — because of which I mentally planned my Costanza-esque exit from the building, just in case the place went Great White on us (too soon?) — the in-arena experience offered little excitement. I can state confidently that the person who counted 14,652 spectators in attendance (79% capacity) lives in the same fantasy world as the Easter Bunny and this supposed Columbus NHL franchise. There were more empty seats than filled ones; and the majority of the spectators appeared to be either gone sleeping by the game’s end.
In fairness, the on-ice performance gave the hometown crowd absolutely no reason to cheer, stay put, or stay awake. My two Indian colleagues who joined me for the game, having never watched ice hockey in their lives, clearly observed the superiority of the Carolina team’s coordination on the ice. The Hurricanes dominated play and cruised to a 6-1 victory. Atlanta’s shot total by period went six, seven, six; and I don’t remember a moment anytime when the game still mattered when one of those was in danger of finding the net. The one Thrasher goal in the final score came with about 30 seconds remaining in the game, and after a total comedy of errors had already played out on the ice. (Yet, the Thrasher heads spewed with the firey excitement of a Stanley Cup championship.) At one point in the third period, after the Hurricanes had scored their fourth and fifth goals barely a minute apart, Atlanta goaltender Ondrej Pavelec was penalized for angrily tossing his stick out to about the blueline. Then to make matters worse, the Hurricanes netted their sixth and final goal on the ensuing power play. All of the sudden, Steve Mason didn’t seem so bad.
The Thrasher fans filed out of the arena afterwards with the all-too-familiar look of exhaustion and disgust that I often see (and wear) after a Jackets game at Nationwide. Believe me, Atlanta, I know how you feel. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, we can just sit quietly on the subway train and sulk.
Other Notes
– The Jackets’ season may be over, but the fun is just starting at Fire That Cannon. Stay tuned for more commentary as we suffer through the time of the year when baseball is the only sporting event on television. We’ll be discussing the Stanley Cup Playoffs, the NHL draft, and all the developments in what should be an interesting offseason for the CBJ.
– For more excellent coverage of Atlanta Thrasher hockey, check out the Thrasher Backer blog site.
– A special thank you goes out to my dear friend Lindsay for being such a fun and gracious hostess for all of the adventures in Atlanta; and also one to all the wonderful, welcoming new friends I made. Should you ever find yourself in Norcross, Georgia, you absolutely must have a drink in the Iron Horse Tavern in the historic downtown area. (I recommend Saturday night karaoke — you’ll love the Hey Jude rendition — or Sunday for NFL football and Bloody Marys.) Eat at the pub, Mojito’s, or Dominick’s. Have a drink at the local coffee shop, 45 South. You can follow all the action in Norcross via the local paper, The Patch.