The Igloo

The Penguins played the last regular season game at Mellon Arena last night, beating the Islanders 7-3. Sidney Crosby had four points, Bill Guerin had a couple of goals, and the crowd gave the building a standing O at the end.

The Pens had a nice, understated ceremony before the game, bringing out about fifty retired players and coaches for recognition, and a group photo with the current team. Fans handed replica jerseys over the glass; the players signed them and threw them back. A nice way for the old Igloo to officially go out.

The Beloved Spouse, Sole Heir, and I were back in Pittsburgh a couple of weeks ago to watch the Pens beat the Flyers 4-1, my last (their only) trip back to visit the first place I saw a hockey game. The dome still looks as impressive as ever, creating a perspective and quality of crowd sound not found elsewhere. It was the largest retractable dome in the world when it was completed in 1961. I attended a concert with the roof open during my college years, looking over the stage to Pittsburgh's skyline on a perfect night. An unforgettable experience.

In addition to hockey, I saw team tennis there, and several concerts. (Henry Mancini with Andy Williams, Herb Alpert, the Buddy Rich and Thad Jones/Mel Lewis big bands.) Just a kid--eight or nine--the first time I went, to see Mancini with my parents. Going back last week, with other experiences to compare it with, the concourses were cramped, the gates narrow, but I still felt the smallness that comes with awe when I entered the seating area and looked at the banners hanging from the roof and the miniature blimp that flies over the seats and drops coupons to the fans. (I won free nachos.)

It's too easy and tired to get maudlin when something like this passes, and even I readily admit the Igloo's time has passed. Modern times require different amenities. There's not even a proper interview room there, and the dressing rooms are Spartan in their luxury. Still, this is the building I grew up with, the most easily identifiable structure in downtown Pittsburgh. (The baseball and football stadiums are on the North Side.) Everything I'd heard and seen says the new Consol Energy Center will be great, truly the House that Mario Built.

If only they'd put a dome on it. Even a little one.

Center Ice

I Brett Favre’d over the decision for weeks, finally got the NHL Center Ice package. This allows me to watch any NHL game I want; sometimes I’ll even be able to choose which announcing crew and feed I get.

This week showed me I chose wisely. New Jersey beat the Pens 4-1 on Saturday night (bummer), but we then switched over and caught the last minute of the Buffalo-Tampa Bay game in time to see Buffalo pull the goalie and tie the game, then win in a shootout. I doubt I’ll watch a lot of games other than the Pens, but it will be nice for those evenings I’m too tired/lazy/spaced to do anything but stare at the TV and can’t find anything worth watching on my 500 channel system. There won’t be too many evenings without some hockey.

More to the point of the purchase, the Pens beat Montreal 6-1 last night. I’ve seen nine of the Pens’ twelve games so far, and it’s nice to get a feel for how the team is playing. I’m learning to spot when there’s a good effort, and what kinds of plays that don’t show up in the box score can lead to goals. Sidney Crosby got his third career hat trick by the middle of the second period, and Chris Kunitz finally got a goal after eleven-plus games of doing all the dirty work. Kunitz also garnered three assists, mostly through doing little things I might not have noticed if I wasn’t becoming more hockey literate: not giving up on a play, being the “third man high,” and taking a beating to throw the puck from the corner to the slot. The Pen’s did nothing spectacular. It was a workmanlike effort, and suddenly I looked at the score and realized this was turning into a pretty good ass kicking.

This is going to make winter—aka The Season of Doom™--a lot easier to take.

And They Say There's Justice

I’m depressed. Marian Hossa has left town.

For those who are not devoted puckheads, Hossa is a world-class right winger. (Hockey player, dumb ass. Grover Norquist or Karl Rove could leave town in a pine box and I’d dance like the best man at a Greek wedding.) Picked up late last season by Pittsburgh’s Penguins, he has gone to join the team that beat them in the Stanley Cup finals, the Detroit Red Wings.

It was always at least even money Hossa would leave after the season, but Detroit? He got within one game of carving his name in the cup with Pittsburgh last month; I guess seeing the Wings skate around with it made him think he could get it done there next year. Here’s a news flash: you could have got it done in Pittsburgh next year, Marian, and you wouldn’t have to live in Detroit.

The salaries were about the same, except Pittsburgh’s was for five years, and Detroit’s for just one. Taking a one-year deal with Detroit is easy to understand; pledging to spend more than one year of your life in Detroit is crazy talk, $7 million a year, or not. I’m sure Pittsburgh would have offered him a shorter deal; they thought they were doing the chump a favor.

Hossa came to the Burgh with the reputation of disappearing during the playoffs. The Pens worked with him, put him on Sidney Crosby’s line, did everything but put Kolache on his pillow at night, to help him overcome his history as a choker, and it worked. What thanks did we get? He blew town like hovno through a husa.

This is how Detroit operates; it’s a parasite. Called itself the “Arsenal of Democracy” during World War II, because it manufactured tanks and trucks and planes. Manufacturing jobs on an assembly line. Tighten this rivet. Balance a tire. Line up an engine mount. Like building one of those particle board desks you can buy at Target.

It was harder? They used steel, you say? Where did the steel come from? It came from a smaller city with broader shoulders, where brave men slaked the thirst of ravenous molds with white-hot rivers of molten steel. Detroit built its reputation on the backs of Pittsburgh’s labor. It got Grosse Pointe and Greenfield Village; we got pollution. And how do they repay us? Taking Marian Hossa.

Bastards.