A Tale of Two Hockey Games
My son was crushed by one and lifted up by another.
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.
That’s how it felt last night in the Salvas household.
I spent the afternoon and evening in Worcester, Massachusetts, at the NCAA Men’s Hockey Regionals cheering on our beloved Dartmouth Big Green. A return to the national tournament for the first time in 46 years was an incredible accomplishment, coming just five days after the program captured its first ECAC Hockey Championship, beating Princeton, 2-1, in overtime in Lake Placid.
But after Wisconsin hit the empty net for the second time to seal a 5-1 win and a berth in Saturday’s regional final, I looked down at my sulking eight-year-old sitting in the aisle of Section 119 at the DCU Center. I patted him on the top of his Dartmouth hat and told him it would be okay and that this had been an incredible season.
Though I should have been, I was not prepared for his face when he looked up at me. Eyes red, lip quivering, tears streaming down his face. He was devastated.
Despite growing up around Dartmouth Hockey, he wasn’t expecting a loss. His memories of this season have been nothing but positive. He knows winning and championships… two things not usually synonymous with Dartmouth Hockey.
As I sat down on the concrete stairs beside him, rubbing his back, all I could think was: “What did I do to this poor kid?”
I passed down my least attractive trait: unwavering, sometimes crippling loyalty to sports teams.
It’s probably unhealthy to live your life around the schedule of other grown men playing hockey.
But here we are.
As the final horn sounded and the Big Green and Badgers lined up to shake hands, closing the book on the greatest season in modern Dartmouth history, I felt a tug on my shirt.
“Daddy… what time does the Avalanche game start?”
No exaggeration. No embellishment for the sake of this story. He was already turning the page.
He understood Dartmouth was done. But Colorado was still playing. And even through the disappointment of what had just transpired in front of him, he wanted to know if the Avs-Jets game had started.
We made the two-block walk back to the car talking about the Dartmouth season, from opening night and the Ivy League banner ceremony against Yale, the quarterfinals against Colgate, and now this. It really had been an awesome run.
By the time we got in the car and turned on the Altitude radio broadcast midway through the first period, he had already bounced back into his usual, happy eight-year-old self.
Then Mark Scheifele scored.
Come on, man. Give me ten minutes!
The ride home got better. Jack Drury’s goal brought a loud cheer from the back seat and a laugh from my dad in the front after Conor McGahey’s “Drury Duty” call. The questions started flowing again: state capitals, trade histories, anything and everything.
Everything was fine.
We got home late in the second period. He watched while telling his mom all about the night; the game, the food, the souvenirs his grandfather bought him, and the former Dartmouth players who stopped to talk to him about when he used to run around the locker room as a toddler.
By the end of the second period in Winnipeg, the day had finally caught up to him.
As I tucked him into bed, he had one more question.
“Daddy, if the Avalanche score early in the third, will you come tell me before I fall asleep?”
“Sure, buddy,” I said, not expecting he’d make it through the intermission or that they’d score early.
Thirteen seconds into the third period, his favorite player did it, though.
I went down the hall and told him. He pumped his fist, smiled, and reached over to turn off his bedside light.
A few minutes later, I went back in to tell him it happened again.
His eyes were closed by this time, but he gave me a thumbs up from around the edge of his comforter and drifted off to sleep.
Because when you’re eight, you take everything to heart. His Dartmouth team was done. But his Avalanche still had games left to play.
It was the worst of times, but also the best of times.
And for this dad, it was a great night.
His night did get better when 100 people all sent me videos and pictures of him on the ESPN broadcast… Little TV star living in my house now.
 | A guest post by
|
Very nice story. Takes me back to my childhood, raising my kids, and taking my grandkids to Avs games. Your story resonates with lots of your readers. Thank you fr sharing.
I love it, cherish those moments, they fly by in a heartbeat. Your a good dad, Pat !