Drop the puck

Tonight almost feels like Christmas Eve. Tomorrow the Fort Wayne Komets drop the puck on their 60th anniversary season, and it's going to be one heck of an evening. Celebrations. Ceremony. Familiar faces in orange and familiar faces now in some other team's colors. New jersey numbers to learn. Friends who I see only on game nights dotted throughout the arena.

It's the start of a six-month journey, one that follows no script. I may have 33 tickets for another frustrating season or for one that keeps me on the edge of my seat from October through April. How exciting to watch it all unfold.

I don't remember my first Komets game. Family legend says I went to a game before I was even born, but the first ticket stub I have dates back to Dec. 12, 1997. The ink has nearly faded away, but I can still decipher Fort Wayne Komets vs. Indianapolis Ice (boo hiss!). Section 17, Row C, Seat 8. Cost: $13.50

I remember nothing specific about this game, other than someone instilled in me the fact that We Hate The Ice. But it's quite likely that this was the night that I first fell in love with goaltending. Section 17 (now Section 231 after the coliseum renovations) was right behind the netminder, and you could watch the entire play come rushing down the ice only to be stopped by the surprisingly agile man in bulky gear. This section was simply where my family sat for our occasional trips to Fort Wayne: Oct. 31, 1998; Jan. 22, 1999; Nov. 27, 1999; Oct. 27, 2001; Nov. 17, 2001; Nov. 23, 2002 (rechristened as Section 231), and on and on.

My family lived 50 miles from the rink, so a Komets game was a special occasion. I suppose it's not entirely surprising, then, that I can recall strangely specific details for some of these ticket stubs.

• Jan. 22, 1999 (vs. Michigan K-Wings, 17-E-6, $14.00): This was my 14th birthday, and I still have the puck that goaltender Bruce Racine picked up with his stick and flipped up to me where I was sitting. I had no idea players even gave away pucks. I just remember for whatever reason calling out “Hey Racine!” as warm-ups ended, not thinking he'd even be able to hear me, and then suddenly seeing a puck come my way. It wasn't until almost a decade later that I learned he had played in the NHL and was on his way down the ranks.
• Oct. 27, 2001 (vs. Asheville, 17-C-10, $15.00): My mom and I were at a game and the attendance was announced, somewhere in the 4,000-6,000 range. She said quietly, “Look around. This is about how many people were killed in the World Trade Center.” That was quite a visual. (Of course the 9/11 death toll ended up being lower, but this was just six weeks after.)
• Feb. 15, 2004 (vs. Richmond Riverdogs, 218-25-14): By now I was a freshman in college, and our student activities department was distributing free tickets to the game. Free hockey and near-broke college students are a great match. I remember being worried that 218 might be the new nosebleed seats and was pleased to find it was about the middle of the arena. I also remember having to explain the game to fellow classmates who had no idea what was going on.
• Oct. 18, 2008 (vs. Flint Generals, 231-10-1, $20.00): This was the home opener after the 2008 championship. Y'know, the one they won in a triple-overtime Game 7 against Port Huron after coming back from a 3-1 series deficit and giving Larry Sterling a meltdown. I went to this game because I was still mad at myself for not going to that Game 7. I had had to work that morning in Fort Wayne and had heard that there were only 1,000 tickets left. I toyed with the idea of going because clearly that was either going to be a playoff win for the ages or an absolute heartbreaker. But my day had started around 4 a.m., I would be done with work by 11, and I had not yet learned the art of how to lurk in town all day. I also didn't want to go home, kill time and then burn another 50 miles of gasoline to make another trip to Fort Wayne in the same day. Practicality won out over OMG-this-will-be-awesome, and I've been kicking myself ever since. So I went to the next home opener, watched Guy Dupuis skate the Turner Cup around home ice under a spotlight to the roar of a sellout crowd and made sure I wouldn't make that mistake again.

I haven't.

Since that home opener I've been to at least 70 home regular-season games, a dozen or so home playoff games and four playoff games on the road. I was there on Halloween night when the Muskegon Lumberjacks came to town and got into a line brawl that lured Brad MacMillan out of the penalty box to drop a series of punches on Jason Lawmaster's head. I was there in Muskegon, too, later that season for the playoffs when hundreds of Komets fans invaded that rink a block from Lake Michigan in hopes that the Komets would sweep the finals and take home the Turner Cup. I was there when Konstantin Shafranov played his last game, scored a couple of goals and was sent home with a standing ovation from the fans and stick taps from his teammates. I was there in Game 5 of the 2010 semifinals when Colin Chaulk hijacked the microphone during 3 Stars and promised the IceHawks as they were leaving the ice, “We'll see you Monday.” I was there in Port Huron for Game 6 when Leo Thomas popped the game-winning goal into the net with two seconds left in the third period. And, yes, I was there Monday.

Those were marvelous days.

I've also been there through a 5-15-1 start, watching my team get shut out 4-0 and embarrassed not only in the home opener but also the next game. Week after week I would look at the conference standings and Fort Wayne would still be in residence at the bottom. Then at last they were one point out of the basement, and I never could have imagined I would be so happy to see them in next-to-last place.

I might not bleed black and orange or have a pedigree that says I was taught to skate by Colin Chin or some other hero of the past. I wasn't around to see the legends first play or the John Anderson game or the ice scraper game or the 1993 championship. I can't even skate.

But y'know what? I saw Guy Dupuis play in 1999 and I saw him play in 2009. I've seen Colin Chaulk carry this team on the ice and watched him give instructions while sitting on the bench between shifts. I've seen Nick Boucher play out of his mind between the pipes and also skate out to the point to play the puck and check a guy into the glass along the way. I remember wooden seats in the coliseum and padded-cushion folding chairs for the expensive seats near the glass. I remember Bruce Racine and Pokey Reddick (and, strangely, Dustin Virag), even if I only saw them once.

I know why Komet is spelled with a “K.”

I also know that life probably won't always be this way and at some point all of this may have to take a backseat to, well, reality and responsibility.

But until then, it's hockey season.

Let's go, Komets.