I was fortunate enough to get an opportunity to spend this year covering the thing I'd wanted to see for four years, something I'd actually campaigned for in whatever meaningless way I could -- the return of professional hockey to New Haven. If you've ever seen my New Haven Nighthawks page, you know what the New Haven Coliseum meant to me -- it was sort of where I'd grown up, watching the Nighthawks, learning the sport of hockey, and seeing the better prospects on their way up. When that went away in 1993, it left a void in a lot of hearts. Getting it back, in the arrival of the Beast of New Haven in 1997, in the restored New Haven Coliseum, restored a little of the good feeling.
I got to be there all the way -- as they announced the nickname, as the first group of kids arrived in training camp, as they played their exhibitions, as they hit the road to start the season, as they packed 8,000 into the old barn for opening night. And then, through 40 home games, maybe 10 road games, and three playoff games, I got paid to watch hockey games. There is little better in the world, let me tell you. Everything else doesn't seem like work when you get to break down a hockey game.
When it ended on April 22, after a three-game sweep at the hands of the Hartford Wolf Pack (deservedly so), the players gathered the next day for breakup day; they cleared out their stalls and met with coaches Kevin McCarthy and Joe Paterson, and a representative from their parent club. Jerry Higgins of the New Haven Register and I, the two reporters that were there game in and game out, were there as well, piecing together a breakup-day story and bidding good-bye and good luck to the players, coaches and staff.
I found myself feeling a lot worse, at that point, than I had thought I would. Just the fact that it was over, after the long season, was a little strange; it had been work, but it had been a lot of fun. I'd gotten along with just about everyone (even those I hadn't thought I'd get along with, actually); I'd learned a hell of a lot, and, I thought anyway, grown both personally and professionally. I had said it about other teams and sports I'd covered, but I meant it this time -- it was a good bunch of guys. It was odd to think that many of these players would not be back next year, and that even if they were, there was the possibility that I might not be.
It took me a while to figure out why the end of this season hit me harder than the end of other seasons had when I covered teams in college, some of which I covered as hard as I did the Beast. It took one of the players to remind me. Sitting with defenseman John Jakopin as he sat in front of his stall on breakup day, he was having trouble letting the season go, actually hitting the weight room and the bike while he waited for his conference. "This has been the best year of my life," Jakopin said.
That's when it hit me. It was mine, too. Not only had I gotten out and done the world, been a writer and made money for it, but it was the most enjoyable year I'd had doing anything like it. No fighting to track down coaches at home, waiting until way past deadline. No kids running off as soon as their contests ended, saying they'd call me later. No battling administration for help with little factoids. No fighting cocky kids who figured they knew their sport, I didn't, and I couldn't. No coaches lying about their colleagues.
None of that. It was work, but it was good clean work. This was how it could be.
There are kids I covered in college that I was fairly close to that I miss, that I really enjoyed working with while the time lasted. There was one college coach in particular (who won't be a coach after this year, unfortunately) that was particularly cooperative, perpetually helpful, and a complete class act as a person all the way. And I'd had a couple of close friends in the Athletic Department, people I keep in touch with and miss. But as an overall experience, nothing came close to this year, no single season, and no way the complete term. These folks, from players to trainers to coaches to support staff on up, had made my year a great one.
In fact, as I stood in the runway on April 23, watching the Coliseum crew melt the Coliseum ice for the final time, I bent down to touch some of the remaining water. I took one last look around the barn. And for the first time, I didn't feel an urge to scream "Let's Go Hawks!" The hockey tradition in New Haven is alive -- and it's probably gonna be all right.
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