Back in the day, the same four of us (Jon, Ian, Darren, and I) would meet up at Montreals legendary Copacabana to watch whatever game was on.
Reggie
Jackson Jersey . We were regulars at the bar, a kind dive where you could
just drop in and know someone familiar would be around to have a beer with. The
kind of place where the adult beverage of choice was quickly placed in front of
you upon your arrival. We were there to watch games, but it was more than that.
We were a bunch of writers, at different points in our careers and lives,
getting away from our lives. It was group therapy. With beer. There were few
better nights in those years than a good Habs game at Copa. Friends would come
in and out, for a period or two, for a drink or four. Partners would join us, or
not. Between periods wed chide each other the way friends do, bemoan each others
losses, celebrate each others victories. We played a game within the game called
JägerMuller. If Habs assistant coach Kirk Muller appeared on screen (not
including wide angle or crowd shots) the last person to yell JägerMuller had to
buy a round of Jägermeister for the group. This often led to empty wallets and
foggy third periods, but JägerMuller was ours and it made a contextual
experience all that more unique, all that more memorable. As time passed, the
opportunity to watch sports as a group got more and more challenging. Copa
closed. People had kids, moved away, traveled for work, or had partners who
wouldnt permit them to indulge in Tuesday night binge drinking. But we live in
the high speed digital age, an age ruled by social media and easy communication.
The four of us opened up a Facebook thread that was for any sort of
conversation: dating woes, the challenges of child rearing, the merits of wasabi
peas, politics, the importance of Tums to men in their 30s, the overwhelming
fear of ones own mortality, the petulance of poets, why soccer sucks. We tried
Skype and Google Hangouts, but as aging writers we found we preferred the
anonymity of messaging, the quiet comfort of watching the game both alone and in
the company of those we love. But for the most part the thread is for watching
hockey games together from afar, often still with our favourite adult beverage
in hand, though the days of JägerMuller are over. That games virtues, like
nachos, dont transfer well through the digital ether. The Facebook threads
message count is somewhere in the mid-40 thousand range as of this writing, and
growing each day. An exponential explosion is expected during the playoffs,
though Jon (a Jets fan) and Ian (a Leafs apologist) will be forced to cheer for
their second favourite teams. The virtual bar that the digital age has provided
us pales in comparison to their company, but it has allowed us to stay close, to
continue to care about each other the way we did when were separated by city
blocks and not oceans and responsibilities. But the bar that we left just a few
years ago is not the same bar where sports are enjoyed today. Its a lesser
venue. Consider the bar argument. No longer can hours be spent fighting over
what year Gretzky scored 50 goals in 39 games, what round Luc Robitaille was
drafted in, the rate at which Randy Carlyles hairline has been receding. Answers
are too quickly found on our phones, and the shortened distance of knowledge
does not promote an expanse of conversation. Plus, the bars too busy tweeting
cleverness in 140 characters, or arguing with some 12-year-old in Abbostford
over whos the better d-man, Subban or Weber. Or instagramming retro-filtered
photos of our cocktails. Or adding the waitress as a friend on Facebook. Theres
a grand irony in the fact that the same advents that have made watching sports a
more communal experience with those who cant be in our presence has had the
opposite effect on those in our presence. On the off nights where my friends
cant meet up in the digital bar, and I dont have the wherewithal or funds to hit
the real bar I, like most, watch games with Twitter open. But instead of finding
a substitute for those who cant be with me, Im overwhelmed by the faux-expertise
and bravado that ends up in my feed. Just because you have a blog and 45 Twitter
followers doesnt exactly make you Bob McKenzie. I appreciate fandom and respect
the free speech virtues of the medium, but holy hell @HabsFan4lyfe69 if you cant
spell Michel Therrien, you really shouldnt be offered the privilege of publicly
questioning the size of his manhood. The amount of valuable discourse is too
often overshadowed by the sycophantic, or vile, or uninformed. Just look at what
happens when Joel Ward scores in overtime or Jason Collins steps on the court
the first time. The degenerate xenophobes bear their virtual white sheets in the
comfortable anonymity or ignorant ignominy of cyberspace. There are no bouncers
online, no bartenders with the ability to cut off the flow of alcohol. But
sports are the last collective viewing experience, with the possible exception
of the Oscars. With the advent of PVRs and streaming video you can watch Scandal
whenever you please, but the sport still requires a live audience. No one wants
to watch the game later. Even if youre stuck at work, on a plane, or at your
boyfriends sisters third intervention, you can tune in, not miss a shot, a goal,
a fight, or a one of those once-in-a-lifetime moments that only sport can
provide. In 2010 when the Habs made their magical run to the Conference Finals,
one of us couldnt make it to Copa to watch the game. Jon was stuck in a hotel
room in Vancouver, watching it on his own. There was no thread then. We didnt
all own smartphones. No one said "blogoshpere". The Jets were still the
Thrashers. Maybe two of us were on Twitter. So as the bar counted down the
minutes of Game 7 of an improbable 5-2 Habs win and an improbable series upset
over the heavily-favoured Penguins, I called Jon and placed my flip phone open
in the middle of our table. He listened as we sung "Olé, Olé, Olé", as we
cheered and piled into the streets, as we mocked Sidney Crosby. Strangers would
come pick up the phone and speak to him in English and French about the game,
about the city, and about the Habs and dreams of 1993. That night was a
microcosm of how we watch the games now, the birth of how fandom and friendship
defies distance in a digital age. It was a living analogy of how in four short
years the experience of watching sports would change. Not all for the better, of
course. But Ill put up with a few egotistical bloggers, the occasional Twitter
tantrum, and the death of the bar argument if it means I can watch sports the
way I want, from wherever I am, with the people I love. With beer.
Custom Los Angeles Angels
of Anaheim Jersey . In an interview with La Presse this week, the
five-time Stanley Cup champion and three-time NHL scoring leader specifically
took aim at wingers Thomas Vanek and Max Pacioretty, saying they cant show up in
a 7-4 win over the New York Rangers in Game 5 of the Eastern Conference Final
and come up empty in Game 6.
Garrett
Richards Angels Jersey . Needing to bulk up on both sides of the line, the
Falcons agreed to terms with guard Jon Asamoah, defensive end Tyson Jackson and
defensive tackle Paul Soliai. Asamoah and Jackson played last season with Kansas
City, where Asamoah lost his starting job.
http://www.baseballangelslockroom.com/hats/ . - Jerome Verrier scored the winner 8:24 into overtime and Louis-Phillip
Guindon stopped 46 shots as the Drummondville Voltigeurs edged the host Val-dOr
Foreurs 4-3 on Friday in Quebec Major Junior Hockey League playoff action.
(Total Pro Sports) (cariboobrewing.com) (The Canadian
Press) (ringsthatbling.com)And because were only hours away from the anniversary
of the Blue Jays 92 World Series victory and early 90s Rod Black clips are the
greatest thing on the internet, heres some post game from 92 just for fun!
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