Post by Deamon Cohln on Jul 19, 2006 16:49:08 GMT -5
*Deamon stands in a hallway in the back of Joe Louis Arena. He is staring at the pictures of Detroit Red Wings stars of the past and present. Ted Lindsay, Red Abel, Gordie Howe, all of them, with there pictures surrounded by a red oak frame. He looks at them in awe and hope, wondering if he will ever get to this point in his career where he will be remembered like these men. He turns around to talk to the man behind him.*
Deamon: Thanks for letting me in here man.
Man: No problem, anything for a champion.
*The man walks off, leaving Deamon behind to look back at the posters. He starts to talk to himself again.*
Deamon: Besides pro wrestling, hockey may be the most grueling sport anyone can be involved in. The flash of the ice, the blades scraping across the frozen pond as the men wield clubs to bombard the net where the goalie valiantly guard the net. It's like a violent form of poetry I guess. We could also say that about our sport too. We gracefully, well most of us, fly around the ring and strike our opponent in a danse macabre. This Sunday, the poetry is enhanced six times as twelve of us go into the ring and only six will move onto a better prize. That is life though, some are left behind as the others move on.
*Deamon moves down the hallway a bit more. He looks at every picture he passes. He moves into the more modern wing. He sees stars like Alex Delvechio, Dino Ciccereli, Bob Probert, men of the Dead Wing, or more appropriately the Blood Red Wings era.*
Deamon: These men here, these are the rough and tumble guys of the Red Wings history. Guys who would go out there and literally fight to get a win. Bobby and Dino were two of my heroes growing up. Every time they got into a fight with an opposing player I stood up and cheered. I stood up and monitored the action, watching every punch, every pull, every time they would knock a referee over just to get back at that other guy. It was grotesquely beautiful. I watched, wondering when I could do that. I hung out here during the season. Back then, tickets were cheap and I held entire seasons worth. I was there every game no matter what. I love this building.
*He moves down the hall a little more, He sees the visiting teams locker room on the side of the wall without the pictures. "VISITORS" is painted on the wall in bright blue letters. He looks into it. All there is, is wooden box-like structures set up in rows along the walls, each with a number slot in them for the opposing teams manager to slide in name plates for individual players. It looks a bit depressing.*
Deamon: Even though I was a rabid fan of the Wing during that time, I always had respect for the men they were playing. Other players at this time were doing a lot better and winning a lot more playoff games then the Red Wings were at the time. I never took the time to learn there names, but I knew faces, I knew moments, I knew all that went with the team. I was there when the Wings got eliminated in countless playoffs by teams that I honestly didn't care about. Normally any fan would give up and cheer for another team, but not me, I had the Red Sox complex.
*Deamon walks down the hallway a little more. He is now in the current era. Pictures now show modern stars like Steve Yzerman, Mike Vernon, Brendan Shanahan, and coach Scotty Bowman. The three Stanley Cup pictures at the end of the hallway are more prominent then any other photo. They are next to the Red Wings home locker room as to say that champions get dressed here.*
Deamon: I guess this is where my tour of the best ends. I now have entered the area of future champions. Men will enter here and be blessed. Blessed by the fans, blessed by the world of sport. All that go through this door are destined to some sort of victory in the future. I guess this is the most appropriate place. I guess, this is where the journey begins. And That, is the goddamn truth.
*He walks through the door to the room. The door opens in and stay open as Deamon move to the center of the room and holds out his arms as if to take in the glory of the room. The door shuts, there is a sign on the door.*
BELIEVE
Deamon: Thanks for letting me in here man.
Man: No problem, anything for a champion.
*The man walks off, leaving Deamon behind to look back at the posters. He starts to talk to himself again.*
Deamon: Besides pro wrestling, hockey may be the most grueling sport anyone can be involved in. The flash of the ice, the blades scraping across the frozen pond as the men wield clubs to bombard the net where the goalie valiantly guard the net. It's like a violent form of poetry I guess. We could also say that about our sport too. We gracefully, well most of us, fly around the ring and strike our opponent in a danse macabre. This Sunday, the poetry is enhanced six times as twelve of us go into the ring and only six will move onto a better prize. That is life though, some are left behind as the others move on.
*Deamon moves down the hallway a bit more. He looks at every picture he passes. He moves into the more modern wing. He sees stars like Alex Delvechio, Dino Ciccereli, Bob Probert, men of the Dead Wing, or more appropriately the Blood Red Wings era.*
Deamon: These men here, these are the rough and tumble guys of the Red Wings history. Guys who would go out there and literally fight to get a win. Bobby and Dino were two of my heroes growing up. Every time they got into a fight with an opposing player I stood up and cheered. I stood up and monitored the action, watching every punch, every pull, every time they would knock a referee over just to get back at that other guy. It was grotesquely beautiful. I watched, wondering when I could do that. I hung out here during the season. Back then, tickets were cheap and I held entire seasons worth. I was there every game no matter what. I love this building.
*He moves down the hall a little more, He sees the visiting teams locker room on the side of the wall without the pictures. "VISITORS" is painted on the wall in bright blue letters. He looks into it. All there is, is wooden box-like structures set up in rows along the walls, each with a number slot in them for the opposing teams manager to slide in name plates for individual players. It looks a bit depressing.*
Deamon: Even though I was a rabid fan of the Wing during that time, I always had respect for the men they were playing. Other players at this time were doing a lot better and winning a lot more playoff games then the Red Wings were at the time. I never took the time to learn there names, but I knew faces, I knew moments, I knew all that went with the team. I was there when the Wings got eliminated in countless playoffs by teams that I honestly didn't care about. Normally any fan would give up and cheer for another team, but not me, I had the Red Sox complex.
*Deamon walks down the hallway a little more. He is now in the current era. Pictures now show modern stars like Steve Yzerman, Mike Vernon, Brendan Shanahan, and coach Scotty Bowman. The three Stanley Cup pictures at the end of the hallway are more prominent then any other photo. They are next to the Red Wings home locker room as to say that champions get dressed here.*
Deamon: I guess this is where my tour of the best ends. I now have entered the area of future champions. Men will enter here and be blessed. Blessed by the fans, blessed by the world of sport. All that go through this door are destined to some sort of victory in the future. I guess this is the most appropriate place. I guess, this is where the journey begins. And That, is the goddamn truth.
*He walks through the door to the room. The door opens in and stay open as Deamon move to the center of the room and holds out his arms as if to take in the glory of the room. The door shuts, there is a sign on the door.*
BELIEVE