Who's Bad? This Mouse Is Bad!
Everybody has one story that is all true and is shared in the spirit of pure bragging rights. This is mine. I stared down one of the biggest, scariest NHL enforcers in the late 20th Century. Sort of.
So let's do this.
The year was 2013. The Red Wings were in town. This meant my consort on the photographers' perch would bail and my choices were limited to wandering around the arena if I couldn't find a friendly face in the bowl. One thing you need to know about Nashville and Detroit games is that some of the old school fans still considered themselves "Predwings." There were a few who bodged together Wings and Preds sweaters* that were either halves sewn together vertically or whole sweaters stitched together that could be reversed quickly based on who was ahead.** Another thing that made life difficult for the fringier members of the sports press was that DET was having a good year. It meant the carpetbaggers would come to town and take up space.
I was trying to stake out a place along with CBS, TSN, and ESPN.*** Lucky for me a friendly FoxSports camera guy who knew I could be trusted to stay out of the way offered to share his space. We engaged in friendly chat until two fun sized fans stood next to us. One of them informed us they always stood there to watch the game and we would have to move. They did not have season ticket laminates and I recognized one of them as a cast member from a critically lauded series on HBO. True to my roots as a native Nashvillian, I did not let on I knew who he was.
They were lying. I knew they were lying and they probably knew I knew they were lying. They doubled down. I tried to explain that we were working and that if they couldn't get out of the way of my friend's 3/4" shoulder mounted camera, they could get hurt. I mentioned I might even bump into them trying to get that perfect shot. Their seats, which were just a few feet away, were comfortable and safe. Nothing doing. They had friends in the MEDIA and they were going to get them and we would BE SORRY! I figured they were going to tattle to Voldemort, the media coordinator, that I was meeeean to them.
So they stalked off mad, which still blows my mind because they had great seats and probably better views of the rink than we had. Camera guy and I resumed chatting to kill time before the puck dropped. That was when we noticed a change in the lighting over our heads. It was like something was blotting out the sun.
Thing One and Thing Two stared smugly at us as we turned around and saw what was blocking out the light over our heads. It was Snotgobbler Glitterballs, who was one of the biggest, scariest enforcers in the NHL.
"Do you know who I am?" he asked.
Okay, if you've spent any time in Nashville, you know that question will not get you the result you are hoping for. In Voltaire's Best Of All Possible Worlds, you might get a soft "Yes" followed by a query about whether you are having a stroke and need help remembering your name. Snotgobbler played for Nashville. He should have known better.
What did this look like? I am a five-foot-tall little old lady. Remember those posters of a Chihuahua staring down a Great Dane? I stared at him with what I hoped was my best game face. Then he did a gesture I have seen since I was seven from boys, men, and the occasional lesbian. It's that stupid thing where someone tries to act like I am so ugly it hurts them to look at me. Okay, he wasn't wrong, but come on, I was working. He also struck me as a rank amateur.
His squirrely little buddies snickered. I didn't budge. He looked like he was going to say something, threw up his hands, and walked away. His boys slunk to their seats.
The FoxSportsTeeEn guy was laughing. I felt a little bad about what just happened. I called one of my Ride or Dies who usually sits in the lower bowl.
"Oh my gosh. I have done it! You know Snotgobbler Glitterballs? I think I broke him." And then I explained what happened and Ride or Die started laughing.
"He sits near me. When he gets back to his seat, I'm going to point and laugh."
This did not make me feel better. In retrospect, as a hockey fan, there were stymied expectations at my end. When he tried to intimidate me, a Hellmouth should have opened, the crowd noise should have been drowned out by the distant screams of the damned, there should have been random streams of bats flying around. Nope. None of that happened. He was really bad at being evil.
I love hanging out with writers because we get each other and the stories they tell. There are many that would leave this one in the dust. However, this one is mine, and it is a reminder that occasionally I have emitted a mighty squeak or two of my own
*They are called SWEATERS, not jerseys. Mon Dieu!
** Every now and then you can find red sweatshirts or sweaters with Nashville logos. Now you know why.
***When one of them told me to go get him a beer, I knew that fight was over and I lost.
So let's do this.
The year was 2013. The Red Wings were in town. This meant my consort on the photographers' perch would bail and my choices were limited to wandering around the arena if I couldn't find a friendly face in the bowl. One thing you need to know about Nashville and Detroit games is that some of the old school fans still considered themselves "Predwings." There were a few who bodged together Wings and Preds sweaters* that were either halves sewn together vertically or whole sweaters stitched together that could be reversed quickly based on who was ahead.** Another thing that made life difficult for the fringier members of the sports press was that DET was having a good year. It meant the carpetbaggers would come to town and take up space.
I was trying to stake out a place along with CBS, TSN, and ESPN.*** Lucky for me a friendly FoxSports camera guy who knew I could be trusted to stay out of the way offered to share his space. We engaged in friendly chat until two fun sized fans stood next to us. One of them informed us they always stood there to watch the game and we would have to move. They did not have season ticket laminates and I recognized one of them as a cast member from a critically lauded series on HBO. True to my roots as a native Nashvillian, I did not let on I knew who he was.
They were lying. I knew they were lying and they probably knew I knew they were lying. They doubled down. I tried to explain that we were working and that if they couldn't get out of the way of my friend's 3/4" shoulder mounted camera, they could get hurt. I mentioned I might even bump into them trying to get that perfect shot. Their seats, which were just a few feet away, were comfortable and safe. Nothing doing. They had friends in the MEDIA and they were going to get them and we would BE SORRY! I figured they were going to tattle to Voldemort, the media coordinator, that I was meeeean to them.
So they stalked off mad, which still blows my mind because they had great seats and probably better views of the rink than we had. Camera guy and I resumed chatting to kill time before the puck dropped. That was when we noticed a change in the lighting over our heads. It was like something was blotting out the sun.
Thing One and Thing Two stared smugly at us as we turned around and saw what was blocking out the light over our heads. It was Snotgobbler Glitterballs, who was one of the biggest, scariest enforcers in the NHL.
"Do you know who I am?" he asked.
Okay, if you've spent any time in Nashville, you know that question will not get you the result you are hoping for. In Voltaire's Best Of All Possible Worlds, you might get a soft "Yes" followed by a query about whether you are having a stroke and need help remembering your name. Snotgobbler played for Nashville. He should have known better.
What did this look like? I am a five-foot-tall little old lady. Remember those posters of a Chihuahua staring down a Great Dane? I stared at him with what I hoped was my best game face. Then he did a gesture I have seen since I was seven from boys, men, and the occasional lesbian. It's that stupid thing where someone tries to act like I am so ugly it hurts them to look at me. Okay, he wasn't wrong, but come on, I was working. He also struck me as a rank amateur.
His squirrely little buddies snickered. I didn't budge. He looked like he was going to say something, threw up his hands, and walked away. His boys slunk to their seats.
The FoxSportsTeeEn guy was laughing. I felt a little bad about what just happened. I called one of my Ride or Dies who usually sits in the lower bowl.
"Oh my gosh. I have done it! You know Snotgobbler Glitterballs? I think I broke him." And then I explained what happened and Ride or Die started laughing.
"He sits near me. When he gets back to his seat, I'm going to point and laugh."
This did not make me feel better. In retrospect, as a hockey fan, there were stymied expectations at my end. When he tried to intimidate me, a Hellmouth should have opened, the crowd noise should have been drowned out by the distant screams of the damned, there should have been random streams of bats flying around. Nope. None of that happened. He was really bad at being evil.
I love hanging out with writers because we get each other and the stories they tell. There are many that would leave this one in the dust. However, this one is mine, and it is a reminder that occasionally I have emitted a mighty squeak or two of my own
*They are called SWEATERS, not jerseys. Mon Dieu!
** Every now and then you can find red sweatshirts or sweaters with Nashville logos. Now you know why.
***When one of them told me to go get him a beer, I knew that fight was over and I lost.