HockeyDirt.com: A Brush With Gr8ness

Saturday started out innocently enough. My neighbour Rob gave me a call and asked if I wanted to go to a pub downtown with him and a few other guys to have a few beers and watch the Senators play the Capitals on the big screen. Of course, my answer was yes.

Somehow, between 2:00pm and 5:00pm, the plan was changed. Rather than go watch the game at a bar, why don't we just head to Scotiabank Place and see if we can pick up some scalper tickets, asked my neighbour. So the four of us left for the arena just after supper, pulled into the valet parking, and proceeded to scout out some scalpers to see what kind of deal we could find.

A few minutes later we had four tickets for level 100, row P, just sixteen rows above the ice surface. Three hours after this, we found ourselves leaving one of the most boring hockey games I've attended in recent memory. 1-0 for Washington. Sure, the Senators had 46 shots on goal, officially, but most were from the perimeter. We didn't even get to witness a big hit against the glass in the corner in front of us. The one highlight was the truly inspiring moves of Alexander Ovechkin. Throughout the game, Ovechkin repeatedly showed bursts of speed, flying down the left wing, undressing defencemen, and getting good shots on net from impossible angles. The kid really is as good as he seems.

Other than the play of Ovechkin, the game was just plain dull.

But we were soon to discover that we were going to get our money's worth out of the evening.

Somewhat disappointed, and still hungry for entertainment, we headed for the local bar, waited outside in the cold for a few minutes, and eventually made our way through the doors, past the band, and towards a back room.

We had few beers, told some lies and waited in line for the pool table.

About a half hour after our arrival, there was a bit of commotion beyond the playing of the band and regular noise of the crowd.

When 15 large men walk into a bar, all together and all wearing suits, a lot of people notice. When Alexander Ovechkin is in the middle of the pack, everyone notices.

And so happened my brush with gr8ness.

The Washington Capitals had entered the room, and the players decided to take up residence right beside my friends and I. Ovechkin, of course, was surrounded by people wanting pictures and his autograph. The rest of the team stood around him, and it was evident they thought part of their job was to protect Alexander from too much stress.

Ovechkin dutifully obliged though, and signed away furiously, always smiling. I just stood and stared, somewhat in awe.

I didn't want to disturb the guy. He already had enough on his plate. But I wanted to say thank you. Thank you for inspiring. Thank you for bringing some great excitement back to the league. Thank you for being the good role model that he has been.

So, I tapped him on his shoulder while he was signing autographs. He stopped signing, turned around and looked at me, standing there, like a four-year-old in line to see Santa Claus, with my hand extended. He shook my hand.

"Thank you," I said.

"You're welcome," he replied.

And that was that.

The game was nothing to write home about, but the evening was fantastic. Thanks to Alexander the Gr8.