I woke up this morning wondering if I had dreamt that the Caps had really been knocked out in Round 1. I wondered if maybe there was a chance the NHL had decided Ovie’s goal did in fact count, and that the game would be replayed. I hoped that there was still a glimmer of hope that the season wasn’t really over.
Did I want the Caps to win the Cup? Of course I did. Anyone who remotely calls themselves a Caps Fan wanted them to, and believed they could.
But the sinking feeling I have today is coming from somewhere else. Yes, I am extremely disappointed that I won’t see my favorite team hold the Stanley Cup over their heads this year. I am mad at them – angry that they didn’t live up to their potential. That they missed way too many shots, and gave up too many opportunities. That they didn’t capitalize on their Power Plays, didn’t rush the pads, that they allowed themselves to be beat by the #8 Seed, and that they cut our season way too short.
I am depressed today because the season is over, and this has been so much more than just a sports season to me. I am the mom of three boys, ages 4, 5, and 6. I am the wife of a sportscaster. Sports are big in our house, and always will be. I am happy about that – I was a college athlete, and have always enjoyed sports. I probably “get” sports more than the average woman. But this year, something different happened to me. I became a true, deep down fan. And so did my 6-year old son, Max. He got hooked on the Caps during last year’s playoff season (which lasted 7 more games than this one) and it inspired him to spend the summer learning how to skate, and then how to play ice hockey. He looked forward to the start of Caps season, and we attended an early practice, before the season officially began. Afterwards, we realized the players were walking out, in broad daylight, to their cars, and that we could grab an autograph. By the time we got there, most players had left, but we were lucky to catch Brooks Laich (whose name I didn’t know before that day) on his way out and Max got his Caps t-shirt signed by #21. He was hooked – it made him a bigger Caps fan, and very big Laich fan (Mom too). From there, we started watching all of the games. Max was allowed to stay up later than his little brothers to see how they ended (many with a thrilling comeback). Soon, all he wanted was a jersey, which he got for Christmas (Ovechkin, of course with the “A” on it, shortly before he became the “C”). Max started getting up before everyone else in the house every morning, and going down to the computer to check NHL scores from the night before and watch all the highlights. He became a Caps guru – knew every player’s name, number, and stats (even more so than Russ) and did his best to teach those to us. Also, one day while attending a Wizards game (a consolation prize when we couldn’t get Caps tickets), we were able to sit in the box with star forward Nicklas Backstrom. He was gracious and nice, signing anything and everything for the kids, and posing for numerous pictures with the boys. We still liked Laich, but we had just fallen in love with Backstrom.
When the blizzard (“Snow-vechkin”) hit this winter, I let Max go down to the game on Friday night, when the snow was falling hard, with friends who had an extra ticket. He met up with Russ there, and together they watched the game. I worried the whole night about their safety getting there and back, but I wasn’t going to not let Max go see the Caps. Two days later, our whole family drove down a mainly unplowed 270, crammed into the Metro at the Bethesda station with about 1,000 other Caps fans, and witnessed one of the most exciting sporting events I have ever seen when the Caps beat the Penguins. It had it all – comeback, hat trick, OT, 14-game winning streak... I was thrilled that this team was delivering everything Max wanted. If there was a season to become a die-hard fan, this was it (just to clarify, that is different than jumping on the bandwagon).
And so the regular season ended that way – President’s Trophy, records galore, and extremely high expectations. We attended a practice towards the end of the regular season, waited for autographs again, and Max was able to get a few more (my youngest son Will, who threw a crying tantrum, was able to get Ovie’s that day because of his tears, but that’s another story). I, myself, felt the adrenaline rush of waiting around, hoping key players would walk out the doors and stop to sign Max’s jersey. So, I took him back to Kettler a few days later, and based on a tip from another fan waiting outside, found a new waiting spot, in a more secluded area where I was sure we’d find more players (some could call this stalking). We did – Max was able to get about 12 autographs that day, and a lot of posed pictures with his Caps heroes. He was thrilled, and so was I. And so it continued – a few days later, I saw that the Caps were holding a Pep Rally before the playoffs started (I am fan of the Caps on Facebook, of course) and we decided to pull Max out of school so I could take him. For moms of boys, this, to me, was the equivalent of moms of girls who go for a mani/pedi with their daughters. This was my special day with my son, doing something we both loved. We had a blast cheering them on in practice, getting Caps spray-on tattoos, making signs, and waiting for autographs. A day I hope he’ll never forget. A day I know I never will.
Because of Russ’ job, he’s been working late during these last games, and I am the one home to watch the games with Max. We both would “rock the red” by wearing our Caps clothes (I bought two Caps shirts this season – not an ugly jersey, but cute Retro faded tees) and settle in for a long night in front of the TV. I hung signs in the windows of our house, slapped a big Caps magnet on my car, and posted numerous status updates about the Caps on FB. I read daily articles about the Caps and analyzed every play. For god’s sake, I even started listening to sports talk radio! And I watched Max, in his jersey, heading off to school each morning excited about his team, whether they had won or lost the night before. Before going to school for Game 7, he let me give him a red Mohawk, and write Caps phrases on his cheeks. It started becoming apparent, especially during games when I was a stressed out wreck, that I was now leading the brigade. That Max was a clear-headed, happy-go-lucky fan, and I was the fanatic. I was the one screaming at the TV, screaming at my younger kids who wouldn’t go to bed because Max was still up (“it’s not fair!! Max gets to stay up!!”), and sulking miserably after the losses. I woke up sad and in disbelief this morning, Max woke up ready for another day of 1st Grade. Yes, he’s bummed and disappointed, but he’s curious about the match-ups for Round 2 of the play-offs (I can’t even think about Round 2 without feeling sick) and he’s excited to go to Saturday’s DC United game (on to the next sport). He’s not angry at the Caps this morning. He still loves them as much as he did at 7pm last night. I am trying to feel the same way.
Max taught me this season the undying love of a sports team. He helped me see the players as individuals and not a group of guys led by a two-time MVP. He helped me see the game through the eyes of a 6-year old, with pure wonder and excitement. Hopefully he’ll teach me how to accept this loss and move on.
As a kid, my dad and I spent many, many weekends at Phillies game. I knew every player’s name, number, and position. Now, I can remember a few of their names – Mike Schmidt (#20, short stop), Pete Rose (#14, first base), and Steve Carlton (pitcher, don’t remember number), but I remember how we went early for batting practice, packed picnic baskets for double headers, and how I’d run laps around the top of the Vet, before Phanavision was there. They are great memories that I’ll always have. Someday Max might not remember Brooks Laich, or Mike Knuble, or even Nick Backstrom, but I hope he’ll remember skipping school to go to the Pep Rally with his mom, the Friday night game with his dad, the snowstorm trip to Verizon with the whole family, and the feeling of meeting his favorite players.
Soon enough, I’ll forget my anger and disappointment. I won’t think about missed opportunities and what could have been. I’ll only remember those moments with my family, with Max. Thank you Caps, for giving those to us, and for making us true fans. Can’t wait to do it all again next year.
Did I want the Caps to win the Cup? Of course I did. Anyone who remotely calls themselves a Caps Fan wanted them to, and believed they could.
But the sinking feeling I have today is coming from somewhere else. Yes, I am extremely disappointed that I won’t see my favorite team hold the Stanley Cup over their heads this year. I am mad at them – angry that they didn’t live up to their potential. That they missed way too many shots, and gave up too many opportunities. That they didn’t capitalize on their Power Plays, didn’t rush the pads, that they allowed themselves to be beat by the #8 Seed, and that they cut our season way too short.
I am depressed today because the season is over, and this has been so much more than just a sports season to me. I am the mom of three boys, ages 4, 5, and 6. I am the wife of a sportscaster. Sports are big in our house, and always will be. I am happy about that – I was a college athlete, and have always enjoyed sports. I probably “get” sports more than the average woman. But this year, something different happened to me. I became a true, deep down fan. And so did my 6-year old son, Max. He got hooked on the Caps during last year’s playoff season (which lasted 7 more games than this one) and it inspired him to spend the summer learning how to skate, and then how to play ice hockey. He looked forward to the start of Caps season, and we attended an early practice, before the season officially began. Afterwards, we realized the players were walking out, in broad daylight, to their cars, and that we could grab an autograph. By the time we got there, most players had left, but we were lucky to catch Brooks Laich (whose name I didn’t know before that day) on his way out and Max got his Caps t-shirt signed by #21. He was hooked – it made him a bigger Caps fan, and very big Laich fan (Mom too). From there, we started watching all of the games. Max was allowed to stay up later than his little brothers to see how they ended (many with a thrilling comeback). Soon, all he wanted was a jersey, which he got for Christmas (Ovechkin, of course with the “A” on it, shortly before he became the “C”). Max started getting up before everyone else in the house every morning, and going down to the computer to check NHL scores from the night before and watch all the highlights. He became a Caps guru – knew every player’s name, number, and stats (even more so than Russ) and did his best to teach those to us. Also, one day while attending a Wizards game (a consolation prize when we couldn’t get Caps tickets), we were able to sit in the box with star forward Nicklas Backstrom. He was gracious and nice, signing anything and everything for the kids, and posing for numerous pictures with the boys. We still liked Laich, but we had just fallen in love with Backstrom.
When the blizzard (“Snow-vechkin”) hit this winter, I let Max go down to the game on Friday night, when the snow was falling hard, with friends who had an extra ticket. He met up with Russ there, and together they watched the game. I worried the whole night about their safety getting there and back, but I wasn’t going to not let Max go see the Caps. Two days later, our whole family drove down a mainly unplowed 270, crammed into the Metro at the Bethesda station with about 1,000 other Caps fans, and witnessed one of the most exciting sporting events I have ever seen when the Caps beat the Penguins. It had it all – comeback, hat trick, OT, 14-game winning streak... I was thrilled that this team was delivering everything Max wanted. If there was a season to become a die-hard fan, this was it (just to clarify, that is different than jumping on the bandwagon).
And so the regular season ended that way – President’s Trophy, records galore, and extremely high expectations. We attended a practice towards the end of the regular season, waited for autographs again, and Max was able to get a few more (my youngest son Will, who threw a crying tantrum, was able to get Ovie’s that day because of his tears, but that’s another story). I, myself, felt the adrenaline rush of waiting around, hoping key players would walk out the doors and stop to sign Max’s jersey. So, I took him back to Kettler a few days later, and based on a tip from another fan waiting outside, found a new waiting spot, in a more secluded area where I was sure we’d find more players (some could call this stalking). We did – Max was able to get about 12 autographs that day, and a lot of posed pictures with his Caps heroes. He was thrilled, and so was I. And so it continued – a few days later, I saw that the Caps were holding a Pep Rally before the playoffs started (I am fan of the Caps on Facebook, of course) and we decided to pull Max out of school so I could take him. For moms of boys, this, to me, was the equivalent of moms of girls who go for a mani/pedi with their daughters. This was my special day with my son, doing something we both loved. We had a blast cheering them on in practice, getting Caps spray-on tattoos, making signs, and waiting for autographs. A day I hope he’ll never forget. A day I know I never will.
Because of Russ’ job, he’s been working late during these last games, and I am the one home to watch the games with Max. We both would “rock the red” by wearing our Caps clothes (I bought two Caps shirts this season – not an ugly jersey, but cute Retro faded tees) and settle in for a long night in front of the TV. I hung signs in the windows of our house, slapped a big Caps magnet on my car, and posted numerous status updates about the Caps on FB. I read daily articles about the Caps and analyzed every play. For god’s sake, I even started listening to sports talk radio! And I watched Max, in his jersey, heading off to school each morning excited about his team, whether they had won or lost the night before. Before going to school for Game 7, he let me give him a red Mohawk, and write Caps phrases on his cheeks. It started becoming apparent, especially during games when I was a stressed out wreck, that I was now leading the brigade. That Max was a clear-headed, happy-go-lucky fan, and I was the fanatic. I was the one screaming at the TV, screaming at my younger kids who wouldn’t go to bed because Max was still up (“it’s not fair!! Max gets to stay up!!”), and sulking miserably after the losses. I woke up sad and in disbelief this morning, Max woke up ready for another day of 1st Grade. Yes, he’s bummed and disappointed, but he’s curious about the match-ups for Round 2 of the play-offs (I can’t even think about Round 2 without feeling sick) and he’s excited to go to Saturday’s DC United game (on to the next sport). He’s not angry at the Caps this morning. He still loves them as much as he did at 7pm last night. I am trying to feel the same way.
Max taught me this season the undying love of a sports team. He helped me see the players as individuals and not a group of guys led by a two-time MVP. He helped me see the game through the eyes of a 6-year old, with pure wonder and excitement. Hopefully he’ll teach me how to accept this loss and move on.
As a kid, my dad and I spent many, many weekends at Phillies game. I knew every player’s name, number, and position. Now, I can remember a few of their names – Mike Schmidt (#20, short stop), Pete Rose (#14, first base), and Steve Carlton (pitcher, don’t remember number), but I remember how we went early for batting practice, packed picnic baskets for double headers, and how I’d run laps around the top of the Vet, before Phanavision was there. They are great memories that I’ll always have. Someday Max might not remember Brooks Laich, or Mike Knuble, or even Nick Backstrom, but I hope he’ll remember skipping school to go to the Pep Rally with his mom, the Friday night game with his dad, the snowstorm trip to Verizon with the whole family, and the feeling of meeting his favorite players.
Soon enough, I’ll forget my anger and disappointment. I won’t think about missed opportunities and what could have been. I’ll only remember those moments with my family, with Max. Thank you Caps, for giving those to us, and for making us true fans. Can’t wait to do it all again next year.
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