That One Look

Chapter 1: Rough Start

Chapter 1:

"Goal"! I screamed as I rose from seat 122 in the great TD Garden.

The Chicago Blackhawks were playing against the Boston Bruins in the 2013 Stanley Cup Playoffs. Bryan Bickell had just scored another goal. The Blackhawks were trailing 2-1 with Boston leading. With the recent change in score, the intense game was now tied 2-2 with 59 seconds left.

The hawks were leading the series 3-2. All they had to do was pull out a win and the great Stanley Cup trophy was theirs to claim. On the other hand, if they lost, they would have to pack up and play game 7 back in Chicago. As much as I love my hockey team and the city of Chicago, I sure as hell didn't fly across the country to see them lose. However, at that moment in time, my faith was slightly dwindling. With just a mere 59 seconds left on the clock, overtime was in sight. As I had previously witnessed, anything can happen, so I anxiously sat on the edge of my seat waiting.

The whistle blew and play resumed. In what seemed like the blink of an eye, the goal horn sounded and the game was now 3-2, Chicago. I leapt up out of my seat and shouted. A roar of screams and shouts followed mine and echoed through the arena. With now 42 seconds left in the game, all we had to do was stall the puck or keep it away from the other end. Thats easier said than done. I was sweating and shouting, and pounding the floor. I thought I was going to have a heart attack right there on the spot. The many Bruins fans surrounding me probably thought I was crazy.

Everybody was waiting for the clock to finally hit zero. When it did, it was either going to make or break us. It felt like forever. Seconds felt like minutes and I found my eyes jolting back and forth between the scoreboard above my head and the ice. After 42 long seconds that clock hit zero and instantaneously every lone Chicago fan sprung from their seats and screamed. In all the commotion, I looked around and saw people crying and hugging. I was so overcome with emotion I even started crying too. I felt embarrassed at first, but then I remembered that I was in Boston and nobody knew who I was.

On the flip side, Boston fans were booing and throwing drinks. Others were even pounding aggressively on the glass, but most were headed for the exit. Even though I hated Boston with a passion, I still felt kind of bad inside. If it were me, I probably would be reacting the same exact way. Its gotta sting to watch your beloved team come so far and lose at home.

But then it hit me, that isn't me. My team actually won and did a damn good job.

-

People flooded out and the area around me started to clear out. I sat down and waited for the announcement the Conn Smythe Trophy winner and the introduction of the cup. I already had an idea of who the lucky player would be but I wanted to confirm my suspicions.

-

I threw on my winter coat and and grabbed my purse that I had tucked underneath my seat. I took in a deep breath, and one last look at the arena before turning on my heel and heading for the exit myself.

After walking up what seemed like a million stairs, I finally reached the door to what I assumed was an exit, only to stand in a mob of mostly drunk rowdy adults in a hurry to get out the door. Forget that. I quickly turned around and retraced my steps back into the arena, however, I wasn't in the section I had sat in to watch the game. Shit. I weaved horizontally through the seats in an effort to speed up the process and found what looked like a side exit. I opened the door and found myself in a small dimly lit hallway which obviously isn't where I thought I would end up.

My first method of action was to immediately turn around and go back into the arena. As a pushed on the metal handle, it wouldn't budge. It locked from the inside and there was no way to go back. I looked around, hoping to find some kind of sign directing me where to go. I knew I most likely shouldn't be down here. After coming up empty, I had no choice but to keep walking.