Parental advice from Dr. Jessica

Hockey, you and I are back ON…for now. Thing 1 and Thing 2’s team had a great game on Wednesday night. They lost 2-1, but it was a scrimmage against a team from a higher tier and the boys still competed extremely well. I was impressed.

Sabres, you are on Jessica punishment. That means every last lazy-ass, non-scoring, non-winning one of you. Even you Ryan Miller. I don’t care if it is not your job to score! If your teammates cannot possibly score ONE measly little goal in an entire game, well then TOO BAD. You are just going to have to let in negative amounts of goals. Or score one yourself. Make it work. If a bunch of 9 and 10 year olds can score against a team in a COMPLETELY DIFFERENT LEAGUE, then the NHL Sabres should manage to score against the NHL Washington Capitals. In fact, on your current four game losing streak, Sabres, you have been outscored 15-6, so you are clearly ALL to blame.

I think it is super cute that many of the Sabres’ dads have accompanied the team on this Thanksgiving road trip. The Buffalo News reports that the fathers and sons have been visiting tourist spots in Washington, D.C. and that the dads were on the practice ice for a group photo.  They also took some shots at the goalies. (Hey–I wonder if THEY managed to score and, if so, can we sneak them onto the roster? Does it really matter WHICH Roy wears #9?) I love that the team did this father/son bonding trip and I find it very sweet. But what I would REALLY love is if those dads could dig back to their days of coaching their sons (because surely many of them did) and curse and yell and scream at their boys to get their asses in gear. That is what the coaches on Thing 1 and Thing 2’s team do. Thing 1 told me recently that when the coaches (all dads) yell, “It is a little scary and it makes you feel uncomfortable.” In other words, it works.

Just a teeny tiny suggestion, Sabres dads. From one parent to another. After all, we both want to see our boys WIN.

Running with Snuggies: Turkey Trot 2009

I felt extremely self-satisfied this morning as I waited for Nadine and Karyn at our pre-Turkey Trot meeting place . Despite oversleeping, I had still managed to shower, get prettied up, eat my usual pre-race breakfast and find a good parking spot near the starting line.  And I was early, which if you know me at all, is as rare as a late November Sabres goal. Then I spotted Nadine, walking towards me clutching her race bib.  SWEET JESUS! I had forgotten my number and my chip! For ten minutes I had been smugly standing amongst thousands of runners, ALL of them wearing race numbers and big orange chip loops on their sneakers, but I was too busy focusing on the cuteness of my Turkey Trot outfit to notice those lesser (but more prepared) people.

Thankfully my husband David met me with the bib and chip, for which I was VERY grateful. (If you want to try a “Race Walk of Shame”, moments before it begins, head in the opposite direction of the race’s starting line. You will pass hordes of fellow runners rushing anxiously towards the race start, all of whom regard you with sympathy and curiosity, wondering why you have quit the race without even trying.)  I rushed back to Nadine and Karyn, who like helpful bridal attendants quickly assisted me in pinning the number to my jacket and in fastening the chip to my sneaker.

Unfortunately my forgetfulness cost us a decent spot at the starting line. (A little background for non-racers: Typically there are minute markers posted along the starting chute designating where runners of varying speeds should begin the race. The fastest runners ideally line up at the very front, and the slowest runners/walkers should be at the WAAAAAY back–maybe even in the next town. Since most races are chipped (meaning you have a computer chip on your sneaker that electronically records the times that you cross the starting and the finishing mats), this lining up is mainly to ensure that the speedy runners are not hampered by pokey people in front of them. However, this system NEVER works because runners are THE BIGGEST BUNCH OF LIARS on the face of this earth. No one pays ANY attention to the minute markers. The inexperienced runners don’t know any better (or are just plain rude). The veteran runners KNOW that all of the rookies are posers and so to gain their rightful competitive edge THEY in turn overestimate their speed. The result is FRUSTRATING chaos at the start of the race because no one is where they are supposed to be.)

It’s probably a little unfair of me to compare the Turkey Trot experience to a regular race. This year’s TT capped at 12,000 registrants, the highest total in its 114 year history.  I spotted runners (and I use this term loosely) dressed like superheroes, turkeys (lots of  ass-waggling feathers), flamingos, Santas (naughty and regular), a giant linked Christmas centipede, Sponge Bob, and 80’s bands. My favorite runners were the four guys racing in Snuggies (although this may be my inner cougar talking, since they were all foxy and 25-ish).

For the first half of the TT Karyn, Nadine and I weaved amongst this interesting throng of racers like some perverse runner’s version of Frogger. (A semi-respectful note to walkers: I fully resent support your participation in races such as the TT. I just REALLY REALLY wish that you would either a.) start at the back of the pack so that I am not forced to constantly find a clear path around you or 2.) not walk down the exact center of the race course so that in my efforts to avoid plowing into you I almost injure myself.  “Keep to the Right” is a saying because it WORKS people.)  Around mile 3 we found our rhythm and some space on the course. We also found a man who ran at our exact pace and had jingle bells attached to his body. At first the bells were cheerful and cute. That changed to annoying REAL FAST.

If it sounds like I am complaining a lot, well, I am. But, truthfully I had an AWESOME time. The weather conditions were perfect, the crowds cheering us were inspirational, and the 5 miles flew by in a blur of funny characters, good conversation and running camaraderie. (Once I know my actual chip time I may edit some bitterness into this post, but for now, all is pretty pink skies.)

Things were even more fun at the post-race party. I ran into tons of people, which completely justified my extensive pre-race primping. The first person I saw was my ex-HSBC usher Dave, who was working security. (I miss him, so I downplayed how much I like his promising replacement Rich.) My friends headed right to the FREE BEER area, but since I (lamely) do not like beer, I drank Vitamin Water. (Luckily they had my favorite flavor, Energy, which I believe–perhaps from experience–miraculously cures hangovers.) Nadine noted that Buffalo may be the only town where runners regularly drink beer after races and 12-year-olds can fetch it for their parents without anyone making a fuss. I think it was also interesting that amongst the available post-race food–cookies, fruit, yogurt–the cookies were the first and only thing to go. Beer and cookies–way to replenish after a race Buffalo!

Before heading home the girls and I watched the race results for various age groups flash across the Convention Center’s large screens. Maybe it was all the beer and the Energy Vitamin Water, but we found it hilarious (and pathetic) that it wasn’t until they showed the times for “Males 80-84″ that we could boast with confidence that we DEFINITELY could have kicked those runners’ saggy asses.

I Bet You Think this Race is About You

Since hockey and I officially declared ourselves “on a break” I have been catching up and gossiping with my girlfriends, eating ice cream out of the container and debating how long I should wait to respond if hockey beckons.  Thankfully this “alone” time has also allowed me to focus on my other passions–namely clothes, running, and what to wear to the Turkey Trot.

I ran the Turkey Trot for the fist time last year with my friend Sheila, who was a 20 year TT veteran.  At that point the furthest distance I had ever run was 4 miles, so the race’s 5 mile distance was a bit of a challenge to me.  Even more daunting was deciding how to dress for a late fall run. This November’s unexpected sunshine and balmy temps are the opposite of  last year’s typical cold, rainy, gray Buffalo November. By this time last year I had pretty much wimped out on running outdoors. So in addition to worrying about running further than I had ever run before, I was also concerned about surviving in the cold and wet weather.

As it turns out, my priorities were all out of whack.

First I bought a pair of tight spandex running pants for the TT–a purchase which made me feel more like a real runner but sadly less like the old lazy-ass Jessica who used to make fun of the people who wore them. I added practical layers for race day–a waterproof running jacket,  a T-shirt, and a winter running hat squashing my signature curls–all in the name of warmth and comfort. As Sheila and I joined the thousands of people at the starting line, her pre-race description of the day as “one big party” disturbingly started to sink in. Here I was, no curls bobbing out of the back of my running cap, no sassy pink attire, no little running shorts, AND no shower and no make-up–bumping into EVERY SINGLE PERSON I KNEW. Ok, maybe not every one, but enough of them to cause me to seriously question my commitment to warmth and comfort. I mean, when had I EVER dressed for inconsequential things like THAT? And why had I decided to start at the Turkey Trot, in front of 10,000 fellow Buffaloians?

Many of the TT runners dress in themed turkey/pilgrim costumes, some carry witty signs, and some even link themselves together for the race. It is quite whimsical and fun. I would imagine that it is more delightful if you are not staring with unabashed envy at the running club girls wearing the most adorable matching little red Santa skirts, white T-shirts, knee socks and cute hats that did not AT ALL ruin their hair. I bet THEY didn’t worry about being warm or comfortable. They focused on what was important—looking good for the race AND for the huge post-race party at the Convention Center.

I suppose I should take a moment to tell you how I did running the actual race. One of the things that I admire about Sheila is that she is a speed demon who can’t stand to run with a pack of people surrounding her. So Sheila’s very successful race strategy consists of getting the hell away from everyone else. She accomplishes this by dashing and weaving amongst the other runners.  Even if they have left her no space, she finds an opening. I spent the whole race chasing her and apologizing to people as I plowed in between them after her. I kept up with her until Niagara Square, near the end of the race, where I had to let her go ahead. I wasn’t totally happy with my time, but I considered it a successful first Trot. Running-wise at least.

At the post-race party I saw and talked to even MORE people, many of whom had not even RUN the race and so were not the least bit sweaty or encumbered by practical running gear.  As I chatted (and internally debated the hairstyle wisdom of taking my ugly hat off versus leaving it on) I vowed to myself that I would not make this rookie running fashion mistake again. Maybe I wasn’t going to wear a cute Naughty Santa outfit for a race, but I sure wasn’t going to go all “pragmatic grandma” either. (For my half-marathon in May I picked out a new pink shirt, a new running hat, new pink sneakers AND I showered and put on make-up before the race. For the pictures. Of course.)

So judge if you will, but I am definitely going to do the same pre-race primping for Thursday’s Turkey Trot. Practically speaking, I suspect feeling prettier makes you run faster. At least in Jessica-ville it does.

It’s Not Me, It’s You

Dear Hockey,

I think you and I need to take a teeny tiny break. Just for a few days.

It’s not you, it’s me. No…actually, it IS you. This past weekend with you was just too emotionally draining. First Friday night I get all dolled up to come and see you, go out to dinner, buy some drinks, and your response is a 2-1 Sabres overtime loss to the Bruins. I deserve better.

Saturday afternoon I drove three hours round trip for you only to watch Thing 1 and Thing 2’s Squirt team get outshot 47-1 and lose 9-0 (although the scoreboard stopped keeping track after 5-0, I knew the real score. And it was painful.)  Their team spent so much of the game in the defensive zone that I literally forgot that you are a transition sport. I caught myself thinking that the only point of the game was to keep the puck out of our net. Sometimes I wonder if I even know who you are anymore.

That night I decided to spend a quiet night all alone with you. I love our Saturday nights, curled up in my Sabres slanket, flipping between the Sabres game and Hockey Night in Canada. I should not have been at all disappointed that Buffalo lost in Ottawa, because they ALWAYS do, but I thought this season things might be different. I should know better than to get my hopes up. You can be so fickle.

And then came this morning, when Thing 1 and Thing 2’s team skated their little asses off, valiantly trying to erase the memory of yesterday’s debacle. Their reward? A lucky goal scored against them in the final minute to lose the game 1-0. Heartbreak once again.

I think a few days apart will help rekindle our magic and reinvigorate our mojo. At least it had better. Next weekend we have some big plans–3 Sabres games and 3 Squirt games in four days–and I am counting on you not to let me down.

Make it work, hockey. Make it work.

Until Wednesday,

Jessica

I Hate Losing: Boston 11/20/09

I took running friend Karyn to the Boston game last night (Worlds colliding!). She had not been to a Sabres game in years, and I can assure you that she and her bad mojo are not coming to one with me again anytime soon. But it was fun, at least initially, to share the Jessica game experience with someone new. As we walked past the ticket scalpers outside the Arena, one with a “Need Tickets” sign and the other a little further away yelling, “I’ve got TICKETS!”  Karyn observed, “Someone should get those two together. Need Tickets, meet Has Tickets.”

During the first intermission, my new usher Rich and I agreed that the Sabres had played well in the first period, which was especially heartening after their poor showing against Florida on Wednesday. Rich is a new character this season  in Jessica-ville, and he has a pretty big red jacket to fill. My former usher Dave, who moved on to greener security pastures, was super nice and VERY easy on the eyes. His only flaw was that he was a real stickler about not letting me go past him to my seats until a stoppage in play, no matter how charming I was. Wait for the whistle my ass. I have high hopes for Rich. He seems eminently charm-able. I will keep you all posted (and hope that Rich is not a big blog reader).

I was one drink away from reaching out, kitten-like, and batting at these tassels.

Then came the second period. BORING. The Sabres were outshot 14-3, and (except for Ryan Miller) they suddenly and inexplicably didn’t seem all that interested in this game. Their nonchalance permeated the Arena like a fog, enveloping players and fans alike. It was an odd night too because many of my season ticket peeps were not in their usual seats (“amateur night” my dad calls them).  The woman in front of me, who was a stranger, wore a Sabres winter hat with not one but TWO dangling tassels, and lulled by the Sabres uninspired play, I found myself watching them bob tantalizingly in front of me like a cat drawn to a string.

The Sabres effort in the third period was much better, though by late in the period it became  clear that the Bruins would be perfectly happy to get at least a point by letting the game go to overtime.  I helpfully explained their trapping ways to Karyn, showing her four Bruins lined up in the neutral zone ready to thwart the Sabres offensively. She was understandably riveted.  I assured her that defense is a LOT sexier when your team is the one that is playing it.

Still, I was optimistic about our chances in OT or the shootout, but 47 seconds later it was over, as Boston scored to win the game in OT a deflection that left Ryan Miller and I equally disgusted. We all shuffled out of the Arena bereft of Gilbert Perrault’s victory serenade for the second straight game. Karyn and I decided two things instantly: 1.) We would find a way to salvage the night and ease the pain of losing 2.) Whatever we chose to cheer us up would likely translate into a VBR the next morning.

Two Guys Walked into a Bar: Florida 11/18/09

I refuse to waste my blogging energy on a post about my (unfortunate) attendance at last night’s life-sucking Florida game.  And I will tell you why: The Sabres played terribly and the trapping defensively-minded Panthers did what they do best:

“They just played boring till they got the lead,” Sabres goaltender Ryan Miller said. “Then they played more boring.”

Superstition Alert: Poor, misguided Ryan Miller is giving the Panthers WAY too much credit.  Miller probably even thinks that HIS performance in goal had some impact on the game. Ha!  The sad truth is that the Sabres had NO chance last night because I seemed hellbent on jinxing them:  I wore a new (albeit FOXY) shirt, parked in a completely foreign lot on the other side of the Arena (incidentally $15 will buy you a very sweet spot in a paved lot with actual painted lines and no ruts), went through the Will Call line for the first time ever and not only spoke to my usher on the way in but had an entire conversation with him. I had doomed the Sabres well before the first strains of “Oh Canada” wafted through the Arena.

After the game I met some people out  at an eating/drinking establishment in North Buffalo. Two of them–I will call them “Todd” and “Charlie” (primarily because those are their names)–decided to give me a hard time about the Sabres. I have been called “The World’s Biggest Button”, and these two men soon learned how fired up I can get when someone presses my Sabres button. Todd is a NY Rangers fan, so he clearly has his own issues. Charlie is one of those disenchanted “show me” Buffalo fans–so embittered by years of failure that there is really no way to cultivate optimism in his hardened sports heart. I attempted to convince these two that the Sabres are “for real” this year. The lingering stench of the Florida game did not help my cause.

Todd and Charlie don’t think that the Sabres will make the playoffs. One of the pillars of their argument (from what I could tell– did I mention this was a drinking establishment?) is that the Sabres lack the requisite “big gun”. They asked, “Which Sabre would be on the 1st line of most other teams?” Even though I think this question is  pretty much a ridiculous load of crap, since there are PLENTY of teams who have A Guy and still go nowhere,  it did get me thinking–IS there an offensive rock star on our team like that?  And, more importantly, does having ONE really matter? Isn’t it better to “roll four lines” and have “balanced scoring”, as the coaches are so fond of saying?  (Even the NHL Network coach points out, “There is no “I” in team.”)

Hockey-wise I was raised on Roby-isms, and like hockey god Mike Robitaille, I am a HUGE believer in the importance of sexy, ‘get your body in front of pucks’ defense in general and spectacular goaltending in particular. If I had to pick OUR GUY, Ryan Miller would be it. It is no surprise to me that the team’s success this season runs parallel to Miller’s strong performance. That said, goals and the accompanying goal celebrations are also VERY hot.  I would not be opposed to the Sabres adding more offense. It is one of those things in life that you simply can NOT have too much of.

Chris “Dead to Me” Drury Digression: When you get a Rangers fan and a jaded Buffalo fan together in a bar, one name is SURE to come up: Chris Drury, who famously became a free agent on July 1, 2007 and bolted left the Sabres to play in NY.  WAY too much has been written and discussed about the Sabres’ failure to keep Drury, his motivation for leaving the Sabres, and what actually went down during the in-season contract negotiations between the two.  I briefly touched on my take on Drury in an earlier post, but was waiting for the right moment to really spell it out:  Drury is the guy who dumped us for someone else after repeatedly reassuring us that “nothing has changed” and “everything is OK”.  We wish him nothing but a future of psycho girlfriends and unhappiness.  We haven’t simply cut his face out of our pictures, we have shredded them and set them on fire, along with everything else from the relationship. It’s over. And now that it is, we admit that in the back of our mind we always suspected it was too good to be true and that he was looking elsewhere all along.

Near the end of the evening I thought that perhaps I had made progress dazzling the boys with the hockey brilliance of my Drury analogy but they still stubbornly insisted that it was too early to declare the Sabres playoff contenders.  They said that they would not be convinced until the mid-point of the season. So I whipped out my omnipresent pocket schedule and pinpointed January 3 at Montreal as the Sabres’ 41st game.  The three of us now have some sort of amorphous bet that hinges on the Sabres’ place in the standings after that game.  At the last minute Todd and Charlie seriously backpedaled, saying that the Sabres would probably be 7th or 8th at that time which is, you know, actually in the playoffs. I still took my team to be in 6th place or higher.

You guys seriously do NOT want to miss how this ends, because I think there was talk of free dinner AND drinks.

Defense is Sexy: Philly Game 11/14/09

Have you guys looked at the NHL standings lately? I don’t want to make your eyes glaze over by discussing figures like the team’s phenomenal goals against total (the Sabres are tied with perennial defensive rock star New Jersey for first in the league) but if you go by a little stat called points, then the Sabres are clearly GOOD.  For real.

Yesterday’s complete lockdown (which possibly involved a teeny tiny bit of unsightly trapping, which is totally sexy when it works) of the Flyers capped off a three-win week that made last weekend’s two-loss debacle seem like a distant anomaly.  (I know! I am knocking on old-school wooden hockey sticks right now to appease the Hockey Gods!)  The Philly game was particularly noteworthy because the Sabres played the night before and traveled, and the Flyers had spanked them around pretty badly just a week earlier.  For the 2008-09 Sabres this would have translated into a lackluster performance and a sure loss. Not so yesterday.  The Sabres were hitting—even little Tyler “I may look fourteen but I scored a goal in my first NHL game” Ennis checked (I am using this term veeerrry loosely here) Chris “I am 6 – 6, 220 pounds of PURE jackass” Pronger.  Sure their collision resulted in Ennis on the ice and Pronger still standing, but the spirit of the so-called hit is what is important here.

Young, tiny guys like Kennedy and Ennis are leading the moxie charge.  All Philly could muster in response was little Danny Briere’s ill-advised high sticking of Chris Butler near the end of the game, which put his team down a man at a critical juncture.  I actually mention this moment mostly because of what it illustrated about the Flyers faithful.  Unlike most other decent sports fans with beating hearts, the crowd in Philly BOOED when Butler, after being bloodied by a high stick, eventually got up and made his way to the bench.  In any other city the fact that an opposing player has not sustained a terrible, life-threatening injury is greeted with respectful and relieved applause.

Hockey Mama Interlude:  If a player from either team goes down during one of Thing 1 and Thing 2’s games all of the players on the ice line up on bended knee until he gets up.  I think it is one of the cutest, sweetest sights in youth hockey—in a single moment the players go from trash-talking, rambunctious opponents to mini comrades at attention.  I wonder what the Philly youth hockey players do when someone gets hurt?  If their parents’ behavior at professional sporting events is any indication then they probably line up to take turns taunting him as he lies on the ice.  Being a Flyer may have already poisoned my LDB and I am troubled for the hockey souls of those darling little Briere boys, growing up in that heartless Philadelphia environment.

This week, in spite of all my superstitions, I will keep clicking on the NHL standings, and stare somewhat dazedly at the Sabres, ensconced in 3^rd place in the conference and well above The Line.  One of our ex-players (who I won’t name here because he is dead to me) once said that when your team is winning, everything seems wonderful — even food tastes better.  All of us in Sabres-dom should embrace all that is good and fabulous about our team winning.  And….I am not above also taking GREAT joy in seeing Carolina, losers of 14 straight games, in last place.  Just saying.

****

Extreme Makeover Home Edition Update: I LOVE that the entire week the TV crews were here it was sunny and gorgeous outside—in November, in Buffalo. (although the defensive Buffalonian in me worries that the show will downplay that it was filmed in late fall so that the national audience will snidely comment about us wearing pants in July.)  More importantly, I LOVE how the whole community came together, not just to rebuild the house chosen for the show, but to revamp and reinvigorate an entire neighborhood.  A record number of volunteers—over 4,500—made improvements to over 50 properties on Buffalo’s West Side.  It is a beautiful and inspirational story that makes me proud to call Buffalo home.

The Wild West: Edmonton and Calgary

The people who make the NHL schedule (and it HAS to be people, not computers, because computers would not make it so effed up) never asked me, but I am not SUPER pleased with the way they have the Sabres playing every Wednesday, Friday and Saturday for 5 weeks straight. (and thanks to ever alert color analyst Harry Neale for pointing out on a recent broadcast that Wednesday/Friday/Saturday is the Sabres schedule this week, was last week, and will be next week. Way to give us breaking news Harry.) Not only is cramming all that hockey into four days certainly tiring for my team, but imagine poor ME , having to keep up with blogging about all of those games in just a few days! Thankfully the Sabres have been coping with this ridiculous schedule MUCH better than I.

I LOVE the Western Conference Canadian teams, mostly because they hail from my favorite country, Canada, which has graced my world with both Don Cherry and Tim Horton’s. More importantly they are NOT the Eastern Conference Canadian teams–Montreal, Toronto and Ottawa–who are hated by Buffalo fans for reasons both big (they are bitter division rivals, some with obscene amounts of Stanley Cups) and small (their fans are drunken idiots when they come to the Arena). The Edmontons and The Calgarys of the league come to Buffalo so rarely that it is always a treat to see them. And, they are an excellent change of pace from the NY Islanders.

Edmonton at Sabres Game 11/11/09: I don’t have a whole lot to say about this game, which initially had me worried because, as you know, I RARELY have little to say, particularly when it comes to hockey. Then I heard WGR’s Schopp and the Bulldog talking on Thursday about how the story of the Edmonton game was that it was “uneventful”, which I pretty much agreed with–mostly because it lets me off the hook. See! It isn’t ME, it is the Sabres and the state of hockey in general!

I was happy that the Sabres won the game, and impressed with their five minute penalty kill near the end of the game. That PK was the result of a major boarding penalty assessed to Clarke MacArthur for checking Oilers forward Liam Reddox headfirst into the boards. Thankfully Reddox was able to leave the ice with some assistance and it looks like he will be OK. I would like to think that I am unbiased about such hits, but it is possible that I am not. I disagreed with slimy Edmonton coach Pat Quinn when he accused MacArthur of “knowing exactly what he was doing” on the play. Mild-mannered, curly-haired Clarke, who immediately after the hit put his hand on Reddox’s back in what I interpreted as a concerned/apologetic gesture? Lindy Ruff called it a “hockey play” with no intent to injure. It seemed to me that MacArthur got caught up in the momentum of the play and in a split-second leaned towards and fell onto Reddox. I did not think that he deserved a suspension, and he ultimately did not receive one from the league. However, I am troubled by thoughts of how I would feel had the players been at opposite ends of that hit. On one TSN replay angle it looks like MacArthur pushes Reddox, and it is quite possible I am letting my Sabres fan perception of MacArthur as an unassuming, all-around good guy cloud my judgment on this one.

Calgary at Sabres Game 11/13/09: I selected this game in my ticket draft because it was a Friday night and it was the Flames (probably in that order. Hey, a girl can’t be ALL business.) Neither factor disappointed. This was a feisty, hard fought game and a big win for the Sabres. They came out in the first period and set the tone,  out-hitting and out-shooting the Flames and looking AMAZING in doing so. The Flames are a good, tough team and the Sabres matched them for most of the night. One notable exception was the second period, the majority of which the Sabres spent short-handed. Halfway through that period I wondered aloud to fellow ticket peeps Jane and Andy whether the fans would give the derisive mock-cheer when the Sabres eventually got their first shot of the second–which they ultimately did. The Sabres MAY have deserved it since by that time the period was almost over, but personally I just don’t feel right about mock-cheers from “fans”.

That moment aside, it was a fun game to be at the Arena for–a couple of fights, lots of scraps and scrums in front of the net and a dramatic shootout. At the end of overtime I turned to Jane and Andy and said, “I am not really fond of the shootout.” It was as if the hockey gods heard me, because this one turned out to be riveting. (I can now influence the tone of shootouts too!) As usual everyone was standing for the entire shootout, but last night the fans seemed to be particularly focused on the outcome of each shooter. The roar of the crowd when Miller stopped Jarome Iginla’s shootout attempt was as loud as for any goal.

I also had the opportunity to speak to some delightful Flames fans who were in attendance. (and there were a LOT of Flames fans at this game.) I very much enjoy speaking to opposing fans at Sabres games because 1.)  I like to get their perspectives on their team, my team, the Arena and my fellow fans and 2.) I like to create good mojo for myself for when I am at Sabres road games. These particular Calgary fans were very pleased with how reasonably priced their tickets to the game were, especially compared to their seats for the following night’s Leafs/Flames game, and to Flames home games. They said that hockey tickets in Calgary are very expensive because the team is wildly popular, which is another reason I love Canada. They love their hockey.

Sabresbucks card update: Those of you following along at home will be happy to know that Friday night when I had Account Services check the balance on my Sabresbucks card the money that I suspected the Sabres had stolen mysteriously lost had been returned to the card and I was able to purchase at least one Jessica drink with it.

The Corner of History and Possibility

Aside from being a snappy Sabres blogger and sassy hockey mama (and all around humble person), I do have a real job. One that, you know, pays for the hockey tickets and the jeans. I am employed at a local institution of higher learning where, among other things, I coordinate a course for freshmen on service-learning in the city of Buffalo. Recently I attended a conference sponsored by the Western New York Service-Learning Coalition and I spent a morning learning about and touring Buffalo ReUse.

Buffalo ReUse is a non-profit green demolition company established in 2006 in response to the city of Buffalo’s long-term plan to demolish thousands of abandoned homes within its borders.  As part of its mission the organization salvages reusable or recyclable items– cabinets, windows, molding, floorboards, doors–from a home before it is demolished and then sells them in their ReSource store on Northampton Street.

This store is SUPER cool. (Let’s be clear, I am no tool-happy, fixer-upper kind of girl. I HATE Home Depot. Just walking into that huge warehouse, with its sterile rows of pallets loaded with improvements I have no interest in making sends me into fits of underachieving malaise.) But the ReSource store is a beautiful intersection of history and possibility. Throughout the space there are bins of old doorknobs, in numerous sizes, shapes and materials, stacks of elegant French doors made from rich, heavy woods, and intricate light fixtures hanging from the rafters. The North Buffalo house I grew up in was built in the early 1900s, and my current home is over 80 years old, so I am naturally drawn to the charm and vitality of older homes.  The ReSource store combines the richness of the past with a very modern commitment to the environment.  Perhaps just as importantly, Buffalo ReUse also advocates for the surrounding neighborhood by establishing and maintaining community gardens, conducting free home repair workshops and running job training programs and a tool lending library.

As I walked through the neighborhood surrounding the store, my eyes gravitated towards the older homes with their cool, quirky features–an arched stained glass window above the front door, a second-story turret, a Victorian wrap-around porch. Each of these homes bore a garish yellow or red spray-painted square, indicating that it was slated for eventual demolition. Sprinkled amongst these houses were many-too many-vacant lots and, even more jarring, newly built homes that were notable only for their sameness and lack of character. These are the cookie cutter, suburban-style houses that the city has chosen to build in replacement of the abandoned, yet  magnificent, homes that were lost to demolition.

This tour, much like a similar one I took in May of the city’s Fruit Belt, brought home to me that right now Buffalo itself is at a critical crossroads of history and possibility.  An intersection that is also unfortunately fraught with its share of competing interests and dissension on how best to optimize the city’s rich history and harness its abundant possibility. Organizations like Buffalo ReUse give me great hope that the city will be provided with the tools to do just that.

NOTE: I have been wanting to post this for a few weeks, but have been a bit back-blogged. As it turns out, three days ago ABC’s Extreme Makeover: Home Edition selected a home on Buffalo’s West Side for an upcoming episode. Buffalo ReUse green demolished the home in 15 hours yesterday and work on the new  home is underway as I type.

The Five Plagues of Running

After a dismal Sabres weekend of back-to-back losses, I am thinking that today would be a PERFECT time to focus this blog on running, most definitely without the stupidhead Sabres.

I cannot really talk about running without mentioning my friend and 2009 running partner, Karyn. After all, it is pretty much HER FAULT that I ran the Buffalo Half-Marathon in May, because it was her insane idea. (I mean, thanks for being an inspiration Karyn!) And when I started this blog, she tossed out some lame-ass suggestion that I train for the 2010 full marathon because it would be cool for me to write about my training journey. I know! She’s CRAZY. When she spouted that ridiculousness on a run I just faked a leg cramp and pretended I didn’t hear her. I mean Karyn should know better than anyone that I have a VERY specific optimal weekly running amount, which is just enough to fit into my favorite jeans and NEVER so much that any unsightly blistering or blackened toenails (ewww) sully my feet. If that ends up being about 12-15 miles per week, and results in no marathons for this girl, then so be it.

Recently, on a lovely fall day, Karyn and I had what I called a “Biblical Run” on UB’s North Campus. Not because I had any delusions epiphanies about running a marathon, but because of the “Five Plagues”  we encountered along our route:  I narrowly avoided stepping on a live snake, a dead rodent, numerous grasshoppers and caterpillars in varying states of aliveness, and several wild turkeys. (OK, I didn’t almost STEP on the turkeys, but they were giving us very sketchy looks. I made sure Karyn was in-between myself and their wildness.)

My for real “Five Plagues” of running might be:

1. Kids or dogs who dash out unexpectedly in front of you
2. Wind and Rain
3. Eating/Drinking too much or too little before a run
4. Random cars honking at you (actually, I kind of like when that happens to me!)
5. Very Bad Runs (VBRs)

This weekend, on an unseasonably warm November day, Karyn and I had a VBR in Delaware Park. To the non runner, I should explain that Very Bad Runs, in technical terms, suck. Big time. You want to stop running after your very first step. Your legs hurt, you get cramps, you can’t breathe, you feel as if your feet are dragging through sludge.  But if you are lucky enough to have a good running friend with you, she will NOT let you stop. Usually that is because the odds of you both having a simultaneous VBR are low, so she can drag and cajole your pathetic ass to the finish.

Unfortunately that was not the case this weekend. Karyn and I BOTH had VBR-itis. I knew that even hinting to Karyn that we might want to pause for a teeny tiny moment would have meant the end of our run.  In fact, after we finished our 5 miles she confessed that at one point she considered pretending that her laces needed retying, just to give us a “legit” excuse to take a break. Little minx. (I am no sports psychologist, so I am not going to even pretend I know why VBRs happen, or even how to ensure a GOOD run. To me, good runs are much like good hair days:  whenever they happen, you try to retrace your steps and recall the exact combination of things you did to achieve them, but it remains an elusive science.)

Thankfully Karyn and I finished this VBR without stopping. It wasn’t always pretty, and it involved plenty of counting down of light posts and positive self-talk  about jeans and chocolate martinis, but we did it.