Allez, Allez, Allez, Allez (or Go Habs Go)

Archived MySpace blog
Current mood: jubilant
Category: Sports

In Montreal, after home wins, the whole crown sings that as a song. "Allez, allez, allez, allez! Allez! Allez!" It just means "go", but anyway. Last night, it was sung at Madison Square garden... only by me, and the fellow Canadiens fan who happened to have the seat next to us... but it was sung.

But perhaps it is best to start a story at the beginning (unless, of course, you're Quinton Tarantino).

3:05, Stuck in traffic. Should have picked up Jennilynne 10 minutes ago, train leaves in 15.

3:22, On the train. Bar Car. Yay!

5:30, Madison Avenue. "I think I want to get jeans. can we stop on the way?" "OK" "Oh, you have the tickets, right?"

Fuck!!! Utter shock. "They never got put in the bag, did they?" OK, will-call window should help us.

6:15, Will-call window. After a hectic sprint of jeans shopping, and new top to boot, and changing in the dressing room, we've made it to the Garden. Neat place. "We need check your bag." "Sure, just my flag, couple jerseys, change of clothes, my friend's bra..." "Go ahead." yes, of course the bra is on top. Isn't that always the way. I mean, I guess. I don't usually travel with a bra in my bag, but if I did... Anyway, at the will-call window. Short explanation. Wait for them to re-print the tickets. "Go habs!" yelled to one of the 8 people who, like myself, dare wear their Montreal jerseys into the Garden.

6:45, Re-printed bogus (?) tickets at Tower A. Guy scans ticket at the gate. Jenni pushes through the turnstile. Turnstile locks. Guy re-scans ticket. Big mistake. Tickets are scanned nowadays so the barcode cannot be copied. First ticket received with said barcode, good. Second, bogus. Dim-bulb scanned the ticket twice, invalidating our freshly printed tickets. "Go to Line 2 for validation."

6:58, Tower D. The guy in line 2 initials the back of our tickets, and sends us back to the gate. The guy at the gate says, the only one who can let us past the turnstyle is the Lobby Mangager, and asks "Who signed these?" "The guy at Line 2... the guy you just sent us to." Find the Lobby Manager. "Who signed these?" "The guy at Line 2... the guy the guy at the gate just sent us to." Back to line 2. "Valid. I just told them that." Back to the gate, Lobby Manager in tow. Wait, wrong gate? How was I supposed to know. "No, I've never been to the Garden before." Gesture to opposing team's jersey on my chest. "Who's that, Chicago?" Oh Lord. You'd think, but no. "Oh, I don't know anything about hockey. You'd think working here, but no." OK, whatever. Welcome to the gate at Tower D. Where we should have been all along. Where our tickets would have probably scanned correctly if the Gatekeeper bothered to look at them before he double-scanned them. Up the escalator. "Go Habs." to the 4th fan, who happens to be in the section next to us.

See Jennilynne's Blog for the game itself. She was nice enough to copy someone's highlights, and I don't feel the need to rub it in.

10:25, Broadway. I hesitate to say they were sore losers, but the pushing and shoving to get out of MSG was a bit ridiculous. We just want to get out, smoke a cigarette, and head for the train (or a bar, depending on how we coincide with the train schedule). Shoving... like you wouldn't believe. Jennilynne, the good sport that she is, is now wearing my spare Montreal jersey over her Rangers one. Not part of the bet, but a fun gesture. I'm holding the back of her jersey like the mother of a small child during the Christmas shopping rush, so we don't get separated. "What's going on over there?" Pushing and shoving left to receive our 'on-the-way-out' freebies of miniature Stanley Cups. Cool. Much better than the blue "thank You" mini-banners we got on the way in. I quipped to one fellow Habs fan, thinking they were 6" tote-bags, "If the game gets bad, we can always puke in them." Out on the street, humid and sweaty, behind a subway entrance become a changing station so we can lose our sweaty jerseys, and I of course have to break out the hair wax and comb rather than having hat-head for the rest of the night. Continuing uptown, looking newly fabulous. "W". Its a bar, "trendier than we are". We continue. "What time is... where's my phone?!?" No chance. I probably lost it in the pushing and the shoving. The last time I knew i had it was between the first and second periods. In essence, I effectively traded it for that mini- Stanley Cup. Not the best trade in the world. But still an awesome trip.

Oh yeah, MTL 4, NYR 3, Final, Overtime.

"Allez, allez, allez, allez! Allez! Allez!"