The Long March of March

It wouldn't quite be a game against the Stockton Thunder without someone throwing a punch within the first five seconds and the start of the Grizzlies homestand against them three weeks ago wasn't about to break with tradition.   The question that presented itself as Goliath and I stood there ready to photograph, waiting for the starting lineup to emerge was, really, just who?   Who would take on the role of ambassador?

At the time of the March 9th game the Grizzlies were reeling from the loss of their second captain, Simon Ferguson, to a five game suspension for the incident with Chaz Johnson, as well as their enforcer, Riley Emmerson, who after a one game suspension was called up for a brief stint in the AHL.   As luck would have it, however, the Grizzlies did have the recent acquisition of a super tall bundle of Canadian fists also known as Ryley (he spells his name differently) who was up to the task of greeting the Thunder to the Maverick Center in the true Grizzly fashion.

Ryley Grantham (Grizzlies) welcomes the Stockton Thunder's Gimblett to the Maverick Center.

Isn't that a completely wonderful coincidence?  It only reaffirmed my belief in the magical acquisition fairy.  Goliath says I am far too old to believe in such things, but how can you deny their existence when things like Maxime Tanguay occur...or Brendan Milnamow? (I also am required to acknowledge the existence of the evil wizard "Waiver" of Claim who has since taken my most beloved Max from me and returned him to Toledo...over which I cried.)  And now we've the proof with there being two super tall bundle of fists known as Riley/Ryley playing for the same team. Or even better...the other Ryley joining the team and chipping in right when original Riley is gone?

This has made Goliath very happy even though he doesn't believe in magical acquisition fairies because he is a fan of anything named Riley or Ryley that protects our team.   He was especially pleased to see the very same Ryley score what would amount to the only goal that night for the Utah Grizzlies.

The thing about that Wednesday, which after several long weeks later is the thing I remember most, is that it was a storybook Stockton-Utah showdown, with a shower of gloves occurring every few minutes or so.  An interview conducted later by Adrian Denny with Brock Wilson's visiting grandfather "Wink" Wilson, had "Wink" warn that Brock was not afraid to show up if the Thunder antagonized him.   This was certainly true as we saw Brock Wilson drop them not long after Ryley did.

Brock Wilson fights Stockton's Garet Hunt likely over an earlier episode of boarding.

A couple of cross-checks, hooks, tripping, and unsportsmanlike conducts later, the Grizzlies found themselves no longer in a hockey game but in a complete mess as the Thunder piled on a few more goals.   Those tough and always hard-working competitors, frothing and fuming over the state of things, Marcus Carroll and Chris Donovan would also drop the gloves for the cause in the third period, but as they both disappeared into the penalty box I caught Maxime Tanguay skate away, head bowed, a resigned look etched into the lines of his face.

He was not pleased, that much was clear, and from what I knew of him I suspected it wasn't just the impending loss he was unhappy with...it seemed like the violence of the entire game upset him as well.  Max has always seemed the sort to enjoy a clean straight game, and if I'm being honest...frequently appeared to have no desire to play a physical (rough) game if he could help it.   The unhappiness I saw in him that night concerned me greatly.   Did he see the brutality of this level of hockey and realize it wasn't him?  Maybe it was none of those things.  I cannot and do not know.   But I still saw that Maxime Tanguay was deeply troubled and I was very worried to see it.

Maxime Tanguay shakes his head as things fall apart.

Friday night, however, things began to look up.  There...on the ice during warm-ups was a very missed player wearing the green sweater, smiling his serene zen-like smile, eyes clear and observant, stance square and ready.

Brett Parnham returns to the Utah ice after weeks on Injured Reserve.

And then Ryley Grantham and Jesse Gimblett dropped the gloves....again....seconds into the game.

Ryley Grantham (Grizzlies) and Jesse Gimblett (Thunder) reprise their roles from Wednesday in the Friday Night Game. Here Ryley pulls Gimblett clean off of his feet before throwing him down onto the ice. 

This time, Stockton's Gimblett would get a sound thrashing that would set the momentum up in favour of the Grizzlies for the rest of the night.   Despite a continuation of numerous penalties and fighting (Oh let's see....we had: fighting, fighting, misconduct, roughing, fighting, fighting, interference, unsportsmanlike conduct, instigating, fighting, roughing, boarding, roughing, roughing, leaving the crease, more unsportsmanlike conduct, cross-checking, slashing, too-many-men, roughing, yet more unsportsmanlike conduct, roughing, even more unsportsmanlike conduct, misconduct, high-sticking, and some last second roughing)...

(Stockton's Garet Hunt was a frequent nuisance...the sort that you love to hate...but wish he was playing on your team. During the weekend he would go after Matt Clarke and give Brian Kilburg a black eye.)

the Utah Grizzlies would see some pretty spectacular talent emerge and reemerge.  There was namely the return of former Utah Grizzly Shea Guthrie and the arrival of Paul McIlveen who showed up in a chariot of fire (off of a suspension) and proceeded to show us he was absolutely worth the wait.

Paul McIlveen of the Utah Grizzlies immediately gets to work upon arrival.

Paul would score the first goal of Friday night all by his lonesome and make an assist in the second one for the Utah Grizzlies in a powerplay with scorer Kevin Deeth and defenseman Matt Clarke.  And then, adding to the sudden wave of happy was the offensive line of Hugo Carpentier, Maxime Tanguay (without captain Simon Ferguson) and the increasingly consistent Tom May charging down the ice in the second period and laying siege to Stockton's net.

Behold another sexy and very effective offensive line.

It was a goal I thought at first to be Max's, but was announced as Tom May's...even so, I was pleased and satisfied to witness the return of the Maxime Tanguay "you should have expected that" expression being made to the crowd as he always does whenever he scores or assists.   It is the tiniest glimmer of ego, and it becomes him.  (And if he had done that more often the Grizzly crowd would have seen what I had always seen...a complete and utter badass.)   As Hugo, Max, and Tom crashed into one another in a giant bear hug against the glass just inches from me, I lowered the camera and shared the moment with them.  It was one of those goals I will always remember because it made me thump my chest and crow like a twelve year old boy and dance around and blow kisses like a twelve year old girl. 

Matt Clarke would wrap up the game on his own in the very last second of the final period.  It was a fantastic night.  A game that had me dancing around an IHOP at midnight, still high off of the victory, thrilled that Max-was-back, that Paul McIlveen-the-New-Dude was a badass, that Kevin Deeth was, as ever, Kevin Deeth, that Matt Clarke added sprinkles to our cake by scoring a goal at the very end of the game.  Who wouldn't dance around an IHOP after a night like that?

And then Saturday came around.

Anyone who reads Goliath's blog knows already that they destroyed us with six goals to our one.  The boys were so exhausted. You could see it.  They were on the verge of collapsing onto the ice. Undermanned, outperformed, they simply did not have the energy or will to play the game. The single bright spot the entire night was Maxime Tanguay scoring the only goal for the Utah Grizzlies for his mother who visited us all the way from Québec and who I was very fortunate to meet and talk with the next day.

Ah, yes...that next day.  It is probably one of the games I will remember best the whole of my life.

The events of Sunday, March 13th, truly begin, however, with Saturday night, just hours before, as Goliath and I sat outside the corporate offices and said goodnight as each man walked out of the locker room and out the glass doors into the night.   Brian Kilburg's left eye was encircled with a large purple and black bruise, his right cheek cut open from Garet Hunt's fists.  Brock Wilson's every step suggested he might fall over, curl into a ball on the concrete floor and sleep.  He brushed past, a slight nod made in our direction. Ryley Grantham showed me his fingers taped together.  Tom May collapsed into his girlfriend's arms.   Giffen Nyren and Matt Clarke ducked out, quiet and disappointed.   Matt Sorteberg arrived, his eyes cloudy and distant, looking like he had something important to say but unable to say it.  I wrapped my arms around his recovering midsection and expressed my hope to see him on the ice again.  "If I wake up without a headache in the morning, we'll see, huh?" he replied.  Kevin Deeth came to see us and after introducing us to Shea Guthrie explained the team's weariness.  "There's so few of us. We're all just tired and everyone is hurt," he lamented and yet even as Kevin described the mutual suffering of himself and his team, there was a familiar crackle of fire in his eye. I saw it. I recognized it.  And still I did not expect to see what I was about to see.

There at warm-ups was Matt Sorteberg in a green sweater and in skates on the ice.

I take it, Matt, you did not wake up with a headache? I am so very very glad to see you on the ice again.

He wouldn't play that day, but he was there and he would be on the bench with the team, and that was enough for me.

As warm-ups continued, I raised my eyebrows as a few members of the team began instigating things with the Stockton Thunder.

It "begins before it even begins"...or does it?

I, like the Stockton Thunder, began to wonder if this meant we were in for another Wednesday or Friday or Saturday...a string of fights and penalties...a series of smack talk, glaring, and posturing as I was witnessing now.  And then...the Grizzlies did something I have never seen happen before with the Stockton Thunder.   They played patient and clean and controlled.   The Thunder were bewildered.  As Chris Donovan came to the net assisted by Milnamow and Grantham, cheers rang through the crowd.  The Grizzlies had shown a spark of life despite being the most shorthanded and hurt and exhausted as they have ever been.  They weren't staying quiet and not fighting because they had given up...they were staying quiet and not fighting because they came to the ice to win.

Stockton Goalie Brian Pitton was not ready for a focused group of fiercely competitive Grizzlies.

Two minutes later, Brett Parnham showed he wasn't giving up either as Kevin Deeth and Hugo Carpentier worked together to land the second consecutive goal of the evening.

Kevin Deeth rejoices after assisting the second goal of the night.

In addition to the boys demonstrating the kind of control that would make them not just ECHL players, but future stars of the higher leagues,  Tyler Sims showed us again just what he could do.  He's a damn good goalie and a worthy backup of the great Andrew Engelage.   The crowd was electrified....and then the lights went out.  Not literally. Not yet.  But the boys' exhaustion began to catch up with them.  Hugo Carpentier did not return for the third period and the Stockton Thunder had begun to catch onto the little trick the Grizzlies had played on them.  Realizing we had not come to fight, they changed their own strategy accordingly...taking advantage of ten young men with only the briefest of rests to rehydrate themselves and talk.   They tied the game and as they did I lowered my camera, turned to Goliath and said, "They are so tired.  They are so hurt. Look at them.  I don't think they can hold on like this."  I glanced back out through the glass. Brock Wilson's chest was heaving with great gulps of air, his expression weary...almost dead as he skated by.  I shook my head and turned away.  I didn't want to see them hurt like this.

And then the lights went out.  Literally.

The teams skated to the benches.  Ours collapsed in a great big heap...some of them not even making it to the bench, they just sat right down on the ice, breathing hard, waiting...almost with a fearful look in their eye, for the lights to come back on.  For several long minutes the lights did not come back on.  The boys began to breathe a little easier now...looking about in a sort of startled wonder as though they were standing in a desert and rain had begun to fall on their heads...I half expected them to raise their heads, open their mouths, and try to catch raindrops on their tongues.  When the lights came back on, the boys found their last reserve of strength...they pushed back...they pushed Stockton all the way into overtime.   And then....in overtime, with the entire Sunday crowd at their feet, Brett Parnham and his ridiculously amazing passes kept the hopes of the team and their fans alive...and when the lines shifted and Giff Nyren aided by two fiercely competitive teammates in Kevin Deeth and Paul McIlveen drove home the game-winning goal the entire crowd, small though it was, erupted. And so did Giff; he leapt wildly into the air, into the boards and glass, and was embraced by his team with all the enthusiasm as if they had won the greatest prize already.

I didn't take this shot just as I had never taken the shot when Matt Sorteberg was hit.  Because just like last time, there were tears rimming my eyes.  This team which had been so close to death had done the impossible.  They'd won a game with only ten men and every single one of them hurt.  They'd won against their rivals.  They'd won against a team that had hooked them and slashed them and punched them and beaten them into the ice (granted we had often done the same).  And they'd won their way into the play-offs.  More importantly, they'd won the hearts of every person in that crowd.    And they'd won back their team...closer now than they'd been in a long time.

Brian Kilburg skates by...bruised but smiling.

The thunderous applause still rippling through the arena, Giffen Nyren skated towards Marcus Carroll...the two of them leaping into the air and high-fiving one another with grins almost as wide as mine.

Giffen Nyren and Marcus Carroll celebrate the game winning goal.

Giff turned around and launched the game-winning puck into the crowds at the South of the building...and then he swung to the north and sent his hockey stick into the crowds there.  Still bounding and dancing and rejoicing.  And the crowd cheered with him.

Even though there were things that would sadden me...like learning only later that this particular photograph represented Maxime Tanguay's last face-off in the Maverick Center playing with the Utah Grizzlies (he would be waived and claimed by the Toledo Walleye a week later).

I still look back at that particular game as being among the greatest I have ever seen.  It came at a time when so many of us...players and fans alike needed inspiration....needed to win...and they showed us we can with a little bit of luck, patience, and a whole lot of grit.