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December 3, 1980
My Uncle Jim had season tickets for the Winnipeg Jets. When I went to Winnipeg to visit my family, if the Jets were playing and someone hadn't already spoken for the seat, I got to go to watch a hockey game.
This particular night, I hoped to get some autographs to take home to my husband since his favourite team was visiting. However, by the time the big gold Chrysler made its' way through the city , then through the spacious but crammed parking lot we had missed the warm up skate, so my chances of that occuring were gone.
It was a very different evening out for me, sitting above the home goal in a balcony seat with an amazingly good view of the ice below and surrounded by avid hockey fans with their huge tumblers of beer, comments flying, cheering, stomping and a little bit of booing for bad reffing...Canadians don't boo much, we tend to respect authority even when we don't agree.
As I looked down at the ice, suddenly I realized that I knew that face so well! No helmet, number 77, New York Ranger Phil Esposito! I was stunned at being able to see his face so clearly, I hadn't realized before what a thrill it can be to see hockey in person instead of instant replays on T.V.
Now I was more determined than ever to get autographs, I knew chances were slim, I could be turned away and sent back to my seat at any step along the route, but I wouldn't know until I tried.
At the end of the first period when the teams had retired to their dressing rooms, I took my program book and made my way downstairs. Once on the main level, I looked around for a way to go down another floor. After a long walk I found a huge set of concrete stairs going to the concourse below. There seemed to be no one around, partly fearing I would be stopped but also afraid to go into uncharted (for me) territory, I kept walking as if I had a purpose, chin up, long coat gliding as I walked, until I encountered a bodyguard type. I asked him where the Ranger dressing room was and he gestured further to the left. Still a long way further I met another bodyguard and he seemed to accept my presence, walking me to the swinging silver double doors, he left. Heart in mouth, I knocked on the wooden door that was nestled in the green cinder block wall. Suddenly, Craig Patrick opened the door, from his expression it was obvious he didn't expect to see a woman on the other side.
"What do you want?" he demanded.
"I was wondering if you could pass around my book for some autographs for my husband" I replied.
"You should have come before the game" he retorted.
"I tried" I stammered " but we couldnt get here on time, I know you are planning strategy, my husband and I both play hockey" I said "but couldn't you just pass it around while you talk, please?"
I made a tiny square with my thumbs and forefingers, "I come from a teeny tiny town in Alberta and my husband is your biggest fan".
Taking the book, he told me to go stand outside the double doors.
After what seemed an eternity, he returned brushing off my thanks and handed me the book.
I was shaken by my agressive behaviour and I rushed the miles back to my seat, heart pounding in my chest,handed my uncle the book and collapsed into my seat.
I asked him to check to see if there were any autographs and he whistled, there were at least 13, including Phil Esposito's.
Uncle Jim seemed to be shocked and I asked him "did I do something wrong?"
All he could say was he just would have never had the nerve......
Although this happened 21 years ago, I can still remember looking straight into Barry Beck's eyes as he sat on the bench in the dressing room , I can still remember how excited and thrilled I was to have those autographs and if anyone had offered me $1000 for that $2 program the next day as I took cab, plane and bus back 800 miles, I would have told them "no way".
I couldn't wait to present my husband with this most unusual, thoughtful gift. And he loved it!
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