2017-18 Blues Game Number Nine: A Hockey Journey

When you saw a list of the St. Louis Blues contests for the 2017-18 season. It was just the ninth game listed. An away affair in a new city in the middle of the desert. There was a quick air of excitement that continued to gather steam in many Facebook fan groups. This would be a chance to see the Note in a place where it had never been before, Las Vegas. To me, however, it was so much more than just game number nine on the schedule. It was a chance for me to allow my fandom to shine. An opportunity to put faces to screen names. It was a chance to become the “Hawaii Blues Fan.” Game number nine was my nirvana.

Making Plans

We formed a small plan when the schedule came out in June. Three Blues fans were going to get to attend a once-in-a-lifetime event. After attending high school together over 30 years ago. Earl Smith would attend his first game; Marica Powell, a season ticket holder who has bled blue with the faithful in the Scottrade Center (Now Enterprise Center) for years; and myself, a lifelong fan who has not lived in the great metropolis of St. Louis since 1987. Game Number Nine was going to bring us all together. We set the plan in motion. A small group chat had begun and the excitement among the three began to build. Each made a pact that this was going to be the game.

In order to achieve this goal, I needed to convince my wife to allow me to travel to what is known as the Ninth Island by the habitants of this small state in the middle of the Pacific. There were a few bills and other commitments that were far more important than three or four days under the bright neon lights of Las Vegas. It took three and a half months of working two to three jobs to earn enough in order to make this more than just some game. After delivering pizzas five days a week and adding each tip to the kitty, I watched the total rise towards the goal. Each mile driven was one step closer to seeing the boys in blue suit up. Every pizza box was one step closer to meeting old friends and making new connections. The excitement continued to build.

The Message

With each passing day, game number nine loomed. With less than a month to go, I set everything. The hotel stay was booked. Airfare paid for. Single-season tickets were going on sale soon. The blue blood running through this body was pumping. Tickets opened one row behind the visitor’s penalty box. Nine seats all together in a box just off of center ice. What could be more perfect? What could go wrong?

The Facebook group message hit us like a double overtime slapshot from the Blueline. “Guy and Earl our niece Christina Attwood has had a second bout of leukemia and we will not be able to attend.” It read. Marica and her husband were both classmates of Earl and mine, and the miracle of the Internet had allowed us to reconnect and bond over the great sport of Hockey. Hearing that her family would have to undergo this unthinkable horror was hard to digest. The dream of game number nine started disappearing with those few words. Our hearts were heavy, and the excitement dwindled. “Do we still go?” We quietly asked ourselves. “By all means, yes,” she states. While some of the luster had vanished, we made new plans. Earl will see his first hockey and Blues game, and I will see my third game in three years.

The Sea Calling

Why have I only seen three games in the last three years? Fair question. The year was 1987, and I somehow managed to graduate from the Cleveland NJROTC. During the middle of my senior year, just months before my 18^th birthday, I convinced my parents to allow me to join the Navy. I had fumbled through school and knew higher education was not for me. I would learn a trade and after a few years, I could return home. Giving little thought to my love of St. Louis sports at the time.

Thirty years later, after passing 12 years at sea including 3 years out of Norfolk, my first deployment to the Mediterranean Sea, The Gulf War, 3 Years in Japan, and getting married. Becoming an instructor in Great Lakes, Illinois (seeing the first time the Blues played at United Center and reenlisting on the upper deck of Wrigley Field before a Cardinals-Cubs Game). Becoming a father twice, going back to Japan for 6 more years, 9/11, enduring freedom, and many other operations. Then finally being sent to the shipyard at historic Pearl Harbor.

The next thing I knew, my 20 years of service have come and gone. We had considered moving to the west coast until I received a job offer to stay in Hawaii, where we had spent the last 14 years. My head was spinning just a little, but my love for all things St. Louis was ingrained so much deeper than if I would have never left the Bi-State area.

More than Game Nine

There is a famous saying amongst sailors, “You can take the sailor out of the Navy, but you can never take the Navy out of the sailor.” I embody this saying to a tee. But for me, we can also adjust it to state ‘You can take the boy out of St. Louis, but you can’t take St Louis out of the Boy.” Yes, I embody this saying as well. So much so that I ordered frozen pizzas and toasted ravioli to be delivered from St. Louis to Hawaii from the beloved Imos’ during the second round of the playoffs in 2017 against the Nashville Predators. This shipping cost was higher than the total food cost. This St. Louis boy was ready to see the Note up close and personal.

On the schedule, it was just Game Number Nine. It took over three months to get there, but when the season started and the games were mere weeks away, we all knew that this was the right decision to make. All the hard work and planning would pay off when we would get in our seats and see the throngs of diehard blue bleeders lining the streets of Sin City. It may have just been game number nine, but to the thousands that made the trip, and the group that helped birth the Hawaii Blues Fan, it was a game of a lifetime.

Christina would succumb to leukemia on December 28th, 2017. surrounded by her family. Two and a half months after we attended this powerful event.

Guy Bensing

BlueNote Fan Report