(Hockey) Life is a Carnival

Yesterday, the Flyers celebrated 30 years of their Fight for Lives Carnival, with the usual multi-media barrage on television and radio that brought the sights and sounds of the annual event to fans at home or otherwise busied.

The anniversary apparently brought together the largest gathering of current and former players than any previous year's event - and since the club recently celebrated a flashback night to the 1980's, I think I'll do the same.

My first Carnival experience came in February, 1985. It was shortly after my first game experience, an 8-2 Flyers thrashing of the Penguins in a President's Day matinee at the Spectrum. Being so young (7 years old, first-grader) I barely had any concept of Flyers history beyond what occurred since the previous October, but when my dad came home from the office one day and told me he had tickets, I was pretty psyched to go somewhere special on a weeknight.

I remember how cavernous the Spectrum looked without 17,222 fans jamming every seat, and the floor where the ice surface was being so huge withouth the boards. The rafters looked a million miles away from ice-level, compared to the fact that you could pick out the spots on a pigeon hanging from the rafters in our seats (Section 54) during a game. The concourses were packed with people - fathers and sons, fathers and daughters, young girls and their friends - all trying to get a glimpse of their favorite players in the smaller booths. On the arena floor, things moved much more smoothly because of the space, and no matter where you stood - the dunk tank, the wheels of chance, the goal area, or in the middle where a stack of boxes 10-feet high were positioned - there was enough room and time to breathe in the atmosphere.

That is, until a large, booming voice from above cut through all the joyful buzz.

That stack of boxes, ten-feet high? Someone had to go up the ladder and pick one at random for the endless wave of youngsters eager to gain some new Flyers merchandise. That someone, I later found out, was Joe Watson, former defenseman and original Flyer. At the time, he was a stocky but spry middle-aged man, but that voice was like a rolling peal of thunder to a small fry like myself. When each kid came up to get one of those mystery boxes, someone on the floor yelled up to Joe on the ladder, and he'd grab one, come down, and fire off a bellowing but jovial "Here you go, son/little cutie. Enjoy it." It was almost like an order than a gesture of thanks, because he'd be going up and down those steps hundreds of times over the course of the night.

The two main attractions, and the things I wanted to do the most, were the dunk tank and shooting on a Flyers goaltender. Apparently, so did everyone else. But, since the line to the dunk tank was moving a lot quicker than the shooting gallery, it was an easy choice. I think the wait was about 20 minutes, during which time the players changed up twice. By the time it was my turn, Lindsay Carson (in the middle of a career-best 20 goal season) was the man on the hot (cold?) seat. For three throws, you had to shell out three bucks, and hit the round target 20 feet away for the player to sink into the drink. I knew how to throw a ball as I was a fielding pitcher in a T-ball league the year before, but how fast can a grade-schooler throw really? So, the first chance sailed wide of the target. The second try hit just above, and the third one just below as my arm turned to a wet noodle.

I never even tried to get in line for the shot on a goaltender after my turn at the tank - and besides, by the time I was done there, Bob Froese the back-up goaltender was on the spot. Even though the team was in second place and Bob had played well, nobody was chanting his name night-in and night-out from the upper levels. For me, it was Pelle or nothing - and that would be a sad epitaph for thousands of fans soon enough though nobody would know it then.

So, it was back to the concourse to try and get a handshake, a picture, or a signature from the better known and more popular players on the team. This was the truly magic portion of the night, the thing I'd been waiting for - the chance for a one-on-one with the guys I watched and cheered for on Channel 6 and 29 and the radio network through Gene Hart's wonderful wordplay. I recall Brad Marsh's face light up each and every time a new person came up and exchanged a few words, and how he'd pause to coo over babies wrapped head-to-toe in Flyers garb. Dave Poulin, the captain, greeting all comers and measuring each sentence with a smile and chuckle. Brad McCrimmon, flashing that gap-toothed devilish grin. Peter Zezel, Rick Tocchet and Murray Craven all looking overjoyed and overwhelmed simultaneously at their sudden popularity (particularly amongst the teenage girls).

The coup-de-grace came on our last run of the night down on the floor through the spinning wheels and other games of chance. I don't remember how it happened - whether he just spotted some cute kid or if my parents had just requested that someone free take some time out to meet me - but the chance was there for a picture. Derrick Smith, another one of the fresh young faces on the team in 1984-85, agreed to a snapshot before heading off to his duties for the rest of the night. Thinking it was going to be another pose picture like the ones in the photo booths, I was totally surprised when Number 24 picked me up so we were eye-to-eye for the shot.

The result is priceless: me, with my arm draped around his shoulders all wide-eyed innocence, him with a goofy, bewildered 19-year-old half-smile. Who knows if anybody else did the same thing then, or in other years? The bond I had with the team and the sport was cemented. Years later, after another family move, I dug out the picture and have kept it for myself as a reminder. Maybe one day, after a few beers on the golf course, I'll have enough courage to ask him for another photo opportunity to bring things full-circle.

Which brings me to the media coverage of the event in 2007: On both Comcast Sportsnet and 610 WIP, the Carnival appeared nothing more than a chance for all the corporate sponsors to get face/airtime, for the broadcasters to try and pump the players for information about their trade-deadline worries, and for the radio and TV talent to look like they were involved when all they had to do was stand in front of a camera and tell everyone at home what they were missing.

Once upon a time, not too long ago, television coverage of the Carnival showcased the players more, showcased how excited the parents and the kids were to meet their heroes, and went around to every station for personal interviews with Flyers front office, staff, and former players. You got a real sense of the civic responsibility for helping out Hahnemann University Hospital, and an even truer sense of how much fun everyone had to pause from the season and give back to the fans and community. Instead, things began to turn about three years ago, and this year, as the Flyers are nearing the end of their worst season in franchise history, media coverage was so shot through with corporate shills, merchandising, and pleas about the team's bright future that even a dead man could see through the ruse.