Hawks vs Sharks

A long long time ago, last Thursday evening, Eric, my brother Andrew, and our friends Ted, Nonoko and Luke all went down to The Tank in San Jose to watch the Chicago Blackhawks take on the San Jose Sharks. They are expected to face each other for some level of playoff or championship something later this season so it was expected to be a big game. We were pumped. Andrew, loyal Chicago fan that he is, wore his jersey and savored the abuse that came with doing so.

Andrew and the handful of other Chicago fans in attendance were the only ones standing and clapping when the Hawks scored three goals in the first six minutes of the game. It looked like it might be a total rout, similar to the 7-0 (or maybe 7-1?) thrashing the Hawks gave the Sharks in another of their recent match-ups.

There was one particularly notable Chicago fan sitting in the row in front of us. He was reminiscent of one of those savant-like characters you see in movies and on the bus in San Francisco: too many layers of clothing, ipod in at all times and a little twitchy in the face. Mild mental illness? Who can say. In this case, our guy was kind of like a wind-up doll, yelling one of three phrases (and nothing else) every few minutes during the entire game: "Push it!", "Come on boys!" and "Chi-town muscle!".

By the end of the game, I'm pretty sure I heard the people sitting around him starting to yell "Push it!" and "Come on boys", but directed at the Sharks, of course. I guess it was kind of catchy.

The Sharks eventually managed to score and in fact tied it at three by the end of the game, sending us into overtime. (Andrew, having seen this coming, was well-prepared having bought an OT beer just in case.)

Not long into the five minute sudden death overtime, the Hawks' Brouwer managed to sneak one in and the Hawks took the game. This meant that Eric had to mail my father a check for $20, which he did with remarkable dignity.