Clattertron

[dc]D[/dc]ad is a fan of the saying, “It’s the journey, not the destination.” He said this to me several times on New Year’s Day as we attended the 2014 NHL Winter Classic at the Big House in Ann Arbor. Our journey, especially my own to and from Ann Arbor, was full of thrills, chills, and misadventures.

And, it was a hell of a time.

“Hi Dad. I’m in a Ditch.”

Dad and I agreed to meet at Briarwood Mall in Ann Arbor and grab a shuttle to the Big House. I drove from Lansing, Dad rode with a couple of friends from Detroit. The roads weren’t too bad heading from Lansing. But, a quarter-inch of snow might as well be a foot in my case. I hate driving in the snow.

The only thing worse than driving in the snow? Spinning out into ditch along the road. Which happened. To me. Yes.

I moved from the left lane to the right, and felt my car start to spin. Slide. CRUNCH. In a ditch. Lucky as I am, I did not hit anyone or anything, and both my car and I were injury free. I was just in a ditch, facing the wrong way on the road.

I called Dad. “Hi, I’m in a ditch.”

 Have Frisbee, Will Shovel

I told Dad I would try to work myself out (and said the same to a couple of drivers who stopped to see if I was OK). A Frisbee in my trunk made for an improvised snow shovel. I dug my wheels out. Then, after a bunch of back and forth, got my car out of the ditch—but I was still facing the wrong way.

Moving with the grace of a bathtub on wheels, I made perhaps the longest and slowest U-turn ever. Free of the ditch, I continued on to Ann Arbor. Rattled. Sweaty. Cold.

Everywhere a Line

The shuttle system from Briarwood Mall to the Big House was an absolute joke. I don’t know if the NHL set up the Winter Classic shuttles or someone else, but mismanaged doesn’t even begin to describe what I saw. Signage or staff telling people where to go was non-existent. I walked around the mall asking people, and we all went on second, third, or fourth-hand information. I ended up in a line for 15 minutes before I found it I needed wrist bands to even be in that line.

I found another line outside of the mall, which I heard led to the shuttle wristbands. A few minutes later, again, no. Someone pointed to a third line. This was around 11:30 AM. The game started at 1 PM. No sooner had I approached the third line, when a staff person said to folks towards the middle: “If you are here or just getting in line—walk to the stadium. They won’t have enough wristbands for you by the time you get through.”

Instead of taking the shuttle bus, myself, and many more Winter Classic attendees walked the two miles to the stadium.

Two Miles or Three Kilometers, Whichever is Shorter

I finally met up with Dad and his friends and shared the bad news (they hit traffic on the way). “Are you serious?” Dad asked.

“Yeah, they told us to walk.”
“Well, shit.”
“Yep.”

We joined a long, long line of fellow Winter Classic ticket holders and made the two-mile trek to the stadium. The distance didn’t bother me, but the path there was pretty dangerous: icy sidewalks, slippery snow-covered hills, needing to cross busy roads, and such. It wasn’t quite Hoth, but it wasn’t an easy stroll either.

We made it to the stadium about fifteen minutes before the event started.

 “Sit down!”

Our seats were nice and offered us great sight lines for the game. Seeing 100 thousand hockey fans all around me, in the snow, is a visual I will never forget. The only snag: the seats were bleachers and not physical chairs (we each got a souvenir seat cushion though). This meant a lot of guess-work about where people’s seats were and zero personal space. It was tight.

Then there was the near-fight in front of us over people standing up to watch the game.

In a perfect world, yes, everyone would sit down and enjoy the game. That didn’t happen, which didn’t bother me, but it sure as hell bothered the folks in front. They yelled and bullied the guys standing in front of them to sit down, instead of standing up themselves.

It’s a domino effect. The first row stands, then the next, and so on. I was happy to stand, but I only wanted to stand if the guys in front of me did, and they weren’t. Snowballs and tense words sailed back and forth, until the sitters gave up.

Then there was Loud Comments Guy.

 “Do Something, Ya Bum!”

Let’s back up. Normally, the Big House does not sell alcohol (it is a college arena). A dry Winter Classic would be a huge failure, so the state passed a special law essentially granting the Big House a one-day liquor license. This, I’m sure, led to some of the hilarity I saw, especially Loud Comments Guy.

Loud Comments Guy sat a few rows behind us, but he might as well been in my ear. He yelled at every player, on both teams, regardless of what was happening on the ice. His phrases of choice were “Ya bum” and those starting with F and ending with “-‘in.” I’m pretty sure he was the same person yelling “take off yer f—in’ toques!” during the Canadian national anthem.

“Kessel, ya bum! Do something with the puck for a change, ya bum!” or “Hit somebody for a change, ya bum!” or “Kadri, ya bum! Go back to the f—in’ minors!”

The Red Wings were targets as well: “Datsyuk, ya bum! Ya look like a f—in’ alien!” and “DeKeyser! Ya f—in’ bum! What kinda name is that?! It’s a terrible name!”

This continued for most of the game. It was like sitting near a live-action hockey blog comments section.

Avoid the Bathrooms

I made one trip to the bathroom at the Big House. One. Madness. Long lines, guys going in through the exit door and messing up the traffic flow. I heard later it was even worse—lines didn’t move. Frustrated people got out of line and returned to their seats. Again, remember: the Big House doesn’t normally sell beer. I can only imagine how the beer sales affected the bathroom lines.¹

I didn’t drink at the game, and I’m glad I didn’t. Not only were the bathroom lines crazy, but I saw several beers turn to slush due to the cold and the snow. Granted, when it comes to Coors Light, I doubt it makes much of a difference.

The Game

The Winter Classic itself made for fun viewing. Watching the players do their best to navigate the snow and the cold added a whole other layer to the game. I would not be surprised if the fan breakdown of Winter Classic attendees was more in favor of the Maple Leafs (it felt like 60/40 to me at times). Our tickets were technically in the Maple Leafs ‘section,’ but there were other Red Wings fans around us (hey, tickets are tickets). I didn’t wear a jersey, not to play it safe, but because I considered buying a Red Wings jersey at the game–but, because of the shuttle fiasco, I didn’t have time.

I don’t think it would have mattered had I been in full Red Wings gear–everyone was in good spirits, aside from some gentle casual teasing.

Even though I don’t care for the shoot-out, I’m glad the game went on as long as it did. We got to see as much hockey as possible. The best part, however, was at the end of the game. The players lined up at center ice and shook hands, and Dad got to his feet.

“They’re shaking hands!” he said with rare excitement in his voice.² “I can take that off my bucket list!”

“Whatcha mean?” I asked.

“I always wanted to see a handshake at center ice. Always. Now I have!”

That moment made all the stress before, and after, the game worthwhile.

Escape From the Winter Classic

Dad and I braced ourselves for the two-mile hike back to the mall. The movement and exercise were welcome, because I was super-cold after sitting/standing for over three hours. However, I was not ready for the sight of thousands of Winter Classic attendees walking in a column down a road upon exiting the Big House.

Y’know those shots of large armies in movies like Lord of the Rings? The mass of fans walking down the road looked like that, but with a layer of red and blue clothing and fewer orcs. I felt sorry for the buses and other cars locked in a sea of hockey fans.

(Almost) Out of Gas

Dad met up with his friends and headed for Detroit. I planned to hang out at the mall for a bit and let traffic die down. Planned, yes. Executed, no. It was New Year’s Day after all, so the shops closed at 6:00 PM. The building itself was still open, but none of the stores (that I could see) were. I tried getting dinner at a take-out Chinese restaurant, but they ran out of food. Then, I managed to order take-out at a pizza place, and ate the pizza in the mall’s seating area as other Winter Classic attendees snoozed in nearby chairs. It reminded me of an airport.

I waited a good couple of hours before even thinking of leaving. There was one problem: I forgot to top off my gas tank before leaving Lansing. I was nearly on fumes by the time I hit Ann Arbor, and worried waiting in line to exit the mall would eat up my gas. I found a nearby gas station (thanks Google Maps app) and hiked through the snow. I bought a gas can and went to fill the damn thing up, but it had a weird nozzle contraption I couldn’t figure out–keep in mind, I was stressed out, nervous, exhausted, and cold. So I walked back with an empty gas can. (It was a Midwest Can one gallon deal, and the Amazon reviews show my situation is commonplace).

I panicked a bit. I called Stephanie, and she talked me into looking for a hotel. None of the hotels walking distance from the mall had any vacancies. Duh. I rolled the dice, and made it to the same gas station without going empty (the line actually moved faster than I thought).

I made it to a pump, but, the pump didn’t work. Hilarious. It was dark, snowing, and I was ready to pull a Falling Down. I just wanted to go home. I manged to get to a working gas pump eventually, albeit on the wrong side of my car. Perhaps thanks to my having a small car, the gas hose reached my tank. Thank Batman.

I was on the road at least, about three hours or so after the Winter Classic ended. But, I hate driving in snowstorms at night. Can’t stand it. At that point though, I was ready to suck it up and make the 60+ mile trek back to Lansing. I just wanted to go home.

Then I drove past a few spin outs and cars in ditches on the freeway.

About ten miles West of Ann Arbor, I found a hotel and called it a night. I couldn’t take it any more. I made a few quick phone calls to Stephanie and my parents while I still had phone battery left. My phone charger was back in Lansing. Eep.

Take It Slow

My staying the night in Ann Arbor meant I had to call in to work and use personal time. Better than a snow-blind drive at night though. I waited until after rush hour and got on the road. I almost nearly didn’t, because one of my windshield wiper blades popped off in the parking lot. I just about lost it there. Really. I just wanted to get home in one piece.

The wiper blade wasn’t broken. Lucky me. I fixed the blade and began my 60 mile drive back to Lansing. My average speed? About 35 MPH. I think I moved out of the right lane twice during the drive. I drove slow and kept my eyes on the road.

Home At Last

Upon reaching my parking lot, I got out of the car and kissed the ground. Really, I did. Remember that scene in The Blues Brothers when their car falls apart after the big chase scene? I knew how that car felt at the moment.

[video link, Buy The Blues Brothers on Amazon]

An Experience For the Ages

While making the phone rounds of letting people know I was still alive, Mom asked: “So, was the game worth all the hassle?” Yes. The Winter Classic was worth all the hassle. It was an amazing experience, despite all the stress and frustration.

Although, if I had to do it all over again, I would pay someone to drive me to Ann Arbor.

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Affiliate Plug: 2014 NHL Winter Classic Items on Amazon

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¹  I’m not saying University of Michigan football game attendees are 100% sober by any means. Tailgating exists for a reason, as do these secret flasks.

² Dad and I aren’t always overt when it comes to emotion. Ask our wives.