Trevor Linden, Part II
(Click here for Part I)
:: No crying in the press box ::
It was the roar that never stopped.
Four times, ceremony emcee John Shorthouse - a man who speaks for a living - tried to do just that, but was unable; each time he tried, the noise from the crowd swallowed him.
"We are...."
"We are fortunate tonight..."
Nobody listened. By the third attempt, it became something of a game - let's see how loud we can be when Shorty tries to say something. Eventually, the seasoned broadcaster just gave up, turned to the man of the hour, shrugged his shoulders, and said the only thing he could say that wouldn't be drowned out.
"Sorry Trev, I can't do it buddy..."
And then he let the crowd have its moment. Let them do what they came there to do.
Cheer.
And so they did, for as long as their lungs would allow.
Earlier in the ceremony, the proceedings seemed not to be only about No. 16, but also a tribute to the 1994 team that came within a Nathan Lafayette goal post of winning the Stanley Cup. Geoff Courtnall was there, and recieved a loud cheer, as did Kirk McLean, who famously made "The Save" off Robert Reichel in those playoffs' first round.
And Shorthouse introduced next, "Greg Adams! Greg Adams! Greg Adams!" imitating Jim Robson's famous call, when Adams sunk the Toronto Maple Leafs in the Western Conference finals.
The crowd cheered loudly for everyone, as the line blurred between player and team. At one point, you wondered if the No. 94 would be lifted up alongside 16 and 12. It was no slight to Trevor. In fact, it was somehow fitting. Nobody was about the Team more their their captain.
But after the '94 team members took their seats - including Gino Odjick, who had to buy a suit just to attend, he said - it became again about Trevor.
Eventually, he spoke.
He started by thanking the fans, insisting - as one would expect - that he was somehow unworthy of the honour being bestowed upon him. It was the fans he owed, not the other way around, he said. He thanked his many teammates, too, and management past and present.
And then, just moments before his banner was raised to the rafters, he spoke of how he wanted to be remembered. Remember this night, he said, and later on, when you come back to a game, and your brother or sister, or husband or wife, or son or daughter, asks you about the No. 16 banner that is hanging from the roof, tell them just one thing:
"Tell them he was guy who had the time of his life playing a game that he loved."
It was at this point I expected some type of reaction from the mugs in the press box alongside me. My section of the box was surprisingly empty, save for a few radio reporters and some Canuck staff members who snuck out of the in-game production office to catch a closer glimpse of history. The beat reporters who had followed Linden since Day 1 were at the other end of the rink, and maybe they got emotional, I don't know. But near me, it was fairly stoic.
Rule 1 is, after all, that there is no cheering in the pressbox. I've always stood by that rule, wherever I was. It was tough for me this time, though, because I'd only been on the Canucks' beat for three months, but had watched the team from my living room for 20 years.
I remember liking Trevor Linden as a youngster because I thought it was cool that his birthday was just one day after mine. I still recall standing in line at Safeway, just to get his autograph during some kind of promotional event. I was probably 10 years old at the time, and I wish I could remember that brief meeting in more detail, but I don't. I just know I was there, and that will have to be enough.
I remember the night my novice team played during the intermission of a Canucks/Buffalo Sabres game back at the Pacific Coliseum. I remember getting dressed in the largest dressing room I'd ever been in, and thinking that the Canucks must have been kings among men considering the luxurious surroundings they were afforded just to lace up their skates.
I remember, too, the night Trevor Linden put Jeff Norton through the glass; and I remember Game 6; and I can't forget, either, the day he left town, making himself a martyr and Messier the mosted hated man in town. To this day, he likely still is, and I'm on board with that.
And I also remember the day that Trevor Linden came back. It was in 2001, and I was still living at home. I came home late one night, it was about 1:30 in the morning. Before I went to bed, I plunked myself down on the couch to catch the late sports highlights. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I saw the sports ticker scroll across the bottom of the page: "Vancouver Canucks acquire Trevor Linden from the Washington Capitals for a 1st rd pick."
I leapt from the couch, and woke up everyone in the house to tell them the good news. I don't think my mom and dad were too pleased to be jarred awake, but I didn't care that it was 1 a.m. Some news can't wait.
Then I went back downstairs and switched from sports channel to sports channel until I heard the news a number of times from a number of people, just to make sure it was actually true.
So yes, last Wednesday, when Trevor Linden was given the highest honour he could ever be afforded by his team, I was still much more a fan than an impartial observer. And I won't apologize for that, either.
And then, as the banner slowly ascended to its rightful place, the crowd started again. There would be no stopping them. It was, and likely will remain, the loudest and longest standing ovation I've ever witnessed
But fan or not, I did not clap my hands or raise my voice. Still didn't think it would be appropriate. There is no cheering amongst the media, remember.
There are no tears in the press box, either.
Good thing it was dark.
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