Thursday, February 4, 2010

Afternoon Drinking, a Time for Thinking

At any moment now, Ilya Kovalchuk will be on his way out of Atlanta. This, we are told by any number of reporters or Web sites, is a done deal. When the bags are loaded on the plane, his shift is over, another love story gone sour as Kovalchuk joins Dany Heatley on the Out of Town scoreboard.

Weren't you two the future of the Atlanta Thrashers? Yes we were, son. Now go put a quarter in the jukebox and punch up that number by Danny O'Keefe. This deal's gonna go down like that shot of Maker's Mark you sneaked from your dad's drawer when you were 13. You will not forget this burn.



Listen, in the big picture, we are all free agents. In good days and bad, the company tells you to build your retirement portfolio. When hard times hit, don't worry, the bosses will be covered. The real question to ponder -- and it sounds a lot like those stupid credit card commericals: What's in your wallet?

Do whatever you love, but make sure you get paid. That's the rule.

Kovalchuk wants to be paid, and all he needs is someone to say yes to his figure. That will happen. No question. The working man understands that. But he also wonders about the old days. Black and white film days. Dad has a full head of hair, you are working on your first full set of teeth and your young mom's last nerve hasn't even surfaced yet.

Families stayed together. Teams stayed together. Neighborhoods frayed, but they did not come apart.



The Goo Goo Dolls supplied "Better Days" to go with that Buffalo Sabres playoff promo video. The house band for the house travel team. Buffalo's sons supporting the men who carry their flag.

But that team is gone. Danny Briere. Chris Drury. Brian Campbell. Good team you're building there. And they're gone. Bigger paychecks. Better days... elsewhere.



In the afternoons, working men question values, the future of their team, and all bosses and team owners. The neighborhood bar around these parts, when you are not in the Lounge, is Port 41, where a working man's thoughts have to fight their way through a hard forecheck of a jukebox set on JACKHAMMER LOUD. (The first three reviews capture the spirit of the joint.)

Port 41 is where you toss the shots back with your weaker hand; you keep your stronger one balled up and ready to throw. Kovalchuk, Heatley and players with their skill sets are toasted in finer establishments elsewhere.

Pests, tough guys and the legend of Bob Probert, everyman's hero, are remembered fondly in this precinct. It's Hell's Kitchen. Little Joey and Brian Mullen grew up around here, a few blocks down by MSG 3.0. Raise the glass and cue up Warren Zevon. Again.




Maybe the boys who kept punching the jukebox buttons for Los Bravos know, deep down, that their team will return to glory. Maybe, but that is for another day. Not this day, another one of professional disappointment. The working men and the Thrashers' fans can only feel the pressure. That certain sinking feeling is getting stronger.

Hey, Ilya. You want to stay a little longer?

Fellas, it's been good to know ya.

1 comment:

  1. you are killing it on here! great work by you.
    best,
    fredeeky

    ReplyDelete