One by one they fell.  The Predators, the Canucks, the Sharks.  For Chicago Blackhawks fans, it began to feel like destiny.  Finally, after 49 years, this would be The Year to solidify the rebirth of hockey in Chicago.  This was about to be Chicago’s Moment.

Standing in their way:  The Philadelphia Flyers.  In a most improbable playoff run, highlighted by a remarkable comeback against the Boston Bruins (the Flyers won the series despite being down 3 games to none and 3-0 in the 7th game in Boston), the Flyers had the kind of run going that was, for different reasons, every bit as compelling as the Blackhawks.  Philly fans also were thinking that this was their Moment.

And then in sudden death overtime of Game Six at the Wachovia Center in south Philadelphia, Patrick Kane ended it in a way that seemed almost fitting for an organization and a city waiting 49 years for a championship. 

The hockey gods, sense of humor firmly intact, said to Blackhawks fans around the world, ”you’ll need to wait just a moment longer please.”

Patrick Kane’s shot, coming from the right of Flyers goalie Michael Leighton, fooled the players on the ice, the referee, the goal judge, the fans in the building, the fans watching on television, the radio announcers and NBC’s unrivaled play-by-play man, Mike Emrick. 

The one person who knew it was over:  Patrick Kane.  And indeed, the shot was in the net and Chicago breathed a sigh of relief followed quickly by boundless joy. 

For the first time since 1961, the Chicago Blackhawks were Stanley Cup Champions.

As a native of Chicago, my teams growing up were the White Sox, Bears, Bulls and Blackhawks.  Now, as an adult in my early 50′s, nothing has changed.  And of the four, it was always the Blackhawks that rose above the rest as my favorite.  That, too, remains unchanged.

The second it was clear the Hawks had won, my thoughts went directly to the many nights as a kid I would listen to the games on radio with my dad.  The great Hawks broadcaster Lloyd Pettit would have us hanging on every shift up ice as we waited for Pettit’s classic “…a shot…….and a GOAL!” 

Bobby Hull, Stan Mikita and Tony Esposito, those were my heroes.  And the place they called home, Chicago Stadium, had no peer.  The original Madhouse on Madison didn’t have the banners of the Montreal Forum.  Nor did it receive the worldwide attention of Madison Square Garden.  But there’s never been an indoor arena that shredded decibel meters the way the old Barn did.

The building shook with even the slightest roar on a great hit by a Hawks player.  And when the Hawks scored a goal, the deafening noise bordered on painful.

All of that and so much more came flooding back into my mind as tears rolled down my cheeks watching the Hawks players celebrating their 4-3 Cup-clinching win on the Flyers’ ice.

There was one final image that found its way into my thinking on that glorious evening.  I returned to live in Chicago in 1990.  For five years, I had the opportunity to see a number of games against the Hawks’ longtime rival from the Original Six, the Detroit Red Wings.  With the Wings’ colors red and white, and the Blackhawks’ colors red and black, the arena was always a sea of red.  The only problem was that sea of red belonged to the thousands of Detroit fans that filled the United Center.  They had no problem whatsoever getting tickets since the Hawks’ team and franchise had become just this side of a laughingstock. 

They are a joke no longer.  The rebirth of hockey in Chicago is complete.  And the dominant jersey in the building is the one that’s red… and black.

photo credit: life is good (pete)