JUNE 1994 PART 3

    I can't actually remember why or when we first went to this bar, but there was a place called Sessions
on 69th Street and 51st Avenue. It was a nice Irish bar, that never got too crowded. It didn't have a fancy
jukebox or a clientele that made me think I could get lucky (I was in a relationship so that wasn't on my
mind anyway) But the one thing that Sessions did have that interested me was a movie screen sized TV.
Perfect for watching hockey.
    That's where I decided to go on Tuesday night June 7 for Game 4 of the Stanley Cup Finals. If the
Rangers won, they'd take a commanding 3-1 series lead back to New York with a chance to clinch the
Cup on Thursday. Lose and it would become a best of 3 series.
    Ray met me at the bar (Karl was working) and the night got off to a rough start. The Canucks scored
the first 2 goals and took a 2-0 lead into the first intermission. If I didn't need a drink then, I would need
one halfway through the second period.
    After the Rangers scored to cut it to 2-1, Pavel Bure was coming in on a breakaway when Brian Leetch
pulled him down. Announcer Sam Rosen started screaming "Penalty shot! Penalty Shot!" Now I had all
the confidence in the world that Mike Richter could make the stop, but this was Bure, not your average
scorer. This MoFo could score, and make it look as easy as a Michael Jordan dunk.
    The time between when a ref calls a penalty shot and when the shot is actually taken is not long, about
a minute, by the time the requisite bitching by the opposing coach and the final instructions to the
shooter and goalie are given. But this seemed to last forever. I turned to Ray and said "The only good
thing about this is, if Richter makes this save, we'll win the game"
Ray's response? "YEP!"
    Bure came streaking down and tried to sneak it past Richter's right leg, but he was able to stick his
pad out at the last minute and knock it away. I could breathe again.
"I need a drink" I told Ray
"Me too"
 He was already on his way to the bar. Ray's not a big hockey fan by any stretch, but even he was
nervous about that. On the big screen, it was a thing of beauty.
    And our prediction came through. Sergei Zubov, Alexi Kovalev and Steve Larmer scored 3
unanswered goals to give the Rangers a 4-2 win, and a 3-1 series lead going back to New York. Ray had
split early, so I had a celebratory cocktail for myself and headed home.
    I worked the next night so I missed Game 1 of the NBA Finals in Houston, and I'm not going to lie, I
really didn't give a crap. They lost 85-78. I listened to some of the post game show on the way home, but
I was still flying high from the night before and anticipating the party I was going to have the next night
when the Rangers hoisted their first Stanley Cup in 54 years.
But first I had a wake to go to.
    The Pastor in my dad's church had passed away that weekend, and he was lying in state at the church.
On a hot, sticky night June 9th, we had to dress up and go pay our respects. Pastor Burlingame was a
nice enough man and always was good to me and my sisters despite out Catholicism. So I sucked it up
and went.
    The casket was up near the altar, so the five of us walked up. My dad was slightly ahead of my mom
and myself while my sisters were behind us. We got to the casket and paid our respects. Then my dad
turned around and we headed for the back.
    We walked past some people sitting in the pews, then past my grandmother and my Aunt Dot, who
were sitting near the back. My mom looked at me then looked at my dad who was still going. It was only
after he walked past the Pastor's family and onto the sidewalk of Woodhaven Blvd., did she finally say
"Don't you think we should stay for a bit?"
    My dad walked back in without saying a word, like he had been hoping nobody would notice that we
walked right in and then right back out. Hell, he had been waiting for this night a hell of alot longer than I
had. He was a die-hard, a season ticket holder for 12 years till he was priced out by the suits who run the
Garden. He took me to my first hockey game in 1980, and at least 3 a year after that. I had been to a
playoff game against the Flyers in 1986, and two against Montreal later that year, that were the most
exciting games I had ever been a part of. My only real regret of this whole thing was that I couldn't watch
the games with him. He's a strict nondrinker and was watching the games at our neighbors, the
Espositos.
    We went back in and talked to the Pastor's family, all of who were dressed in shorts and sneakers for
their dad's wake. Soon enough we were on our way home. I went home threw on a pair of shorts and my
Ranger jersey, met Karl and Ray at Sessions.
    The game had already started by the time I got there. "Where the hell were you?" Karl demanded,
though I had told him about the wake. Sessions was buzzing a bit, but we were definitely the ones
causing most of the buzz. It didn't hurt that we were a bit buzzed ourselves.
    But the good feelings would disappear. A few minutes into the game, we got hosed by the referee.
Twice in the same play.
    Esa Tikkanen took a shot that got by Kirk MacLean to give the Rangers a 1-0 lead, causing the 3 of us
to start chanting "we want the Cup" But the linesman ruled that Stephane Matteau was off-sides. To add
insult to injury, the ref tossed defensman Jeff Beukeboom, who was retaliating for a hit on Brain Leetch
by Canucks goon Sergio Memesso. I screamed bloody murder at the movie screen and was probably
lucky I didn't get tossed out. The Canucks scored once in the first and twice in the second to take a 3-0
lead.
    The only thing that kept me sane was that Karl had noticed that between periods, Al Trautwig was
talking to a guy named Emile "the Cat" Francis, and they'd put his name on the screen just like that. The
Cat had coached the Rangers to the 1972 Finals against Bobby Orr and the Boston Bruins. Bobby Orr
was the Wayne Gretzky of the early 70's and the Rangers didn't have a chance that year, despite the fact
that they had a fantastic team themselves.  Everytime they'd put Francis on, Karl would yell out "There's
the Cat! Gotta love the Cat"  I had to crack up every time he said that, despite the fact I was a wreck. I
thought tonight was going to be the night, but it looked like it was not to be.
Or maybe......
    The Rangers came out flying in the third. They scored a quick goal, then another a couple minutes
later. When Messier tied it up, I was besides myself in joy. "We want the Cup, We want the Cup, We want
the Cup, we want.....
Vancouver scores
What?
    Yes, on the ensuing face-off, the Canucks regained the lead. They scored twice more and won 6-3,
but it hardly mattered because I had drank myself silly and could care less. Karl and I sat in Sessions for
a while, then treated ourselves to some stripper watching at Nickels strip bar.
    I worked Friday night and missed the Knicks, wonder of wonders, winning Game 2 in Houston. Now I
was beginning to think they might be able to win as well. By winning one down there, they could sweep
the Rockets at the Garden and not have to worry about going back to Houston. The highs and lows of
the month were doing a number on my insides.
    Saturday night the Rangers had another shot to win the Cup, but this time it was in Vancouver, which
might as well been on Pluto. I watched the first period at McGarvey's, listened to the second period on
the radio and watched the rest of the game at Amy (The Stump) Peccorino's house in Whitestone. It
didn't matter where we were, the result was bad. The Rangers barely showed up and got their butts
kicked 4-1.
    Meanwhile, the a-hole Knicks had gotten down big to the Rockets, made a comeback, then lost by
four. Now even if they won the next 2 at the Garden, they'd have to win another one in Houston. Not
bloody likely.
    I was miserable the next 2 days. I tried to put on a happy face for the old ladies who came into
Baskin-Robbins on Monday afternoon June 13. But I was miserable. The Rangers should have put the
Canucks away on Thursday, now had to play a one game winner take all on Tuesday. Yes, it was at the
Garden, but it was an anything can happen one game. And the Knicks, why the hell couldn't Knicks win
Game 3? They hadn't won a Game 3 all through the playoffs, this one would surely bite them in the a$$.
    Through all my frustration that day at BR's I did manage to hear WPLJ's Rocky Allen report that OJ
Simpson's ex-wife had been found murdered outside her condo in LA. That was too bad, but what did I
care. The Rangers and Knicks were falling apart, and besides, it's not like OJ had anything to do with it
Right?

NEXT- PART 4 JUNE 14, 1994