Francois Lacasse / NHLI

The third period was more than half way through, and the Habs had just tied the game at three against their detested rivals, the Boston Bruins. The crowd around me were on their feet and sounding their satisfaction towards the home team’s strong play during the second half of the game. “The season might be in the dumps,” one fan told me, “but at least we ain’t gonna lose to the Bruins.”

“The Habs have finally begun to play with the intensity needed to compete with one of the league’s top teams it would seem,” I begin to reply, before being momentarily distracted by the glass in front of me vibrating dangerously. I looked up, only to meet the gaze of Canadiens player Alexei Emelin, whose face was crushed against the protective glass two feet in front of me. Behind him, a fierce Shawn Thornton skates off, leaving behind both Emelin and me, dazed. 

In Montreal, few things are prized and flaunted more than managing to acquire tickets for a Canadiens game. Considering all the obstacles one must face throughout the acquisition process, whether it be the countless scalpers who mysteriously land thousands of tickets every season (when you can’t even get one), the incredibly dysfunctional virtual waiting room, or the fact that tickets sales start at the counterintuitive hour of 10 a.m. and not noon, it really is a herculean feat worthy of immeasurable praise by hoping-to-get-invited friends and family when you manage to nab four tickets to a game. 

One can thus imagine my stupefaction when, in an act of immeasurable generosity, a friend offered my girlfriend and I two tickets to the Habs-Bruins game. In the second row on centre ice, no less. Forgoing the usual Kleenex box to counter the nosebleeds I get from my usual seats, we marched down to our row past the aristocrats of the Bell Centre and claimed our seats next to the tunnel leading to the visiting team’s locker room. As I looked around, I found myself face-to-face with my own reflection. Little did I realize that it was not a mirror I was looking at but the perfectly shaved and waxed head of Pierre McGuire, legendary hockey commentator notorious for his ridiculous comments and disrespect for personal space. The one person I had hoped to avoid by attending the game was standing right next to me, spewing nonsensical hockey information for any person willing to listen.

Fortunately, my night was saved when Tuukka Rask, the Bruins backup goaltender, appeared with a stool and sat in the tunnel right next to McGuire (and myself) to watch the game. Not only was I in awe of being so close to the Finnish sensation, but I was also able to laugh at the drunken ravings of some Habs fan two rows behind me trying to heckle Rask—”Eh Tuuuuuuukka, why you no look at me Tuukka? Why you no show me some love Tuuuukka?” Alongside the Bruins win, that man was definitely the highlight of the night.

Many would expect such expensive seats to be surrounded with disinterested businessmen looking to make a strong impression on foreign clients. Fortunately, the Bell Centre isn’t the Air Canada Center, and throughout the game I was treated to much yelling, jeering, cheering, and of course, 23,273 boos whenever the refs called a penalty against the Habs. People in the reds are just as loud and obnoxious as the poor students in the Molson Ex Zone. 

The difference is that, once in a while, those fortunate enough to sit so close to the ice get the opportunity to stare at one of their favorite players in the eyes as he gets drilled into the boards. If not, then one can hope to have one of their raucous comments slip onto NBC’s national broadcast over Pierre McGuire’s  ravings. 

— Christopher Nardi