June 14, 1994
Thirty-two years ago tonight.
So much of June 1994 has come flooding back to me this week as the Knicks battled to the title. As I've previously written, this was the happiest I ever saw my dad:
We were fans of the old-school New York sports teams—Yankees, Knicks, Football Giants, and Rangers. Dad had grown up in the city, and even though we lived way Upstate—easier to get to Montreal than Madison Square Garden—the rhythms of New York sports ran our lives. We listened to WFAN. Dad got the NY Post everyday at work. And we watched New York sports every night. As Dad would say, there are only two bad days a year: the day before and the day after the MLB All-Star game. Every other day, there’s a game on to watch.
And watch we did. Yankees in the summer. Giants in the Fall. Knicks and Rangers through the winter and into the spring. If none of them were playing, we’d suffer and watch the Mets/Jets/Nets/Islanders, mostly to laugh at them. Dad had no tolerance for the “new” New York teams, and was utterly contemptuous of their fans.
Dad loved the Rangers and so did I. But honestly, I liked college hockey better. It was more immediately in my life. My parents had met at Boston University—can’t think of a team my dad hated more than BC hockey—so he was naturally a huge Cawlidge Hawkey fan. And it was hard for us to get to an NHL game. But we lived close to both RPI and Union. So we went to a ton of college games growing up. RPI won the national title when I was 7. That’ll do it. My first sports hero was Adam Oates—yes, the Adam Oates who later coached the Capitals—who was the star of the ‘85 RPI team. And live hockey is the best; no other sport has such a TV/Live difference.
But the thing I really loved was watching my dad watch a hockey game. He was a mild-mannered person, except when it came to sports. And when it came to sports, he was actually still pretty reserved. Except when it came to hockey. Just a lovable lunatic. He could barely sit still in front of the TV, directing the players on the ice second by second, calling for line changes, harassing the referees, all while keeping up a running commentary that rivaled the announcers. It was impossible not to love. If only I had had a smartphone to take a video.
Once a year, Dad would take me up to Montreal for an NHL game. When I was really little, we would go when the Rangers were playing the Habs. That ended when I was 10. We were there and the Forum was rockin’ as usual. The Habs scored like two minutes into the first period and everyone was going bananas and Dad turned to me—remember, I’m 10—and said “I hate this fucking place. We’re not doing any more Rangers games here. No way.”
Now look, Dad didn’t hate the Forum. How could you? He just hated being a visiting fan there. After that, we’d just go once a year to a random game and root for the Habs. It was awesome.
I don’t think I ever saw Dad happier than on June 14, 1994. The day the Rangers won game 7—after blowing a 3 games to 1 lead during the previous week—to claim the Stanley Cup for the first time in his life. He just stood there, arms raised over his head in front of the TV. Dad was an extremely fortunate sports fan. He was 45 and had a collective 16 championships among his favorite major sports teams. But this had been the White Whale. Since 1940. And an absolutely grueling playoffs. Part of it was just a relief for him. “I hope,” he said, “we never have to live through another Game 5 and Game 6 like that again.”
He didn’t. Dad died just three years later. He got one more title—the Yankees in 1996—but never saw the Rangers come particularly close again.
I don't really miss my dad much anymore. But I do when a New York team wins a title. He's missed 4 Yankee world series titles, 2 Giants Super Bowl victories, and now the Knicks. It's amazing that after all these years, it still felt totally weird last night when the Knicks won and he wasn't there screaming at the television.