Next plane to London (would have arrived faster)

Here’s Ridiculous St. John’s Story No. 2. After arriving home, I threw… down this idea for a sidebar. See, Game 5 was supposed to be Friday night at Mile One, and then the teams would fly home after that. Then Bridgeport swept, finishing it Wednesday night. The question was, could we get the charter home Thursday instead of Friday?

Excitingly, I was still feeling the after-effects of whatever had hit me; I was weak, I was sore, and just in case I had to get on a plane, I was deathly afraid of eating anything. (A rare moment in my life, you can no doubt tell.) So except for a 15-minute excursion to pick up souvenirs for the folks, I basically spent the day in the room, with crackers and soda, waiting for the phone to ring.

It did, eventually, first to say we were definitely getting out Thursday, and then to say we wouldn’t leave until 10. But eventually, we were off — on, seriously, a converted school bus — to St. John’s International Airport. And I kept some notes.

When I wrote them up, I had second thoughts, and I sent it to a trusted friend and asked what she thought. And, yeah, at least she was polite about it.

But what’s a blog for, if not awful travel stories, poorly relayed? I didn’t even know what a blog was in 2002, but if this existed then, you know it’d have been there. With some light editing six years later, here it is — if you click on…

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A charter flight sounds pretty easy, doesn’t it? Sometimes yes, and sometimes no. The Bridgeport Sound Tigers traveled to and from Newfoundland on an Air Canada charter last week for their playoff series against the St. John’s Maple Leafs, but after finishing the series two days early with a sweep, it wasn’t all smooth flying coming home late Thursday into early Friday.

The team couldn’t get out of St. John’s until after midnight local time and didn’t even know that for sure until early afternoon Thursday. A quick timeline:

(Some times approximate. To maintain consistency, all times Eastern. Remember, though, we’re coming from Newfoundland, which is 90 minutes later.)

7:01 p.m. — The night begins in St. John’s with the unofficial national anthem: the instrumental Hockey Night in Canada theme.

7:50-7:59 p.m. — Don Cherry invokes both the 1991-92 and 1995-95 New York Rangers in one “Coach’s Corner” on Hockey Night in Canada. Ottawa leads Toronto 3-0 after one as last-minute packing or dinners get finished.

8:45 p.m. — The last player hops on the bus outside the hotel. We’re off. Word is Hamilton leads Hartford 2-1 after one.

9:10 p.m. — Sudden realization hits that, unlike Hartford-to-St. John’s when they took the bus right onto the tarmac, on this leg we have to go through full airport security. That includes check-in, security and boarding passes.

9:15 p.m. — Waiting in the check-in line, I realize I’ve picked up just a touch of the local accent and inflection. Given my Irish blood, it probably would’ve been an upset not to. I regret not pulling the trigger on the $50 purchase and springing for the Newfoundland English dictionary.

9:17 p.m. — I tell team broadcaster Rich Bocchini the story of my messed-up sophomore-year accent, when I, a Connecticut-raised Bronx native living in Manhattan, roomed with an Irish-Catholic Texan with Pittsburgh roots, an Indian from Jersey, and guys from Boston and Philadelphia who both had Long-Island Jewish families. I didn’t know what any letter was supposed to sound like anymore.

9:20 p.m. — Rick DiPietro is among those randomly chosen to have their bags checked. Word is DiPietro has been hit each time the team has flown this year.

9:23 p.m. — A group of kids hits up DiPietro, who’s FAA-compliant, for autographs.

9:24 p.m. — The same group of kids hits up equipment manager Vinny Ferraiuolo for autographs.

9:30 p.m. — The team begins working its way through security, which has about a 20-minute wait even at the late hour.

10:10 p.m. — The marauding kids corner Stephen Valiquette in the waiting area and ask if any other players are around. Some are back in the restaurant, Valiquette tells them. Look for guys who look like that, he says, pointing to Raffi Torres, big guys wearing black coats. Asks one of the kids: “Do they all have afros?”

10:15 p.m. — The fruit juices at the airport snack bar look surprisingly enticing. Cautionary tale: Don’t spend all your leftover Canadian cash paying down your hotel bill, no matter how sure you are you’re just getting on a plane.

10:30 p.m. — “How are you?” Ken Sutton asks, out of the blue. “Um, not bad,” I reply as he starts talking some more, “how about yooooooooo-ohhhh.” He’s got one of them newfangled earpieces for his cell phone. Never mind.

10:40 p.m. — The charter flight is called for boarding, but the call is almost immediately rescinded. We sit back down.

10:43 p.m. — Word filters around that Hamilton has defeated Hartford 5-2, winning the series 4-1. The Bulldogs are next. There’s no obvious outcry to indicate that anyone’s particularly happy or upset.

10:50 p.m. — Called again for real, the team heads through the gate, down the stairs and across the tarmac to the plane. It’s much less crowded than it was going to the Rock, because they’ve left the St. John’s Maple Leafs here.

11 p.m. — Air Canada Jazz Flight 7044 begins to move. The flight crew informs the passengers that flying time from St. John’s to Hartford tonight is about 3 hours, 40 minutes, due to the bad weather in the northeast. That stuns several passengers. DiPietro, in his best flight-attendant voice, then tells whatever passengers may be listening that this flight from St. John’s to Hartford will be making a brief stop in Hong Kong.

11:05 a.m. — The plane takes off smoothly from runway 29.

11:07 a.m. — Feeling that we’re high enough that looking away from the window will not immediately force engine failure, I look around the cabin and suddenly realize that this may be one of those teams I talk about for years to come. This team really, maybe, just might do it. I almost have to shake it off, until Valiquette’s telling the Torres afro story shakes it off for me.

11:30 p.m. — What sounds like a loud explosion from Branislav Mezei’s DVD player, near the front of the plane, rings through the cabin. Those in the rear likely wonder if we’re going down. One player across the aisle and well behind him asks him to turn it up.

12:50 a.m. — The descent we’re feeling, it’s announced, is because we’re landing in Halifax. The strong headwinds turned out to be too strong, so we’re refueling. There is not much rejoicing.

1:08 a.m. — A reporter could swear the plane is coming in way too fast. The reporter reminds himself his flight experience is on Flight Simulator, and he can’t land a plane on that, either.

1:13 a.m. — Team broadcaster Rich Bocchini leans forward. He says that coach Steve Stirling has said landing in Halifax is always bumpy. On cue, the plane’s wings take turns bouncing.

1:15 a.m. — Air Canada Jazz Flight 7044 lands smoothly in Halifax, Nova Scotia. Although the door never opens, I claim arrival and have now been in four Canadian provinces to go with 24 U.S. states.

1:35 a.m. — Refueled, we pull back and take off again. It feels like 3 a.m., which doesn’t make anyone happier. Estimated flying time to Hartford: 1 hour, 40 minutes.

1:45 a.m. — Most of those who weren’t asleep when we took off are now.

3:29 a.m. — The nose of the plane seems awfully low as we approach Bradley. The reporter reminds himself about Flight Simulator.

3:30 a.m. — We touch ground on an international runway in Windsor Locks.

3:40 a.m. — We hurry across the tarmac to the building, where we wait again — for Immigration and Customs. There’s one person for each.

4 a.m. — Something in Konstantin Kalmikov’s papers disturbs the woman in Immigration. When it’s obviously not easily resolved, he’s asked to step to the side. Looking sheepish, he does.

4:20 a.m. — Poor Kalmikov returns to the desk as the woman runs back several times for phone calls and printouts.

4:25 a.m. — A lone player whistles a bar from the Hockey Night in Canada theme, mimicking a CBC promo. As in the promo, another guy whistles the next bar, and several pick up the next line. This seems extremely funny, a sure sign it’s way too late.

4:40 a.m. — Satisfied that Kalmikov is a threat to none of truth, justice or the American way, Immigration sends the team on its way.

5:47 a.m. — Sunrise over Milford.

5:55 a.m. — The bus arrives back in Bridgeport. With a strong easterly light, the Park City never looked so beautiful. Or maybe it’s just that I’ve never been there this early.

5:58 a.m. — I get around the Arena at Harbor Yard to where I’ve parked for the week, near the team office, behind the centerfield fence of the Ballpark at Harbor Yard. Bocchini and I joked before we left that we’d come home with no rear windows or tail lights. Sitting right between our cars, about 10 feet behind: an official Atlantic League baseball. Fortunately, no window damage.

6 a.m. — Finishing off the morning in fine shape, the gate out of the Garage at Harbor Yard won’t open for a line of players.

6:25 a.m. — I fall through the door as my brother is about to leave for work.

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Oh, by the way? Figuring out how to cancel that Canadian ISP was one of the most complicated things I’ve ever done.

Michael Fornabaio