Dirty old river
Must you keep rolling
flowing into the night?
–Ray Davies
Here in the sultry Times Union Center. Here’s where I made my first big drive on a road trip, paying my own freight and bringing Jerry Higgins of the Register along, the night before Easter, 1998.
I always come here with mixed feelings. It’s not simple to get here; that drive up Route 8 (or up the Turnpike and the Thruway, today) isn’t all that great. It’s almost always 100 degrees up here. You have to hope you don’t catch yourself on the plywood table they have set up for us.
But the folks here are great, staff, off-ice guys, everyone. Some of my best friends on the beat work here. And hey, it’s the capital of my home state.
The lordly Hudson rolls seaward from here to pass the borough where I was born. My parents uprooted us and plopped us next to another (less dirty) old river, the Housatonic. After adapting, as little kids do, my best friends became another Mike and a Matt.* We lost track of each other, Mike and I in high school, Matt and I after college. But this funky Internet thing brought us back in touch.
They’re working in jobs they love. (I think. Like, at least.) They’re married to lovely, bright women.** One of the perks this year has been landing in just the right place to catch up with both of them.
I met Mike and his wife for a late lunch Nov. 1 in Binghamton and later traded jokey e-mails about Jack Hillen’s “game-winner.”
And today, I got to meet Matt’s little boy for the first time, two and a half months old. (The little guy smiled and giggled when he first saw me, then got a littleagitated. It’s the reaction most people have.) To first hold the son of a guy I’ve known for almost 30 years, I imagine the only thing better will be one day (God willing) holding my nieces or nephews, and (God willing even more, ’cause there’s a necessary component missing right now) holding one of my own.
We’re growing up, or at least growing older. It’s comforting to see how happy they seem to have turned out. Gives me a little hope, anyway. We’re all wondering about this economy, which is messing with our industries in different ways, though I’m sure we’ll all find our way, somehow, however it forces us to adapt.
What does this have to do with hockey? Virtually nothing. What does this have to do with anything? No promises. Was just on my mind today, chugging up the Thruway, listening to the Kinks, heading to the site of my first big road trip.
Anyway, no changes for Bridgeport from last night, except in goal. Continuing to rest the defensemen, said Capuano. Jamie’s cousin wears the stripes. Albany has 11 forwards and seven defensemen; the centermen and left defensemen kept cycling through, so the lines changed each rush, but here’s their first runs.
LINEUPS
BRIDGEPORT
F: McLean-Colliton (A)-Iggulden
Bentivoglio-Walter-Joensuu
Sixsmith-Marcinko-Haley
Pitton-Haskins-Morency
D: Fraser-Wotton (C)
Lee-MacDonald
Hillen-Skinner
G: Lawson
(Mannino)
ALBANY
F: Ryan-Petruzalek-Tifu
Blanchard-Helminen (A)-Samson
Angelidis (A)-Dodge-Weston
Herauf/Reed
D: Borer-Carson
Rodney-Conboy (C)
Melichar-Paiement
/Flood
G: Manzato
(Peters)
R: R.Fraser. L: Briggs, F.Murphy.
*-Mike has a brother named Matt. Matt has a brother named Mike. You know my little brother. Freakish.
**-The cynic would say I’m married to my job. I’d like to think they’re wrong.