When that fluky Alfie wrist shot beat Ryan Miller the Bank Street bar I was in erupted. High fives were given and received. Chants of "Alfie, Alfie, Alfie" went up at high decibles. Toasts were made. Somewhere, no doubt, babies were named. Finally, the Sens are going to the Stanley Cup final. (Later that night on Elgin Street, the newly minted "Sens mile" because every Canadian city where a franchise reaches the final now needs a street where people can act like idiots with impunity, I heard some people singing O Canada, which seemed weird and out of place, but somehow endearing in the capital. Also, the guy leading the sing-a-long was pretty hammered.)
It took fifteen years and many tough periods - from the early years of near-record futility, to bankruptcy (anyone remember that?), to creating one of the enviable franchises in the NHL only to watch playoff failure after playoff failure - to finally reach the cusp of winning it all. There will be no easy road to the Cup despite the way Sens are playing right now. The Western opponent will be formidable. But today, after slaying the demons of Roberts, Brodeur, and Buffalo (ironically the three biggest tormentors after Toronto) it feels like the big one is within reach. I'll savour this for a day or two and wait for Game #1 of the final. I'll also enjoy my brand new Alfredsson #11 jersey, which I promised myself I'd buy if the Sens ever reached the final. Look for pictures of it from Prague after I find a bar carrying the game starting at 1 a.m. Shouldn't be too hard.
Go Sens Go!
