Tension was high. Time winding down. Score tied 1-1. Ben’s bedroom, around Christmas time, 1966. Brother Nick home from college for a few days. He’s got the puck. A desperate twist of the wrist. He SCORES! And as he flies straight up in the air from his seat, the clock-radio buzzer goes off - GAME OVER! I scream in anguish. I’ve lost. And as Nick descends from his victory leap, he collides with the borrowed-from-downstairs-dining-room-chair and shatters it, total collapse under his 22-year-old body and slams into the floor, screaming with laughter. Then silence. What have we done? Mom is not gonna be happy.
That’s what informed my exploration into this South Side Table Hockey tournament in my final season of Wild Chicago on WTTW-Chicago. Man, was I THRILLED to learn this thing even existed. I’d frequently wondered if I could even find the game anymore. I bought one once in my 20s. Maybe Toys-R-Us. Can’t remember. But I treasured it. Even packed it up with my most cherished belongings in my little Ford Pinto and drove it to LA back in 1980, seeking fortune and fame. But that’s another story.
But here, now, in the year 1991, was a group of guys and gals also into The Game! Deeply into it. Inviting a guest singer to do the National Anthem was a must. (Thank you, Yolanda Wales, WTTW employee at that time. Man, she brought the house down.)
I turned 70 a few weeks ago. My brother turns 80 in May of this year. Sure, I remember the fun of the hockey story, visiting the church, meeting the characters, admiring the love these guys showed for the game, the passion. That’s what made the show great. The passion, the enthusiasm my guests had for the sometimes quirky or eccentric things they did, the things they wanted to share with us. I think that’s what brought viewers to the show — that enthusiasm.
But what’s even sweeter is the memory of the broken chair and the last second goal my brother scored up there in my bedroom. You never know what’s going to trigger an electric memory like that. You should have seen us frantically try to reconstruct this antique dining room chair. It was useless. And dinner was about to be served. Time was indeed running out.
Ma was pissed. But the show must go on. We may have had relatives over. A nice dinner was about to be served, the kind that takes hours of preparation and noodling in the kitchen all day. We found a way. We found a chair.
As I write, I notice my breathing is short. A touch of adrenaline still there. I’ve always loved those extreme moments, especially in sports. Isn’t it interesting how charged with emotion goals are in hockey? Even more so in soccer. They are rare, they are hard fought and won. Not like a bucket in the NBA. Even a home run seems less a big deal. Unless, of course, the bucket or the homer triggers the winning point or run. Add time to the equation and — look out. You’ve got lighter fluid on the fire!
I just took a deep breath. “It’s good to be alive,” said the late, great Lin Brehmer. Yes it is. Thanks for reading.
The Games We Played, The Things We Remember