Me And Lord Stanley’s Cup

Surely, there will be a medal to come out of this.

My 2-year-old son, Michael, waited in line for 2 1/2 hours Wednesday, having missed his nap, just to see the Stanley Cup — and he didn’t complain a bit. That’s worthy of citation from, I don’t know, the “Kids Get Fussy Sometimes Association.” Isn’t it?

Anyway, Michael and 8-year-old Matthew and I showed up at Mountain View Ice Arena right at 3:30 p.m. the other day to see the most hallowed trophy in professional sports. The line was already snaking out the door and around the corner and soon reached around to the back of the building.

Which turned out to be a blessing. When the Cup finally arrived at 4:15, the car carrying it pulled around the side of the building, near where we were, and I was able to snap some photos as they carried it into the side entrance. I felt like the paparazzi stalking Kate Middleton.

Then came perhaps the coolest portion of the afternoon: When Tom McVie, the man responsible for bringing the Cup to Vancouver, walked across the parking lot and through the door, enough people recognized him that the crowd started clapping and many yelled, “Thank you.”

Think about it. The man has been in professional hockey for 55 years, and he finally gets a piece of the Stanley Cup. And I can’t express how gracious it was for him to choose to share it with the public. Maybe that’s deserving of a medal, as well.

From there, it was a waiting game. People from the ice arena came through the line and said the Cup would be there until 6 p.m. — one hour later than scheduled. They also said that our portion of the line was in the “cross-your-fingers” section.

I’ll admit that I thought about pulling the “Sports editor” card and slipping in the side door (“don’t you know who I am?”). But I wasn’t working, I was there with my sons, and I figured it would be a good lesson for them if we didn’t get in — sometimes you don’t get what you want.

Yet we did. Barely. By my count, there were six groups behind us that got in before they closed off the tickets. To his credit, the Stanley Cup’s chaperone carried the Cup through the crowd on his way out, allowing those who couldn’t get their picture taken with it to get a close-up view.

Overall, a very cool experience. The only drawback was that my 13-year-old daughter was at volleyball camp and had to miss it. As for her youngest brother? He’ll never remember seeing the Stanley Cup. But at least we have pictures to prove he was there.