The Islanders? Really?

• Remember the golf joke about the guy who decides which hand to golf with depending upon whether his wife is sleeping on her left or right side when he wakes up in the morning? Do you think there’s just as arbitrary a method that the Sabres use when deciding whether or not to suck? Like, when Pominville’s alarm goes off in the morning, he checks his dog. If his dog is lying on one side or another, they put in the effort; if the dog is on his back paws up, they play dead.

• The Sabres are second in the NHL for number of rookies called up, a few behind the Flyers. As much as I hate the streak of injuries, I still hate being behind the Flyers in any way. This has meant job security for the guy who stitches names on the back of jerseys (I assume it’s a guy – not a lot of women working in the locker room). And it makes Roy, Vanek and Pominville seem like alumni.

• We now have a guy playing for us named Szczechura. His parents mercifully gave him the first name “Paul” to make up for what comes next. Nothing against his playing ability, but I think he got called up because Jersey Stitcher was running out of the other letters. “We have plenty of Zs left…” (Szczechura is pronounced “sha-HUR-ah.” No matter how loudly you say it, it sounds like you’re whispering. Picture Brick saying it.)

• Text to the Sabres: I know the next couple of games don’t matter as much as division games, but we had to pay for the tickets to the Wed Wings game nonetheless. It’s considered a “Gold” game. Please don’t treat it like a “Value” game.

• Here’s what I’ve done so far to change our luck at home: worn different jerseys; eaten different pre-game meals; not eaten a pre-game meal (which does not go well with beer); worn/not worn Sabres earrings; sat in the even-numbered seat; sat in the odd-numbered seat; skipped my pre-game nap (which also does not go well with beer); carried a Jochen Hecht sign (it worked in Germany); not worn a jersey. What seems to work is a pre-game nap, followed by a pre-game hot dog, not wearing a jersey and wearing Sabres earrings, while sitting in the even-numbered seat. This is what I’ll be doing on Friday. Here’s hoping the Sabres work as hard as I do.

• Speaking of pre-game meals, I have a friend who was pretty disgusted with what the Sabres were selling as a chicken finger meal. First of all, the “fingers” were really “nuggets.” Second of all, they were dry and kinda horrible. Thinking it was an abberation, she tried them a second time on another night. Just as disappointing. She complained to Delaware North, and received a reply e-mail. As of Friday, they will be serving real chicken fingers, as the name “chicken finger” implies. In addition, they are refunding all of the money she paid for horrible meals. Love the customer service. Also, if you have any questions about food, talk to Beverly at the pizza stand in the 100-level food court. Damn, she knew everything, including why I didn’t like the pizza they served last year.

Here’s hoping for better times with better efforts. I may complain, but I’m not off the bandwagon — I’m just less-than-impressed for the present time. There’s a tattoo that means I will never be off the bandwagon again. I still always and forever believe that we’re gonna win that cup. Y’know.

WE WANT RAY!

I miss a lot of hockey in the name of Jimmy Carter. The Sabres will still be here in 20 years; not so with our former president (now 87 years old). Pegula Day? Carter. Alumni Reunion at Fan Appreciation Night? Carter.

And a couple of weeks ago I missed a lot of hockey to go to Haiti and build houses on the Jimmy & Rosalynn Carter Work Project (yes, they were there working with the rest of us). And even when I came back, I stayed at a friend’s house in Atlanta for a couple of days to recover, so the Boston game was watched surreptitiously on my iPad with the volume down while we were all in the kitchen preparing dinner together. At one point I stirred whatever food was in my charge and antisocially snuck over to the iPad to catch some of the game for a minute and… well, speaking of charging.

First I giggled at the hapless Bruin who thought he had a breakaway but had the puck stripped from him by the one member of our team dressed un-aerodynamically like a turtle. Then I exclaimed, “Holy F#@K!” as that hapless Bruin put his stick in the air and ran said un-aerodynamic turtle over intentionally.  Miller lost his hat and spun on the ice like a Sit-N-Spin commercial (as I recall, Sit-N-Spins only really worked if you were in the commercial). Then I waited for the fight.

I’m still waiting for the fight. And yes, I like the fights — love the fights — and I’m never going to apologise for that. I can’t watch violence of any kind — war movies, boxing, Black Friday — but apparently it would all be OK with me if they were wearing skates at the time. I liked having a player on the team whose sole purpose was enforcement. Sure, you put Gaustad, Kaleta, and McCormick out on the next line after a hit like that and we know what’s going to happen. But I miss the days when the sudden appearance of Ray or Peters on the ice meant only one thing — an order had been given and someone was going to be taken out. I miss the guys whose rare goals were pure comedy, an insult to the other team. I miss when the Sabres had balls.

And you, too, Shanny — you were so beautifully consistent until this call, then you turtled on us. An NFL player once told me that the NHL will never have any respect as a league until they start enforcing the rules with some consistency, and Shanny was starting to beat that path down. Then came a player who put his stick in the air to run over a goalie, and you wussed out, setting a league-wide precedent for running goalies that you can’t do anything about without losing face. Shame on you.

There is a strong chance that tonight’s match will not live up to the revenge hype, but it’s the game before Thanksgiving, which has a charm all its own. Once-a-year fans home for the holidays will fill the FN Center, anxious to see what the Pegula Era has wrought so far. They’ll cheer SOGs, pound the glass for good hits, and bring the house down if someone actually takes on Lucic (preferably a Sabre and not a fan, but don’t rule it out). Just a reminder to the regulars of how to have fun at the game.

And there might be some drinking. People will be warming up for the biggest bar night of the year; I’ll be wishing all the drunk drivers a Happy Thanksgiving and getting out of traffic. Not that they’d intentionally run me over, but if they did, who would come to my defence?

Remembering Milt

Maybe the way I learned of the death of my friend Milt Ellis today was entirely appropriate: over the PA before a Sabres game. I'm sure the shock of that moment will give way to appreciation for the delivery over time.

I became friends with Milt after his retirement, as I often joined him in the press box, where he sat as "PA Emeritus" for years. I never tired of his stories, always told in Milt's generous way of finding the bright side of everything. I wrote the following story for the November 1999 issue of Western New York Hockey Magazine. I hope it helps you get to know Milt a little...

"The First Voice You Would Ever Hear"

Some of you reading this don’t know who Milt Ellis is.  Some of you reading this can’t believe that there are people reading this who don’t know who Milt Ellis is.  After all, he introduced himself to us before every Sabres game played at the Aud.

Milt was King of the PA before the Sabres even came to town, announcing goals and penalties for the Bisons hockey team for a few years before then.  Having worked for a printing company, Milt went to Syracuse University for radio announcing, while his wife, Alicia pursued a PHT degree — “putting hubby through,” as Milt says. 

In 1963, Milt began working at WDCX, a job from which he retired only last year.  When he was program director there in October of 1966, he got a call from Stan Barron, then the Public Relations Director for the Buffalo Bisons hockey team.  (For those of you who don’t remember Stan, he was the sports director at WBEN who reported high school contests as much as the national leagues, knowing that the coverage was equally important to the parents of participants in each.)  Stan’s question:  The regular public address announcer had to quit, would Milt take the job?  The star is out, and a new star is born.

Now you can hear him, right?  “Third Buffalo goal...”  “Ladies and Gentleman, Erie County law prohibits...”  “Philadelphia penalty...”  Once his foot was in the door, Milt’s voice was the one you heard before, during and after every game over the public address at the Aud, and even into the first season at the Marine Midland Arena before his retirement in 1997.  He’s seen it all, and he was probably the first one to tell you about it, too.

“In the 1970s, Joe LaMentia, who was the head of the off-ice officials in Toronto, got me tickets to the game and introduced me to Paul Maurice [the PA for the Toronto Maple Leafs].  I told [Maurice] he was my idol.  I had patterned my style after him.”  Milt couldn’t recall what Maurice’s response was, but it may have been a dry “Thank you for attending tonight’s game at Maple Leaf Gardens.”  Milt feels that the announcer should convey information impartially, and not be a cheerleader.  When asked about the announcers today who work the crowd up with their own enthusiasm, Milt — a man who would say nothing if he had nothing nice to say — said nothing.  Maurice himself retired from the Leafs only last summer, barely seeing through the transition to the new Air Canada Centre.

What you may not know about Milt is that he “bleeds blue and white.”  He’s been a closet Maple Leafs fan all along, first following the team in 1955.  When asked who his favourite visiting team was, there was no hesitation:  “No question, it’s Toronto.  Maybe Montreal is a close second.”  (I can only assume that the Leafs fans at ice-level are better behaved than the last row of the Oranges/300-level.)  “Toronto fans are unique.  They’re students of the game.  Mrs. Imlach said that watching a game in Toronto is like watching a game in a library.”  Watching a game with Toronto fans in Buffalo may be a little more playground than library, but Milt cannot be swayed on his preference.

Having missed only a couple of games due to surgery, there isn’t much that Milt didn’t see.  In all that time, he recalls only a single game in which no penalties were called, which made for a safer game in the off-ice official box.  “Once in the Aud, Ulf Samuelsson took a penalty that... well, he didn’t appreciate.  He came into the penalty box, slammed the door, and then punched the wall.  I was leaning on that wall from the other side, and I saw stars!”  Not the cup-robbing kind of stars: the cartoon kind, with birdies.  The kind that makes it difficult to then say “Ulf Samuelsson” over the PA.

When the Russian teams played here, it presented a different kind of challenge for Milt.  “In the week before the games, I would carry around 3-by-5 cards with the spelling and pronunciation of the Russian names, to practice.”  A real professional, Milt always confirmed the pronunciation of the visiting players before taking his spot on the bench pre-game, and rehearsed them before game time.  It was always good to hear the players’ names at least once without the taint of a Buffalo accent.  In spite of the lead of a certain goaltender, poor Derek Plante was always bastardized into “plah-yunt” by the Buffalo fans, while Milt tried to restore him to a more elegant “plont” when the opportunity arose.

In all of his years of hockey announcing, Milt’s favourite game remains the quadruple overtime playoff game against New Jersey.  “That had to be the most exciting game ever.”  Of course, you have to ask Milt to find out whether he thinks the game is exciting, because Dave Hannan’s game-winning goal in the wee hours of the morning was announced with the same poise and indifference as every other event that night, including the Erie County smoking laws.

Milt’s retirement from the rink mike was quietly marked by a brief pre-game ceremony at the season home opener of the second year at MMA.  When I asked about all of the rumours about illness, aliens, and communist conspiracy, he answered only, “There just comes a time when you know, ‘I’d better quit now.’”  As with Maurice, a new building offered the perfect timing.  After all these years, Milt finally found out that the view is a little better from higher up, and can be seen in the 200-level for most home contests with Alicia or the grandchild of the night. 

You’d think retirement would give him more time at home with Alicia, who has put up with this hockey thing for three decades now.  It turns out that she’s at the heart of it.  “In college, I took Alicia to a Syracuse Warriors (AHL) game in the War Memorial   She loved it.  She fell in love with hockey.  She will still watch one hockey game and listen to another on the radio.”  Before cable graced the Queen City, Milt would go up on the icy, snowy roof in the winter to adjust the television antenna for Hockey Night in Canada on Channel 5.  When I asked what Alicia had to say about her beloved’s rooftop exploits, he pretended to lean out a window and shout up, “A little more to the left — just hold it there!”