Teenage Dream Come True

Ever since I first saw the Cincinnati Stingers hockey puck that my friend Donny had, I had wanted one. Whenever we’d spend time together at his house, either playing on the computer (Timex Sinclair 1000), rocking out to Def Leppard’s Pyromania, or whatever the hell else 13-year-olds did in 1983, I always had his hockey puck in my hands. I remember running my fingers over the textured edges, which contrasted with smooth top and bottom. I remember feeling insanely jealous that Donny had one and that I never would. You see, the Cincinnati Stingers had shut down operations a few years before, in 1979, after only four seasons.

So, when Cincinnati got a new hockey team (Cyclones) in 1990, I was overjoyed that I would finally have an opportunity to acquire a hockey puck of my very own.

In February 1991, my girlfriend (now wife) and I got tickets for a Cyclones game for the following week. I was counting down the days until I could buy my puck. I know I must have driven her crazy with how much I kept talking about it leading up to the day of the game. After we parked the car in the lot down the street from The Cincinnati Gardens, the venue where the game was to be played, she had to constantly pull on my arm and tell me to slow down. “Stop rushing. They’re not going to sell out.”

When I finally got to the merchandise kiosk, I dutifully looked at everything they had to offer. Key chains, bumper stickers, jerseys, shirts, hats, pins, blah blah blah. But I really didn’t have to look at everything as if I were trying to decide on what to buy. I knew what I was going to get.

“I’d like a hockey puck, please.” I didn’t even look at the guy. My hands were on the glass countertop; my eyes focused on my personal Holy Grail.

“A puck? You sure?”

“Oh, yeah,” I said. “I’m sure.”

 I gave him my money. He handed me the puck. MY puck. The thing I had wanted…wished for…for several years was finally mine. I turned to my girlfriend and smiled.

“You happy?” she asked.

“So happy,” I said, and we went to find our seats.

I don’t remember anything about the game itself. I spent most of my time fiddling with the puck. I ran my fingers over the textured edge, contrasting it with the smoothness of the top and bottom, as I did with Donny’s puck all those years ago. I squeezed it, knowing that there was no way I could ever affect its shape. I knocked it against the seat in front of me to hear the solid “thump” sound, wincing at the thought of what it must feel like to be hit by one flying into the stands from an errant shot from the ice.

Midway through the 3^rd period, an announcement came over the PA system. “FANS, THE CINCINNATI CYCLONES AND RADIO STATION B-105 REMIND YOU TO COLLECT YOUR SOUVINIR PUCK AS YOU LEAVE THE FACILITY! STAFF WILL BE STATIONED AT ALL EXITS HANDING THEM OUT! PLEASE, ONLY ONE PUCK PER PERSON!”

My mouth fell open in disbelief. Suddenly, the puck in my hand had become less special. I had my one, the one I had coveted and dreamed about for 7 ½ years.  And now, I was going to get a second. AND a third, because my girlfriend and I lived together.

I picked up my puck as we left, laughing with my girlfriend about how things turned out. By the time we got to the car, things were better.  The puck I bought wasn’t branded with the B-105 logo. I took comfort in the fact that I owned a puck that wasn’t easily identifiable as a promotional item.

I also like to think that I was a topic of conversation with the merchandise guys when they were inventorying what they had sold that night.

“Well, we sold 19 keychains, 11 bumper stickers, 2 jerseys, 8 shirts, 2 hats, 16 pins, and…oh! Some idiot bought a puck if you can believe it!”

So, yeah. I bought a puck on Puck Night.