Seeing is believing

Sporting News, The, June 7, 2004 by Kara Yorio

It seems so overdone, this Stanley Cup stuff. Cheesy television voice-overs talk about the history and lure of Lord Stanley's Cup. It can't mean that much. It can't be that good.

Then you see it, sitting in grass, reflecting the Florida sun. You see it pulled carefully out of its padded case to the whispered awe of hundreds standing in line in the St. Petersburg heat. You see it brought to MacDill Air Force Base to show to military personnel dealing with so many more important things that you'd think they'd dismiss the Cup's arrival as trivial. This is home to Special Ops Command. The base houses Central Command, which runs Middle East operations. Big decisions are made here. There are about 5,000 active duty troops and 1,500 civilians on the base. Troops and aircraft are deployed in the war on terror, and the exact numbers aren't released.

The day Attorney General John Ashcroft gave the country seven faces to look for and more threats to fear, the Cup made its trip to MacDill. It takes only a few moments on a military base during a war to see that the Stanley Cup is more than the reward to the winners of 16 NHL playoff games, more than the prize for the players left standing in the finals between the Flames and the Lightning.

This visit wasn't trivial, and it wasn't cheesy. The Cup's lure and effect couldn't be overstated. The Stanley Cup, this 35-pound silver trophy, somehow means so much to so many, even to those who aren't big hockey fans.

It is history. It is a symbol of success and perseverance. It was, for the people at MacDill, a welcome reason to smile, take a few pictures, take a break, feel the engravings and search for some special names.

"This is why I'm here," said Staff Sgt. Justin Papalia, a tactical satellite communications technician, pointing to the engraved names of the 1971-72 Bruins.

Papalia, 29, from Falmouth, Mass., stood in line for a while, telling those around him about his mother's memories of the Bruins when she was a nurse in the early '70s at Massachusetts General. He retold the story a little later, standing a few feet from the Cup. He had taken a picture and moved aside for fellow troops and families, but he couldn't bring himself to leave.

"My mom got to meet the players, and I got to see the Cup," he said. "To think of the people that have held that, it's mind-boggling. I don't want to leave, but we have to get back to work."

Before Papalia and others got their chance of a lifetime, the Cup went to the flight line, where airplane maintenance workers gathered to check it out. An officer gave a television interview, talking about how much it meant for his guys to get a break and have a little fun.

Across the tarmac, a Canadian unit appeared. Its members had flown into MacDill the night before, and they saw the silver from afar. Like all good Canadians, they were drawn to it. Politely, they requested a photo with their C-130. The United States obliged, sort of. Because of time constraints, the Cup remained on a Humvee for the Canadians' picture. They didn't seem to care. They talked about how Canada--through the Flames--would win the Cup. They stayed awhile, just watching, before returning to their aircraft.

It was a welcome change to their usual day, and that impact could be seen throughout the two-hour visit. At one point, a soldier approached 2nd Lt. Erin Dorrance, who helped run the visit. The soldier excused himself for interrupting her conversation and shook Dorrance's hand, thanking her. That day, Dorrance spoke of the Cup's effect on morale. She reiterated it the next day in an e-mail.

"Bringing the Stanley Cup to MacDill was a huge morale booster for our troops, who work long hours and dedicate themselves to serving this country," Dorrance wrote. "Ever since the attacks of 9/11, the operations tempo has been very high for the military. The Stanley Cup visit to MacDill allowed people to take a small break from work to see a priceless symbol of the National Hockey League."

It symbolizes more than that for many. After all, in a time of dwindling TV ratings for hockey, the turnout for a Cup visit wasn't diminished, not even in Florida. Phone calls went out to bring others down. Families gathered round. Friends posed together. Some parents pulled kids out of school. Cup keeper Mike Bolt, who's a Cup historian and incredibly generous with his time, answered questions and listened to stories.

It's just a trophy, the cynical will say. Sure it is. Until you see it.

Speed Reads

* Hulk Hogan's daughter does a fine job singing the national anthem before Lightning games, but it's difficult to watch her father rip off his shirt in an attempt to rev up the crowd. Forced retirement isn't usually a good idea, but in this case, it's difficult to argue against it. Enough of the Hulk. Please.

* Flame Mike Commodore's outrageous Afro got quite a bit of attention, including side-by-side photos with Shot goon Ogie Ogilthorpe and some comparisons to former NHL player Lanny McDonald. Despite the celebrity, Commodore isn't keeping the coif. Commodore decided to cut his hair after the finals to raise money for kids with cancer at home in Fort Saskatchewan.