Another urban observation: I’m surprised that downtown Toronto doesn’t just sink into the lake, what with the relentlessly one-directional flow of pedestrian traffic around the commercial center heading southward during rush hour. I walked but a few blocks north from my hotel on Front Street to tonight’s pre-event reception on Queen and Bay, and I felt like the only northbound stroller fighting a thundering herd of humanity galloping south to freedom.

I began the evening at a pre-event cocktail reception hosted by the HHOF.  There I met Rob Simpson from NESN, and my new friends from the HHOF, Kelly and Pearl, who guided me around and made sure that this humble hockey fan remained awe-struck at the steady flow of larger than life hockey people I met throughout the course of the evening.  Guys like Jim Gregory, Chairman of the HHOF Selection Committee, Phil Pritchard, “Keeper of the Cup,” and new Leafs head coach Ron Wilson, far removed now from his days as Capitals coach (though he did seem to enjoy my reminder of the 1998 playoff run’s 10th anniversary.)  I’m sure Ron’s got much more on his steel trap of a hockey mind now.

I learned that Rob and Zdeno Chara, and a few others, next Tuesday, head on a trek of a lifetime to climb the highest mountain on the African continent, Kilimanjaro. (Rob, modestly, said that only the last day involves any treacherous climbing, but he did reveal some anxiety over altitude sickness and breathing difficulty. Which I’m now having just typing this.)

So for the first time in the glorious history of the National Hockey League, our guy gets all four of the Art Ross, Maurice Richard, Hart Memorial, and Lester B. Pearson awards.

I was struck by the marked difference in command of the English language between Ovechkin and his friend and countryman, Pavel Datsyuk, given their respective tenures in the league.  My friends at OFB picked this up from the broadcast as well.

Speaking of which, this was my favorite OFB observation:

“Empty Maybe: I want to take a moment to thank Canada for being unassuming enough to run an awkward, earnest, awkward awards show. The geniuses in L.A. would have Ron MacLean sliding down a firepoll with Eva Mendez and Charisma Carpenter on each arm (stunt technology at it’s best), sip a martini, and then declare that Canadian bacon actually is ham, and that Moosehead beer has been bought out by Coors and will now be called Roadkill Lager.”

I love Ron MacLean. (One of the HHOF staffers called him “my boyfriend.”) Homespun but brilliant. A master of his craft, bard for a nation. Nothing less.

The whole experience of being in that theatre moved and inspired me.  The mutual admiration amongst players and coaches and scouts and hockey parents and fans is unmistakable.

And in so many ways (as was obvious on the broadcast), this was for the kids - they’re at the red carpet, in the front rows of the orchestra section or on stage, wearing the jerseys of their favorite players or their own team sweaters, presenting, and announcing the nominees and narrating the season sagas of each of them.

The relationship of professional hockey player to child in Canada is still, genuinely, perhaps quaintly, portrayed as one of hero to a younger generation.  And the reactions of the audience, all of these icons of the hockey world in one theatre, to the overall sentiment was powerfully real as well. 

Perhaps, in another time, professional athletes were perceived this way in America.  

The raw humility of Jason Blake winning the Masterton and being moved to tears, and the audience’s emphatic response - you don’t see that in any other sport.  Or am I missing something?

Which leads to Bruce.  The Hollywood story, as its been said many times already (and as owner Ted Leonsis joked last night, the script for his next film).  To think that he, and his wife for sure, toiled away in Fort Wayne, Muskegon, San Francisco, Mississippi, Lowell, Manchester, and Hershey, and finally got into coaching at the highest level, and reached the personal (but not yet team) summit:  being named, in essence, the greatest coach in the greatest league in the world.  I don’t know what I would do if I received a trophy for “best lawyer in the world” (as ridiculous as that award may sound!).

He looked so happy to be there at the after party, vindicated, getting congratulations and smiles and hearty handshakes and hugs from nearly everyone who recognized him.   This was all new and wonderful for him.  And he belonged there, up front and center of it all.  

(And I certainly got a sense last night of what it must have felt like to be amongst all this hockey greatness for the first time.) 

I received another reminder of why I have such a passion for the Capitals from hearing Ted’s press comments, about the comaradarie, warmth and love between Alex and Bruce (and I’m sure with the other players as well.)  And Ted’s not afraid to make these observations in what is otherwise often an emotionally constrained environment.

And there was definitely a buzz about the Capitals amongst those mingling at The Carlu.  My proclamation of devotion to the Caps was not met with disdain (or, worse, dismissal), but with genuine interest.

(Here are my photos from the show and post-party.)

And Alex, enjoy your summer sojourn in Turkey and the ladies laying in secret wait to be wooed there.

Oh, and the goodie bag upon leaving the after party? A tissue paper stuffed bag containing only an NHL-logo thumb drive. So much wasted paper, bags and tissue. Where’s the NHL Green spirit?