Another time, I stood in one spot in front of a door for three hours at All Star Fan Fest for Alex Rodriguez, only to have an attendant tell me he went out of a different door. Failure.
Tonight, I toughed it out in the deceivingly-cold weather for two hours, pennant and Sharpie in hand, waiting for the Pittsburgh Penguins after a 5-2 win over the Capitals. Success.
Yes, I would call myself an 'autograph hound,' if those are the correct words. There's something about getting an autograph that is significantly different than any other experience. Outsiders will say "it's just the guy's scribbled name," but it's so much more than that. But that's for another post, some other day.
Mike picked me up at 9, gave me a pair of gloves (could have used about 50 more) and drove us into the city. After a half hour of, well, finding out where it would be socially acceptable to wait for players, we found a group of 60 fans clothed head-to-toe in Pens' gear grouped behind a set of bicycle racks.
This was the spot.
_____________________________________________________________________
The spot where we would stand, freezing, as we watched for an hour as beautiful car after beautiful car passed by. "Please stop," we wished, but it didn't come true. As with every autograph experience, there was that ongoing battle in our heads: do we stay and risk disappointment, or do we leave and miss something extraordinary?
So we kept standing. Thankfully.
Because before my hands turned to ice (10:30 PM approximately), a black Range Rover pulled up slowly and came to a halt at the end of the line. Everyone gathered. It was Tomas Vokoun.
First rule of autograph hounding: be polite. I was polite. Vokoun signed.
And then, 15 minutes later, another expensive car slowed down in front of us. This time, Deryk Engelland poked his head out of the window.
Second rule of autograph hounding: don't hand over the Sharpie with the tip facing the signer. I committed no such foul. Engelland signed next to Vokoun.
A handful of people left, and a half hour later, the remaining crowd yelled "Fleury" at a pair of headlights approaching quickly. Marc Andre Fleury, my favorite NHL goalie since Johan Hedberg.
Third rule of autograph hounding: don't be too creepy (avoid the phrase "I love you" at all costs.) I kept my mouth shut. Fleury signed next to Engelland.
_____________________________________________________________________
At that point, everyone left. Even the security guards.
But that wasn't fooling our new friend, the guy who fought Joey Porter's entourage in a nightclub over a lost earring. This guy, one of the coolest people in da 'Burgh, assured us that Dan Bylsma hadn't left the building yet.
"Alright, let's stay for a few more minutes."
It didn't even take a few minutes for a pair of bright headlights to shine out at us from the Consol gate. The lights, coming closer and closer, were those of the coach.
Dan Bylsma, wearing a stylish fedora, rolled his window down and spoke words to us. I don't remember what those words were, probably because I was in shock. I broke rule #3, without saying "I love you."
He signed the top of my pennant, exchanged a few words with us and went on his way. In a matter of two minutes, myself, Mike and the man who fought Joey Porter's entourage were the only three in the city of Pittsburgh talking to the coach of the beloved Pittsburgh Penguins.
Ah. Success.
