In the garage today I found a ticket stub to an old sporting event. It’s amazing how you can get so many incredible gems out of just one little piece of paper. The details are fading fast, which is why I couldn’t help but write about it. If I don’t do it now, I’m not sure it will ever happen.
- The ticket was to an old Phoenix Mustangs ice hockey game on January 30, 1998. They wanted to get people in the door, so they offered free ice skating after the game. I thought it was a pretty cool opportunity, both to watch a game and to skate. It was a fantastic time. If you know anything about minor league hockey, there are lots of goals and lots of fights. Who doesn’t enjoy that?
- The game was played at the old Veterans Memorial Coliseum, otherwise known by Phoenicians as the “Madhouse on McDowell.” It was the home of the Phoenix Suns for a quarter of a century, and it is still an active part of the state fairgrounds. That place was where I saw my first several sporting events and I still cherish the experiences.
- I played roller hockey for a couple years, back when I was between 13 and 15 years old. Roller hockey was a ton of fun and it was a lot cheaper than time on real ice. The old YMCA building hosted it and we had to play 3-on-3 because the surface was pretty small. It was one of the more memorable times in my life. The coach’s son Brad was actually the kid who went to the game with me. Writing this made me wonder what he was up to, so I reached out and we actually messaged today on social media in mere minutes! What a cool little experience in the middle of it all!
- None of this-the game, the skating, the roller hockey league at all-would have happened without my dad. He was a part of everything. He took me to practices and games for my league. He helped me use the saw and miter box to cut PVC pipe, which I used to make all my hockey goals for shooting and practicing on my driveway. Even though he didn’t have any legs and obviously couldn’t skate, he took us to the game anyway. He was perfectly willing to stay an hour and a half after the game and watch me do laps forward and backward with my friend. He gave everything he had for me, and he never stopped.
When I see an old ticket like this, there’s something symbolic about it that makes me very sad. It’s been more than two years since my dad passed away, and I know that when this ink fades completely there won’t be another ticket to replace it. It hurts to know that I can’t go see him in Arizona again or give him a call. (I didn’t think I would be crying while blogging today, and yet here we are.)
In all of this, I do know that I’m grateful for that ticket stub. It’s more than just a snapshot in time, but rather a window into the past. It’s a ticket to so many amazing memories, not just of that day but of the father I had and the life he helped me make.
I guess now everyone knows why I save my ticket stubs.