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Clutching and Grabbing: The Life and Times of B.D. Gallof |
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A Satire
4/21/07
It’s a dark day in Nashville and Long Island on this Saturday. Both teams made large moves at the trade deadline to get over the hump and make a difference. For the Isles, it is still steps forward in a Nolan regime that seems to lean towards to changes this summer.
I watched last night’s Buffalo/Islanders game with none other than Tom Golisano, the billionaire owner and redeemer of Buffalo hockey. In Tommy’s special box are all his humanitarian awards along the walls. There is nothing more heart warming than seeing a giant picture of Tommy with his Little Golisano Urban Achievers. The man is just a powerhouse of charity and goodwill. Speaking of which, his personal chefs serve us mini weiner dogs on toothpicks, fried pickles and buffalo wings. Only the best when in Buffalo. We were doing shots of Wild Turkey while screaming at the teams below until finally with Ryan Miller making that save, it was all over.
We sit, almost blind drunk, smoking a large Padron 1964 Anniversary cigar, on his leather coach shooting the breeze as celebratory fans mill out below. A Padron cigar is perhaps the best non-Cuban cigar ever made in the history of the world. I am laughing at one of Tom’s dirty jokes.
“You're a pistol, you're really funny. You're really funny,” I wheeze between giggles and guffaws.
“What do you mean I'm funny?” says Tommy with a suddenly straight face.
“It's funny, you know. It's a good story, it's funny, you're a funny guy.”
”What do you mean, you mean the way I talk? What?”
Tommy’s personal chefs move back. There is an uncomfortable silence.
”It's just, you know. You're just funny, it's... funny, the way you tell the story and everything,” I stammer.
“Funny how? What's funny about it?”
One of Golisano’s personal bodyguards chimes in, “Tommy no, You got it all wrong.”
Golisano waves him off.
“Oh, oh, Anthony. B.D.’s a big boy, he knows what he said,” and Tom turns back to me, “What did ya say? Funny how?”
It is one of those moments I wish I would have a convenient acid flashback to take the edge of reality off. I am wishing I hightailed out of town as soon as the buzzer sounded. Instead I just answer weakly…
“Just... ya know... you're funny.”
Tom gets up, puffing his cigar, and paces the luxury box.
”You mean, let me understand this cause, ya know maybe it's me, I'm a little fucked up maybe, but I'm funny how, I mean funny like I'm a clown, I amuse you? I make you laugh, I'm here to fuckin' amuse you? What do you mean funny, funny how? How am I funny?
I start laughing. It’s a great rendition from Goodfellas right out of left field. Tom is a gas. And I tell him so.
Then it all goes to hell.
They tell me that my body flew through the luxury box window, and onto the seats. Luckily, Sabretooth, the Buffalo Sabres mascot, was getting lucky with an amorous fan at the top of the stands. I landed on him and the 300lb lady, who evidently was Miss Buffalo, with a minimum of bruises. I recall hazily looking back up, seeing Tom screaming down at me, with his cigar smoking like a chimney, calling me a Communist Liberal Leftist scumbag.
I stagger out of HSBC arena to the stares of building security. One helps me out and points out something by whispering something in my ear. Evidently Sabretooth’s condom hangs from my ass. I look behind me with a frown to see a Trojan Extra Small dangling from my Lee Jeans…
It’s been one of those nights.
It is in that moment it hit this Islander fan what a rollercoaster of a ride this season has really been. What a wild ride it’s been.
As I head off to my next stop on my assignment, I leave knowing that hockey has returned to New York in a big way. The Rangers are making a run, the Isles did themselves proud. They own the back pages of the NY newspapers, which is huge difference to the start of this past season. But no more time to wax nostalgic, I had more hockey playoffs to cover.
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