There is a lot going right with this Blues playoff team (still getting used to using those words together), but I really think it starts from the top down. While I can't argue that TJ Oshie will one day rule this town or that Keith Tkachuk led this team on the ice last night, credit should also go to the ownership and management. As Brad Lee said, people are genuinely happy for these guys. Last night was not just about what the team they assembled did on the ice, it was also about management's commitment to the fans.

For those of us that were ready to break down the doors to Scottrade at 6:30pm exactly, we were greeted with a nice surprise as we forged through the turnstyles. At the entrance by the garage (where I always go after purchasing my Gametime from Clarence), Chris Kerber and Bruce Affleck were there greeting fans as they walked in. Intrigued by this, my mom (my season ticket partner and female hockey fan role model) and I walked a circuit of the Scottrade. At every entrance, there were broadcasters, Blues alums, or management talking with fans, signing autographs, and just being visible to the crowd.

We spoke with Peter McLoughlin who admitted that he had been pacing all day in anticipation of this game and really looked genuinely excited to be talking with fans. While I stealthily avoided the crowd around John Kelly and the potential for telling him that "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" is probably the worst announcer catch phrase ever, I noticed there was a huge crowd right near the main entrance. In the middle of the huge crowd was a huge man. Once I realized it was John Davidson, I knew what I had to do. I braved the crowd and ended up with this:

That's right, John Davidson's signature (in blue glitter pen, no less) on my Gametime.

By the time we had finished walking around Scottrade and were ready to settle in to watch warm-ups, most of the management had left the concourse. Still, by the garage entrance, Larry Pleau was shaking the hand of every person coming in. I asked him about his wife's health and he said she's doing better and was at the game last night. Although I have had my ideological differences with some decisions Pleau has made in the past, it was great to see him interacting with the fans.

While not everyone got to get JD's signature or talk to one of the broadcasters, what's important is that this is just another example that the ownership and management of this team is dedicated to the fans. For anyone who stayed to hear JD speak after the players gave up their jerseys to the lucky fans, it was obvious that management realizes how important fan support is to this team and seems greatful for it, not just in the "lining my pockets with playoff revenue" way, either. The ovation he got from the diehards that stayed through all of the postgame madness shows that the fans appreciate management, too. It was a great night on and off the ice for Blues fans. Now if only Jarmo had been out there so I could thank him for those late first round steals.

In light of some recent threads about fun and inventive items to get autographed by Blues players, I thought I would share a story from my high school days. While I am the first to recognize the hilarity of one guy asking another guy to sign his man-boob (especially if that man is in the 30-50 year old range and the target player is around 20), this is a cautionary tale about what can happen when you open yourself up by asking to have cleavage signed...

The setting is 1998, Riverport Amphitheater (back when it might have still actually been called Riverport), Pointfest 10, an all-day concert featuring some of the icons of late 90's rock including Seven Mary Three, Reel Big Fish, Local H, Stabbing Westward, the Urge, and the subject of our little story, Monster Magnet.

My friends and I were at the all-day concert in the 99 degree weather and it was all a little hazy and confused. We bought some t-shirts to shield us against the blazing sun (since we had only worn tank tops and bikini tops). Along with the purchase, we were given some backstage passes to meet the members of Monster Magnet... be still our underage hearts.

We went backstage at the appropriate time and all went through the line to get our t-shirts autographed by the band members, only one of which was vaguely attractive to our high school sensibilities. That fact aside, we were excited to meet real near-celebrities and they were appropriately flirtatious apparently unaware or unconcerned that we were still minors. As we left the backstage area, my friend (I will call her Lauren to protect her identity since she has since settled down and gotten married) noticed that one of the band members had put up a hand-written note in front of himself that said "We sign tits."

Now Lauren, fancying herself the rebel, tried to go back to test the validity of that sign. Unfortunately, they had a system for marking passes to make sure people couldn't reuse them to send all of Riverport backstage to meet the bands and she couldn't get backstage again. Undeterred, Lauren staked out the side stage where they were playing later in the day.

As the band left the stage after their set, Lauren ran up to them and told them she had seen the sign and wanted them to autograph her tits. The band member she approached stopped in his tracks, looked at Lauren for a few seconds, then said "We have four people in the band. Your tits are so small, we might have to initial them instead." Now Lauren, lacking the sense to realize she had just been insulted, gladly let them squeeze all four signatures into the small area that God had given her. She was so proud of those signatures and didn't understand why the rest of us couldn't stop laughing.

Ok, so this wasn't really a cautionary tale. It was more about an excuse to stop working on actual job tasks or my master's thesis and think about a great time from high school. But still, watch out if you ask someone to sign your boob or man-boob, you never know what response you might get!

(And for those of you wondering, no, I am not Lauren. I do not share that particular affliction!)

Buffalo Sabres goalie, Ryan Miller (of "your mama" commercial fame), claims that a referee was verbally abusive to him during a game last week. According to the Buffalo News (http://www.buffalonews.com/sports/story/518825.html):

“It was just about the referee, a brief conversation I had with the ref that was a little surprising to me,” Miller said. “He told me to ‘go [bleep] myself’ because I was just asking a question."

After giving the game tape a more thorough review than the Zapruder film, the newspaper concludes:

A review of the Versus game tape, however, shows Peel having an animated discussion with Miller with 16:11 left in the second period.

So, was this really NHL referee Tim Peel pulling a Vice President Cheney v. Senator Leahy on the hapless goalie of his own free will or is our own Answer Man somehow involved? After all, Answer Man's disdain for netminders is widely known (and enjoyed by Gametime readers). I know Gametime has a source close to the ref in question. Perhaps Answer Man exploited this connection to make Peel an offer he couldn't refuse?

By the way, my initial reaction is to tell Miller to sack up because he's a grown man and sometimes grown men get told to go fuck themselves. Then again I've never played organized hockey, so I don't know how bad blood between a player and a ref might affect the game. Thoughts?