A story about Troy Brouwer's dad by Tim Wharnsby. After seeing that story on Dustin Byfuglien's family, and reading about the recent passing of Jerome Iginla's grandfather, I'm just a little sentimental today.

via ourhistory.canadiens.com

Just a little context to go along with this afternoon's contest, should the game be a dog, or if American Idol doesn't prove to be compelling enough.

It's no secret that long ago, our dear Canucks were ubercrap. As with most expansion teams, success was few and far between. Nothing underscored that more than when the Canucks would meet up with Les Habitants. Ass-kickings of the highest order were the norm. Not so much the first season,when our lads actually played the Canadiens to a standstill. Twice! I believe my Dad and my grandfather went to the tie here, while I listened under the covers to the radio. 3-3 was the score, and the old PC was jumping.

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via www.olympicgold.eu

It's come to my attention that I may or may not be one of the more senior posters on NM. I thought I would try to paint a picture of how things used to be back in the day, before ads on the boards, corporate boxes and Cassie Campbell.

Going to a Canucks game when I was a kid was all about the food. As you walked through the glass doors, the smell of popcorn filled your nostrils. Good old Parks Board popcorn. There must be a warehouse filled with this stuff, pushed into dumptrucks by front-end loaders, to be dropped off at every concession stand in town. Stuff would survive a nuclear attack. Depending on who I was with, it would be hot dogs and coke(Dad), or coke and those ice cream bars called Revels, or Revellos, maybe? My grandfather had a hell of a sweet tooth. No beer, of course, I can't even remember what year they started beer sales. When they did, you had to go downstairs to drink it. When I became of age, I probably missed more hockey than I watched.

The concourse of the old building was pure simplicity. No this level, that level, you walked in and found your section. Down the stairs for the red seats, up the stairs for the blues and greens. The greens weren't actually green, but a sub-division of the blue seats. Later on, the seatbacks of the first few rows of blues were upholstered, thus becoming red seats. This, along with the installation of skyboxes, welcomed in the age of Finding New Revenue Streams. Damn.

Of course, we had the games themselves. Those early teams rarely gave the fans much to cheer about. We took our joy from the little things, occasionally beating the Habs or the Bruins, or pounding the Seals or the Leafs. Seriously, they were crap back then. So were the Red Wings. Honest. Most people seemed to get their jollies booing players like Dennis Kearns, Ron Sedlbauer, or, for some reason, Tracy Pratt. For a few years in the late '70's, we had a share of seasons tickets. Being in my late teens, I was in nirvana. At least a game or two every week, when the 'Nucks were at home. Don't bother doing the math, Missy's already figured out my age. Cheeky.

So the game is done, it's time to walk back to the car. Again depending on who I was with, it was either run across Renfrew to what ever backyard parking lot my Dad chose, or walk with my grandfather almost back to Cassiar, in the back parking lot past the racetrack. To this day I don't know why he chose to park so far away. Maybe it was because

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