September 19, 2005

My hands-down favorite story from camp.

Friday's camp was in Wilmington, a city a few miles from Boston ("few" means "something like thirty or so"). Wilmington is a small rink and very informal. Local youth and adult teams alike use it. Because of its size, it makes meeting players ideal. I had one mission this camp: to get Jon Girard to sign a ticket stub from my trip to Montreal last November, to give him the pictures I had taken, and to possibly say more then "EEEEP!" and other assorted jibberish when spoken to, because hi, I am not a teenybopper. I haven't been one in years. I am a functioning adult, one who can speak and walk and talk and be a productive member of society. Y'know, in theory.

Sherry, Jenni, Ellen and I are hanging out outside after camp- Sherry's mission is to meet Joe Thornton, and I'm determined to facilitate it - and Jon comes out to leave, because, well, he is done working, and he stops and signs autographs on the way out. Sherry gets him to sign her hat, Jenni gets him to sign Sherry's t-shirt, and I get him to sign my ticket stub. He finishes and he hands the sharpie back, still looking at the ticket.

"La Caravane? Where did you get that?" He's smiling. Deep down, he has to know.

"We drove to Montreal." My brain's somewhere on a coffee break; I'm still back trying to comprehend that words! were! just! spoken! to! me!; Ellen responds to him.

My brain scrambles to get my mouth to form coherent words. "We drove to Montreal to see you." His grin gets even bigger and just about swallows his entire body whole, if this is possible. He leaves, still smiling. We continue to hang around so Sherry can meet Joe. Actually, I don't remember if Joe came out before Jon anymore, and this encounter is just about all I remember about Friday anyways. It's all I need to remember.

Heather | 07:36 AM | 11
filed under: boston bruins