True Devotion - A Fan's Story

I had actually written this story a few years ago...okay, maybe it was ten years ago...and it still tells well. My husband and I are huge Chicago Blackhawks fans. Huge. Rabid. As in, you probably wouldn't want to sit in front of me at a game, unless you like your ears bleeding from someone screaming behind you. But, anyway, this story is completely true....

It was a dark and stormy night…. (ha, ha!)

Actually, it had been snowing for a good part of the day and into the evening. Not a heavy snow; just a lot of big, fluffy snowflakes falling continuously.

My husband was working late and I was home from work—I forget why—doing things around the house and running a few errands.

At about 6pm, he called to tell me that he would be home around 8pm, and asked me to set up the TiVo to record the game that night. I can't recall whether the game was in Buffalo or Boston, but I quickly realized it was going to be on an hour earlier that I had originally anticipated, so I thanked him for the reminder and went downstairs to turn on the tv.

Pixelation. Then, that little blue bar at the bottom of the screen: No satellite signal

NO! How could this happen? It wasn't snowing all that hard, and it was a light, fluffy snow. Not the kind of snow that sticks to your satellite dish and disrupts your feed!

I went outside to evaluate the situation. Our house had what is called a "hip roof"; meaning it's high and pointy. Only the edge of the dish was visible from where I stood in the back yard. Still, I picked up a handful of snow, crushed it together, and threw the snowball at the dish in hopes of clearing the layer of snow off.

I missed. Completely.

So I stepped back about five feet, gathered more snow and threw another one. I couldn't tell where that one landed. Another five feet back and the branches of a huge tree were in the path of the next hopeful snowball.

Back inside to check the picture. Nothing. Damn it. Back outside.

'How in the world am I going to….?' I pondered as I stood on the back step; then I spotted the garden hose, still on its reel, not put away for the winter. Ah, good—that'll work!

Silently thanking my lazy husband, I turned on the faucet. Water sprayed me in the face. I shut off the faucet and looked at the sprayer nozzle. Cracked. The metal had split when the water inside the nozzle froze and expanded.

Silently cursing my lazy husband, I went to the garage to look for the other sprayer nozzle. Gone. Nowhere to be found. Ran in the house and checked the utility room. Nothing. Black electrical tape sitting on a shelf caught my eye. Good deal.

Now noticing the cold outside, I unscrewed the nozzle and took it into the basement to apply the electrical tape. Back outside.

With cold hands, I happily unwound the hose and dragged it over to the other side of the house where the dish sits atop the high roof. Piece of cake.

I ran to the driveway and turned on the water again, then ran back around to pick up the hose. As far as I could estimate, I was aiming the water at the dish, but it was hard to tell, and I was getting cold real fast. So I went back to the faucet and shut it off, then went downstairs to check the tv.

Nothing. No picture. Damn it!

Back outside. Turned the water on. Ran back to the hose at the side of the house.

'If only I could see a little better…' I mumbled to myself. Water was beginning to get past the tape—the sprayer was dripping. An idea hit me: the ladder!

From the garage, I managed to drag our long aluminum extension ladder through the snow and over to the side of the house. The sprayer handle was dripping more and more—black electrical tape was never intended to be water-proof—so I tried to hurry up and get the ladder against the side of the house.

I went about four rungs up, dragging the heavy hose, which was dripping and becoming clumped with snow from the ground. Saying a prayer, "please let this work, please let this work," I held the hose up and pressed the sprayer handle with my half-frozen hand. The jet of water wasn't going far enough, so I went up two more rungs on the ladder and sprayed again.

Dropping the hose and my wet glove to the ground, I muttered, "Well, that ought to do it," and climbed down, with a feeling of accomplishment. Back inside.

Nothing. No picture. Damn it!!!

Back outside. Another pair of gloves. Up the ladder, higher this time, aim for the dish. Sprayer nozzle speckling my glasses so that I can't see. Water dripping down my arm, soaking my jacket. One more rung. Leaning, leaning…

I can't see. I'm cold. I'm getting soaked. I REALLY want to see this game now, and I'm not going to give up until I do! Back inside.

Not a thing. No Hawks. Damn it!!!

Back outside. Wet glasses off—can't see. Take off wet jacket and wrap it around the hand that's holding the now badly-leaking sprayer nozzle. Loudly curse the pathetic electrical tape that isn't holding. Back up ladder, up to edge of roof this time. Anger makes me bold. Aim hose, hold on to gutter, lean farther, spray water….

And then I heard it: thunder.

Only twice before in my life have I heard thunder and seen lightning in a snow storm.

Thunder, hmmm. So here I am on a high extension ladder, holding onto a metal gutter, spraying water into the air…

"Aw, man, this ain't right…." I say aloud as I continue spraying water over the roof, as well as drenching myself with the broken, taped nozzle. "That's GOT to do it…." Back inside.

The first period is just ending. I have tv again. I got my Hawks.

"#@$%, yeah!!!" I yelled to no one in particular.


NOTE: As far as I can recall, the Hawks won this game.