Where: Behind the scenes with the Tampa Bay Lightning: pre-game practice, press box during the game, post-game locker room, St. Pete Times Forum, Tampa
Public access: None.
Element of danger: Zero. (10 if you stumble out onto the ice, 5 if you ask a player a question he doesn't like.)
Why we went: The most recent Stanley Cup champs still have plenty of celebrity cachet 'round these parts. What are they like up close? Does Vinny Lecavalier really have impossibly rosy cheeks? (Yes.) Is Martin St. Louis really that small a dude? (Yes.) Does Brad Richards have formidable quadriceps? (Yes.) Will you recognize any of the other players if you're not a big Bolts fan? (Not likely.) How bad is the locker-room stink? (Gamy to a point, but not nearly as rank as you might suspect.)
What we discovered: We found a seat in the first row of the press box during an early February game against Washington. It so happened that the Bolts scored an improbable goal just 11 seconds into the game. As I let out a whoop of sheer surprise and photographer Max leapt out of his seat, I spotted St. Petersburg Times reporter Tom Jones urgently gesturing for us to calm down. He wasn't being an ass; he was trying to save our ass.
You see, THERE IS NO CHEERING IN THE PRESS BOX. I thought for a second that the Press Box Brigade was going to wheel me out in a Hannibal Lecter rig. The Lightning scored five goals that night, and for several I let out brief blurts of appreciation. But by the fifth, I was able to react like a cigar store Indian.
The post-game locker room didn't resonate with much joviality — I guess they save that for playoff wins — and only a handful of players were cornered by the press. The adjacent workout room hummed, though, with guys lifting weights and exercising at 11 p.m.
A few days later, I attended the "morning skate" — a relaxed practice — before a game with Carolina. The players are most accessible for interviews after these skates. Not knowing squat about hockey, I didn't have anything to ask, really, so just hovered around observing. At one point, I absently wandered to the middle of the room when another member of the media came to my aid. Carter Gaddis of the Tampa Tribune waved me over and furtively informed me of my gaffe: I had been standing on the team logo, a splendid rendering, perhaps eight feet around, that dominated the locker room carpet. You see, ONE DOES NOT STAND ON THE TEAM LOGO. No one from the team saw me, or perhaps they took pity on a wide-eyed neophyte and let it slide. If I had lingered too long on that logo, though, I suspect the element of danger might have escalated considerably.
This article appears in Mar 1-7, 2006.