A few of you have already heard this story, but I wanted to let it all sink in before I carved it into the perpetual stone of the internet.

My story begins the afternoon of Thursday, June 11th, 2009.

During a phone conversation, my good friend Mario said to me “Hey man, you’ve got all that cardboard in your garage, why don’t you make a Stanley Cup for the game tomorrow night?”

“I’ll look into it.” I responded.

Now, typically when I say something like that, I mean I will think about it but eventually do nothing. A bit of a procrastinating perfectionist, I rarely carry out these ideas due to general laziness and the irritating
complexity of whatever I conjure up.

I’m not sure what convinced me to start building the Cup on Friday afternoon. Whatever fateful event transpired, I ended up at Wal-Mart, actual dimensions and a sketch of the Stanley Cup scribbled in the notebook in my back pocket, looking at mixing bowls and aluminum foil tape. I left the store satisfied that I would have the necessary materials to make a pretty decent Stanley Cup.

I arrived home and began measuring cardboard, only to realize that my initial design would require FAR more than I was willing to cut. It was time for a new idea. That is when I spotted the trash can. It was in a corner of the garage, out of sight and forgotten, trash long vacant from its interior space. I grabbed a tape measure and found the can to be almost perfect in size. A few seconds with the hacksaw and I was back in business.

An hour and a half, a bowl, a trash can, two rolls of duct tape, a ton of cardboard, some twine, and a roll of aluminum tape later, I was finished. I was now the proud owner of an actual sized, slightly underweight replica of Lord Stanley’s Cup.

It was beautiful.

Standing back and admiring my work, I realized it was nearly time to leave. I grabbed my Pens jersey, and carried the Cup to my car. Much to my dismay, it would not fit when I tried to stand it vertically in the passenger seat. The Cup would have to lay on its side in the back seat for the trip into the city.

After picking up Mario, who was more than impressed with the final design, we headed to the South Side to watch the game at The Library. Those of you not familiar with this particular establishment will need me to clarify by saying that it is a bar/ restaurant with a great selection of good beers and awesome food, not to mention a great place to watch a Penguins game.

Also, I had only watched one game there that the Penguins did not win. Superstition is a powerful force.

I parked the car in my secret South Side spot that is as yet largely undiscovered by the general public. As soon as we took the Cup out of the car and began to walk the three blocks to the bar, it began.

By the time we reached the sidewalk on the far side of the street, we were already getting used to the honks of passing cars, the shouts of “Let’s Go Pens!” from people on the street. We were stopped by people wanting to take pictures with their camera phones, to give out high-fives, and by people who just wanted to touch the Cup.

Rounding the corner onto East Carson Street, the intensity of the excitement began to build. More honks. Screams. Woooo. We decided to take a walk with the Cup before going to the bar. After a few blocks of stopping in front of bar and restaurant windows and open doors to share the Cup, we turned and headed back to the Library to watch the game.

Walking into the bar, we were greeted with rowdy cheers and an enthusiastic round of applause. I handed the cup to the bartender and he placed it behind the bar where it would remain until it was ours to savor.

I don’t think I need to write anything about the game itself. Every Penguin fan knows the cycle of emotions they experienced during those sixty minutes. We all remember how long those last six took. But when that clock hit zero, I grabbed that Cup and was out the door, the Cup raised high above my head, screaming as I ran down Carson Street.

The scene was indescribable. Jubilant chaos and joyous pandemonium.

Absolutely surreal.

A quick pause for a few picture requests from people I’ve never met but who were instantly friends.

In those minutes after the game, as bars emptied and fans poured into the streets, the crowd grew exponentially. I was getting mobbed for the Cup.

Everyone wanted to raise it. I couldn’t blame them. They all deserved this as much as anyone else. I decided to let the Cup go and just follow it with my camera.

While the Cup surfed above the crowd, you could literally see the excitement sweep from face to face as the Cup changed hands. Anyone who was there and was a part of this will remember that scene forever. I am confident in that.

It was then that I began to realize just how truly awesome this was. What an incredible feeling it was to see and be part of such a huge group of people all celebrating together. I can’t help but think my Cup was responsible for just a little bit of that happiness.

The Cup continued its journey west down East Carson.  The crowd continued to grow.

The distance between me and the Cup increased, and so did the craziness of the celebration. It was getting more difficult to take pictures. Most of my shots for the night ended up looking like this. Chaos + Beer + Stanley Cup must always = automatic camera settings. Must remember that for next time.

Eventually, the Cup reversed directions and began to head back toward the Library. I followed from a distance, at the edge of the civilized mosh pit beneath the cup.

As the festivities at that end of the South Side began to die down, more and more people posed for photos next to the cup.

                                                           

After an hour or so, it was time to head back to the bar with the Cup, which by now, was showing the wear and tear endured during its travels.

Finishing our beers and contemplating the sheer awesomeness of the evening that had just transpired, it was mentioned to us by the owner of the bar that, if I didn’t mind, he would like to have the Cup for a week.

“Of course.”

Why not display the trophy in the bar where the Cup sat for the game? I would return it to the Library on Monday evening.

Now, my story could end right here and still be decent. I feel like I did a pretty great thing and got to make an incredible number of people happy, not to mention took some cool pictures. Awesome. But, that’s not quite the end of this epic.

The Cup spent the weekend sitting at the end of driveways and on porches, receiving countless honks and cheers. But on Monday night, it was time to take the Cup back to the place where it was won. After work, I met Mario at the Library. Once again, the trophy evoked cheers and applause as we carried it in the bar. We handed the Cup to the owner and he placed it where it had stood for the game. All was right with the universe.

I ordered some food and began to enjoy a beverage. Now The Library isn’t a real crazy place. It’s maybe a more mature or sophisticated crowd that hangs out there. By that I mean, it’s not a club, and it’s not some place where frat boys come to get trashed and watch skanks dance on bars. So when this group of people walks into the bar, clearly hammered and very loud, I did what everyone else did and just kind of ignored them.

Then it happened. One of the guys sees the Cup.

“Gimme it! I wanna hold it!”

The owner obliges and hands him the Cup.

At this point, I’m a little uncertain how I feel about this drunk jackass holding my Stanley Cup, but I say nothing and go about my business. Then I hear him say “This is heavier than the real one.”

At this point, I’m thinking, “Who the hell is this clown? What does he know about how much the real Stanley Cup weighs?”

I decide to take a look.  My perspective on this situation changed instantly.

Max fucking Talbot.

Game Seven Superstar.

MY Stanley Cup raised above his head.

Unreal.

He is with Jordan Staal, Kris Letang, and Hal Gill. They get a round of beers, on the house of course, and carry on with their well deserved celebrating.

Along with everyone else, I congratulated them and shared some quick conversation. Before they left, however, I decided to ask a couple of the guys if they would pose for a photo with the cup.

Staal with the Cup.

Talbot with the Cup.

After all of that, I don’t really even know what to say. It’s already been a couple of days but I don’t know that it has all digested yet. I can say with certainty that I won’t be forgetting this anytime soon. I hope maybe you can take a little something from the story as well.

And I almost forgot, if you were part of the festivities on Friday night and you got to share this with me, I would love to hear from you. Same goes if you see yourself in any of the photos. I have much higher quality larger copies that I would be happy to share with you. And if you have any pictures, I’d love to see them as well.

In the meantime, go to the Library sometime this week and check out the Cup. Remember, just one more time, how you felt on Friday night. Thanks for reading.