Sharpe: Returning to Gotham and The Garden

It had been years since I attended an NHL game at Madison Square Garden.

Growing up outside of New York City, the iconic Garden was accessible and always memorable, mostly for Rangers games and the occasional concert.

After Thanksgiving, I shared the experience with my teenage son at a 1 p.m. Rangers’ game versus the Edmonton Oilers.

We caught the train from northern suburbia, a quick jaunt to Grand Central Terminal, packed with other excited Rangers fans, many donning jerseys of the hometown heroes. It was standing room only for the half-hour journey, which culminated in the landmark train station in midtown Manhattan.

My son, his last trip to the Big Apple being years ago, could not remember Grand Central.

I reminded him of the constellations on the ceiling, the seemingly endless network of tunnels and passageways, and the central clock in the main hall, which refreshed his memory enough.

“Oh, yeah, from the Penguins of Madagascar movie,” he declared, a triumphant homage to one of his favorite childhood films, as if animation could ever accurately depict the real edifice.

We took advantage of mild weather and walked from 42nd and Lexington to the arena at 33rd and 7th. Despite the crowds of tourists desperately seeking 5th Avenue’s glory, we headed west on 42nd towards the New York Public Library. Passing Bryant Park, we encountered a man on the sidewalk pacing back and forth, loudly proclaiming the End of Days.

At that moment, my son vocally reaffirmed his love for New York City.

We continued west, occasionally cutting south as the traffic lights and crowds allowed. Most folks are in a rush in the city that never sleeps, especially this busy Saturday of a holiday weekend.

Approaching the Garden from 8th at 33rd, we made our way to the legendary arena and entered through security that seemed laxer than I remembered. This is New York City – target of terrorist attacks and crime sprees, waging a never-ending war on rats. Surely, those security cameras should have seen the bottle of soda and pair of scissors I had forgotten were in my purse.

(Later that night, we learned that security at Penn Station, just below The Garden, had caught a passenger passing through that day with weapons intended for nefarious purposes. Good thing they caught him.)

I was happy to have my half-empty bottle of soda when we hit concessions and our order of fries and a bottle of sweet tea set us back $15.24.

In our seats, it was the spectrum of humanity on display. The crowd grew more raucous as the beer consumption increased. Alcohol was flowing and so were the f-bombs, despite this being a Saturday afternoon game, with many young fans in attendance.

The Rangers started out strong and took the lead, even battling through the adversity of two goals being awarded then rescinded after the dreaded video review. The crowd roared their disapproval, condemning the referee squad’s analysis because surely the beer’s-eye view from their seats was more valid than official NHL video camera angles.

The third period started with the home team in the lead, but the visitors would not give up and battled back, goal by goal, each punctuated by a chorus of words reverberating around us that made me blush as the Rangers lead slipped away.

Family friendly environment, indeed.

The game ended with a Rangers loss and mostly disappointment among the sell-out crowd, which included the usual throng of celebrities that games at Madison Square Garden attract, then feature on the Jumbotron above the ice.

We herded like cattle toward the exits, lamenting over restroom lines that were dozens of people long, marveling at a group trying to take a photo together in the packed hallway. We found a secret stairwell, only slightly less crowded than the main exit, and joined that crowd making their way to the street, spilling back into the bustle of Midtown.

I’ve experienced many arenas across the U.S. and even a few international ones. Over the years, they get upgrades, new looks, sometimes new names.

I watched one arena die – the old building imploded, no longer needed, replaced by a bigger, flashier version in a better location.

Attending two Olympics, I learned that some spectator venues were temporary, arriving in pieces that were assembled, then taken down and removed when the torches were extinguished. Others remain standing but would never again know the crowds like they did for a few weeks when they hosted the world’s greatest athletes.

Not MSG. The New York sports institution continues to command glory, boasting its famed past, yet still welcoming the stars of today and tomorrow.

Madison Square Garden still feels like it did to me decades ago – inside and out, the entire adventure from the suburbs to Manhattan and back.

We hustled back to Grand Central, walking across 34th Street, then north, weighing the temptation of a street cart pretzel or sweet roasted nuts against the risk of missing our train and being stuck on – the horror – one making local stops.

As we settled into the last seats available on our train out of Manhattan, relishing the relief of making the train, I was overcome with gratitude. Sharing my Madison Square Garden experience with my son left me feeling thankful for the opportunity to be with him while reliving many memories from my own youth years ago.

Jennifer Sharpe is special projects editor for The Journal Record, a division of LIBN’s parent company, BridgeTower Media.