Dreams don't come true everyday, so my time spent in Vancouver during the Stanley Cup final between the Canucks and the Boston Bruins was going to be memorable, one way or another.
Who knew my great memories, including Rogers Arena shaking in celebration when Maxim Lapierre scored the winning goal in Game 5 or the atmosphere in downtown Vancouver all day leading up to Game 7, would be knocked back two notches on the belt to make room for the new memory of finding myself in the middle of a post-Game 7 riot?
Actually, I think plenty of people thought there would be a riot, regardless of the game's outcome.
However, I also think the majority of people living in or visiting the lower mainland at that time hoped it would not happen, though a small group undoubtedly hoped it would.
The morning of Game 7 began optimistically. Before 11 a.m., the fan-filled streets were buzzing with anticipation of a fourth home-ice win for the Canucks in the series and the first-ever Stanley Cup victory for the franchise later that evening. The excitement was palpable.
But that did not happen. The Bruins won the Cup, and what happened after that was ridiculous, to say the least.
I arrived at Rogers Centre about half an hour before game time, a little too excited, so I slapped on my ticket-buying face. Unfortunately, that face was still covered with a scraggly playoff beard and topped by a similarly unkempt hairdo, making me appear, as some have said, “homeless,” and therefore apparently unworthy of a ticket re-seller's drastically short attention span.
That assumption turned out to be accurate, as the cheapest ticket available by puck drop was going for $1,500, the most expensive for $10,000 and others were available at various prices in between.
No way I could make that happen, and I'm glad I didn't try.
Instead, I ran up the street and weaved my way through the massive 100,000-person downtown crowd, to the front of the CBC public viewing area, located at the intersection of Georgia and Hamilton Streets.
I had a view of both big screens from where I was standing. I could also see a small green truck amongst the crowd, which surprised me, at that point.
One period went by and the crowd was still very hopeful, despite the Canucks being down 1-0.
As the second rolled on and Tim Thomas continued making saves, hope began to fade.
The third goal against the Canucks was a killer for the team and the fans. And with the crowd noise over-powering broadcast sound, it was difficult to understand the call on the controversial goal, making it even harder to accept.
The third period crowd had an eerie calm to it at first. By the second half of the period, families began to disperse from the scene and some couples and older folks began to make the wise choice as well – although, I almost never condone leaving early when at the team's building, this scenario seemed acceptable.
Then it happened – Brad Marchand scored an empty net goal with just over two minutes to go, resulting in a number of bottles being tossed towards the screen.
The feeling in the crowd changed quickly and mayhem ensued.
The game was not even officially over before the rioting began. Some fled the scene, but others, including myself, stayed.
As a journalist, armed with a notepad and handheld camcorder, I felt it necessary to stay.
The majority of those still there wanted to witness the wreckage firsthand, while a considerably smaller number of hooligans caused the destruction.
I am certain there are also individuals who upheld different positions during the riot – perhaps shifting from bystander to rioter and then back again.
There were still others who did not even come close to participating physically, but cheered on the rioters and verbally assaulted the cops.
From my vantage point, the rioting began with just under two minutes to go in the game.
Only seconds after the official end of the game, the big screens went black – the Boston celebration had been shut off.
Debris flew through the air, fireworks went off and then suddenly only a few metres behind me, a grey compact car was flipped by several young men.
Instantly, rioters swarmed the car, tearing off any piece they could get a hold of and smashed the windows and body to pieces.
Then it was lit up. No one seemed to notice at first. But soon flames shot from the windows and smoke filled the air.
I could feel the heat and then came the explosions. None of this slowed the rioters; it only pushed them to destroy more.
I managed to climb up a cement wall about seven feet high with a view of the small green truck I had spotted earlier.
That truck now became the target of the riot.
Firefighters, escorted by police, extinguished the car fire and had just left the scene. Within minutes of their departure, the green truck was flipped, burnt and eventually blown up.
The scene was chaotic. Fires burnt everywhere, plumes of smoke rose to the sky, multiple helicopters circled above – all the while the beating of a drum filled the air. Its rhythmic tone strangely fit the scene.
Yet, of all the things to remember most – the fighting, the window smashing, the looting, the fully armoured and armed riot police, the Stanley Cup final, the flash-bang grenade going off at my feet, the obvious question of should I stay or should I go – what sticks out most in my mind is the never-ending, repetitive beat of that drum – like a simple call to chaos.
I was in the area of Georgia and Hamilton for nearly two hours following the game and it took another two hours to return to my place on the other side of downtown almost entirely blocked off by surprisingly patient and proactive police officers.
As night fell and the city's streets remained in chaos, I couldn't help but feel a little sad and frightened for the once-beautiful city of Vancouver and the future of our world.
But as the sun rose the next morning and citizens took to the streets to clean up the mess left by others,
I saw the beauty in Vancouver we all know is there and I realized this is not the end of the world – it's not even 2012.
Congratulations to the Boston Bruins for winning the Cup.
Thanks to the Canucks for taking me on this wild and memorable ride.
