Dear "The Si",
It’s crazy that it’s been almost five years since you were torn down. Every day, I pass by the new condos and apartment buildings that took your place and try to keep my eyes forward. It’s too eerie for me to see that you’re no longer there. I find myself thinking about you a lot–how you would be if you were still here, what memories would have been made if you were still around.
You were my home for 15 years of my life, and were a part of my life for much, much longer. My mom used to take me to my dad’s games from the time I was born. I played hockey and lacrosse in the rink since I was 4 years old. One of my first memories was going to Thunder games under your bowed yellow rafters. I took my nieces and nephews to lacrosse practice to carry on the multigenerational tradition of playing in your greatness.
There was always this euphoric feeling one would get walking in. You had this brown carpet on the stairs that felt like a pool table, like something straight out of the '70s. It might sound like a gaudy style, but I doubt anyone would want to change it. I won’t lie, all my memories of you feel a bit cloudy and euphoric, like I was on something. A sports high of some sort. I don’t know. I guess that was all part of your magic.
I miss how you smelled like old rustic wood and kind of like a sweaty old jersey, like you were filled with memories of sports' great past. I miss your yellow, red and seafoam-colored wooden benches, with the contrasting seat numbers painted on. I miss the white and blue walls with hockey murals surrounding the concourse. I miss the huge beams holding up your yellow roof, characterizing the meaning of “sweating it out in the barn.” I miss the frigid coldness in the winter, and sweltering heat in the summer. I miss how close spectators were to the ice, giving it the most intimate feeling–like true old time hockey. I miss that you had to walk by the exterior locker room door on your way in, giving you a perfect opportunity to chirp the hell out of visiting teams. I miss the nights that you were filled beyond capacity, because those moments were always the best.
You bore witness to so many great sports memories. Hockey god Maurice Richard got his first two NHL points here. Guy Lafleur played here in his QMJHL days. Andre the Giant wrestled here. But truly, it’s those little games that mattered the most. Lacrosse and hockey teams played for championship trophies here, and while it may not be the Stanley or the NLL’s Champion’s Cup, it sure as hell always felt like it. Every game in the Si felt special, even if others would consider it mundane.
The hardest part of you being gone is seeing leftover pieces around town. Some of your seats are displayed in the Benson Centre or in the foyer part of Shoeless Joe’s. Seeing them is so bittersweet. I remember the day you were torn down. I skipped class to watch part of the demolition, not knowing I’d have to fight back tears. Goons don’t cry–a lesson I learned on your ice.
I don’t know when I will get over missing you, and I’m not sure if I even want to. I fear the day that I drive down Water Street and don’t feel sad. No matter how many games won and lost on your rink, losing you forever was the greatest loss.
Let’s have a drink to the Si. Always in our hearts.