tlongII
10-05-2009, 11:24 PM
http://www.oregonlive.com/sports/oregonian/john_canzano/index.ssf/2009/10/canzano_trail_blazers_fan_find.html
The email arrived in my in-box late on Sunday. The subject line contained a single word: "Help." And this is how a man came to end up on his hands and knees, with a flashlight, crawling around in the dark on the cold Rose Garden Arena floor.
Let's back way up.
Jason Kaady got married two summers ago. He's 25. His wife, Jessica, is 27. They met through a mutual friend, dated for 18 months, and decided they wanted to spend their lives together.
Married life hasn't been easy for the young couple. She works at a child-care facility. And shortly after they honeymooned, he lost his construction job due to the bad economy. He ended up busing tables in a restaurant.
"Things were a whole lot harder than we expected," Jessica said.
But they're best of friends. And they share the same core values. And so they've laughed, and rooted for the Trail Blazers together, and raised two puppies, and made the best.
Which brings us to Sunday night and the Blazers' Fanfest event at the arena. Because Jason went with two friends, and Jessica stayed home because she didn't feel well. And they'd planned on seeing each other after the event.
He arrived a couple of hours before the doors open. It was free-admission, first-come, first-served. So when the doors opened, Jason burst through the doors and jogged to Section 101, Row F, and saved three seats. They weren't courtside, but they were better seats than a guy struggling to make ends meet can afford.
"Center court seats," he said to his friends.
They were tickled.
The house lights in the arena went down for player introductions. There was electricity and anticipation in the building. The music started, and Jason jumped around, and joined the 16,000-plus others who were cheering, pumping their fists and waiting to see the season unveiled.
"I felt it slipping off right away," Jason said.
He's talking about his wedding ring now. Jason wears it loose, because his fingers swell. And he even turned to one of his friends beside him, with the arena thumping and bouncing, and demonstrated how the ring slides up and down his finger so easily and nearly slipped off.
Then, as he was demonstrating, the ring came all the way off.
"I tried to grab at it but it was so dark."
The ring clanked against the floor, and disappeared down a crack that led beneath the stands. And the building was exploding all around him, people were stomping, and Jason just stood there, horrified.
He scrambled to usher, who apologized and said he couldn't leave his post. And a second security staffer was called, but returned a few minutes later explaining that they'd looked and couldn't find the ring beneath the stands. And Jason was told to fill out a lost-item form and if it turned up, they'd call him.
Said Jason: "I felt sick."
He called Jessica, and said, "I have something to tell you, please don't make me stay in a hotel." And as she sat down, her husband explained what happened.
"I got off the phone and kept telling myself, 'We can replace it,'" Jessica said. "I was trying to make myself OK with it because it was gone. But as much as you tell yourself that to feel better, the truth is, that's the ring I stuck on his finger when we said, 'I do' to each other."
Appropriate, isn't it?
The pursuit of a ring at the Rose Garden.
That's what it's always been about around here, hasn't it? Chasing the title. Scrambling. Searching. Clinging. Doing what you can, sometimes under tough cirmcumstances. The young Blazers and a young couple, in it together again.
And so Jason told himself the ring was symbolic, and that he'd replace it. And Jessica told herself the gesture they'd made together, not the jewelry, is what matters most.
Then, Jason sent that "Help" email.
I couldn't do anything to help him, but I forwarded it to Cheri Hanson, the Blazers vice president of communications. And she called arena management, who invited Jason back to the arena to look for the ring.
This is how one Blazers fan came to find himself on the ground, beneath the stands, shining a flashlight, and looking for his wedding ring. And you should know, a security guard got down there, too, peering and hoping.
They looked for 10 minutes and found nothing on the ground.
They found nothing stuck in the cracks, either.
It was gone.
Then, just when it looked hopeless, the security guard cried out, "Look!"
The wedding ring was wedged on a beam, in a horseshoe-shaped joint, sitting at the bottom of the "U," waiting to be found. And right about now, it's worth pointing out that the Blazers have come a long way as an organization.
They care. They go the distance. They understand big stakes. Even if it means calling the arena and sending a fan scrambling beneath the seats.
Jessica got a call at home after the ring was located, and she said, "I was so thrilled." The guard was happy, too. And Jason, who had dusty knees but a ring on his finger again, didn't know what to do.
"I asked the guard if I could have a hug."
They hugged, and high fived.
If you'd have seen them, you'd think a championship had just been won.
The email arrived in my in-box late on Sunday. The subject line contained a single word: "Help." And this is how a man came to end up on his hands and knees, with a flashlight, crawling around in the dark on the cold Rose Garden Arena floor.
Let's back way up.
Jason Kaady got married two summers ago. He's 25. His wife, Jessica, is 27. They met through a mutual friend, dated for 18 months, and decided they wanted to spend their lives together.
Married life hasn't been easy for the young couple. She works at a child-care facility. And shortly after they honeymooned, he lost his construction job due to the bad economy. He ended up busing tables in a restaurant.
"Things were a whole lot harder than we expected," Jessica said.
But they're best of friends. And they share the same core values. And so they've laughed, and rooted for the Trail Blazers together, and raised two puppies, and made the best.
Which brings us to Sunday night and the Blazers' Fanfest event at the arena. Because Jason went with two friends, and Jessica stayed home because she didn't feel well. And they'd planned on seeing each other after the event.
He arrived a couple of hours before the doors open. It was free-admission, first-come, first-served. So when the doors opened, Jason burst through the doors and jogged to Section 101, Row F, and saved three seats. They weren't courtside, but they were better seats than a guy struggling to make ends meet can afford.
"Center court seats," he said to his friends.
They were tickled.
The house lights in the arena went down for player introductions. There was electricity and anticipation in the building. The music started, and Jason jumped around, and joined the 16,000-plus others who were cheering, pumping their fists and waiting to see the season unveiled.
"I felt it slipping off right away," Jason said.
He's talking about his wedding ring now. Jason wears it loose, because his fingers swell. And he even turned to one of his friends beside him, with the arena thumping and bouncing, and demonstrated how the ring slides up and down his finger so easily and nearly slipped off.
Then, as he was demonstrating, the ring came all the way off.
"I tried to grab at it but it was so dark."
The ring clanked against the floor, and disappeared down a crack that led beneath the stands. And the building was exploding all around him, people were stomping, and Jason just stood there, horrified.
He scrambled to usher, who apologized and said he couldn't leave his post. And a second security staffer was called, but returned a few minutes later explaining that they'd looked and couldn't find the ring beneath the stands. And Jason was told to fill out a lost-item form and if it turned up, they'd call him.
Said Jason: "I felt sick."
He called Jessica, and said, "I have something to tell you, please don't make me stay in a hotel." And as she sat down, her husband explained what happened.
"I got off the phone and kept telling myself, 'We can replace it,'" Jessica said. "I was trying to make myself OK with it because it was gone. But as much as you tell yourself that to feel better, the truth is, that's the ring I stuck on his finger when we said, 'I do' to each other."
Appropriate, isn't it?
The pursuit of a ring at the Rose Garden.
That's what it's always been about around here, hasn't it? Chasing the title. Scrambling. Searching. Clinging. Doing what you can, sometimes under tough cirmcumstances. The young Blazers and a young couple, in it together again.
And so Jason told himself the ring was symbolic, and that he'd replace it. And Jessica told herself the gesture they'd made together, not the jewelry, is what matters most.
Then, Jason sent that "Help" email.
I couldn't do anything to help him, but I forwarded it to Cheri Hanson, the Blazers vice president of communications. And she called arena management, who invited Jason back to the arena to look for the ring.
This is how one Blazers fan came to find himself on the ground, beneath the stands, shining a flashlight, and looking for his wedding ring. And you should know, a security guard got down there, too, peering and hoping.
They looked for 10 minutes and found nothing on the ground.
They found nothing stuck in the cracks, either.
It was gone.
Then, just when it looked hopeless, the security guard cried out, "Look!"
The wedding ring was wedged on a beam, in a horseshoe-shaped joint, sitting at the bottom of the "U," waiting to be found. And right about now, it's worth pointing out that the Blazers have come a long way as an organization.
They care. They go the distance. They understand big stakes. Even if it means calling the arena and sending a fan scrambling beneath the seats.
Jessica got a call at home after the ring was located, and she said, "I was so thrilled." The guard was happy, too. And Jason, who had dusty knees but a ring on his finger again, didn't know what to do.
"I asked the guard if I could have a hug."
They hugged, and high fived.
If you'd have seen them, you'd think a championship had just been won.