DETROIT _ On my way to the new building, I stopped at the old one. Joe Louis Arena sat alone in the autumn sun. I entered easily and walked down the mostly empty corridors, stacked with chairs, crates of paper, old banners and posters. It looked like someone was moving out.
Correction: Had moved out.
"Come to gloat?" came a voice from the rafters.
"No," I said. "Just reminisce."
In a few hours, the Red Wings would take the ice against the Minnesota Wild at a gorgeous new arena less than three miles away, surrounded by restaurants, bars, retail shops, office buildings, even a plaza where folks without tickets could gather, European style, to watch events on a massive screen.
Outside the Joe there was only construction equipment, highway ramps, and concrete.
"Bet the players don't have a nice close parking lot like they did here," the voice said.
"Actually," I said, "they park underneath the arena and come up through a private entrance."
"Oh, yeah?" the voice said.
"Yeah," I said. "Sorry."
I walked to the locker rooms, at the end of the corridor. The visitor's room was vacant, the lights off. I curled back to the Red Wings area. That door was locked. Shut up tight.
In years past, players would already be here, on the bikes, by their lockers, working out, getting extra ice time. Now, there was only locked doors and stacked chairs that covered half the names on the wall outside the entrance, the wall that commemorated the 1996-97 Stanley Cup-winning roster.
"Do they have a nice little players lounge like we have here?" the voice said. "And a room for the players' wives halfway down the concourse?"
"Actually," I said, "the new locker room is like its own hotel. It has lounges, food areas, cooks, couches, the family all gets to hang around in massive spaces. Ken Holland told me that he saw Luke Glendening there this morning around 8:30 and he said, 'There's no reason to go home.' Holland also said he had two eggs over easy and some toast."
"Oh, yeah?" the Joe voice said, glumly.
"Yeah," I said. "Sorry."
