Fellow blogger Chip Malafronte’s very entertaining post about his memories of the Coliseum has prompted me to bring up my connection to the Coliseum, something I didn’t plan on doing because I’m a modest, self-effacing guy. Yeah, right.
I grew up in Rhode Island, where the Providence Civic Center was the scene of my first concert (Kiss, Jan. 1, 1977). After moving to Connecticut in 1986, I went to plenty of ice hockey games at the Coliseum and a few concerts (Bon Jovi, because there were free tickets in the newsroom, OK?) but I never felt any strong connection to the place.
But on a cold December night in 1998, I filled in as Buddy the Beast, the mascot for the Beast of New Haven hockey team. I wrote about the experience for the Register, and I’ll reprint it here since I was a much better writer back then. It’s kind of long for a blog post, but take a Xanax or something and just try and get through it.

Don’t fall. Don’t fall . Don’t fall.
Even though I’ve been skating and playing hockey since I was a kid, I kept repeating those words in my head as I walked down the tunnel toward the slick and shiny ice at the New Haven Coliseum.
Of course, I’d never skated with gigantic foam boots attached to my skates and a huge, 10-pound hard plastic helmet shaped like a gargoyle on my head. Making matters worse, I could barely see where I was going.
All I needed was to take a tumble in front of 7,831 screaming fans at Sunday’s Beast of New Haven game against arch-rival Hartford Wolf Pack. Hockey fans have little sympathy, so had I wiped out you could forward my mail to a hole in the ground.
But this was the risk I was willing to take in my unexpected quest to be the world’s greatest hockey mascot - Buddy the Beast!
First, an explanation.
Everyone knows Buddy is a real gargoyle who lives at the top of New Haven’s highest building and wards off evil spirits like Eric Cairns and P.J. Stock. He’s beloved by Beast fans, especially the kids.
But Buddy was in a bind Sunday. He knew of a secret shipment of Furbys up in Canada and Buddy’s nephews are very demanding at Christmastime. So Buddy asked me to do him a favor and step in.
‘‘But there’s only one Buddy and I’m a human,’’ I said. ‘‘Everyone will know I’m not you.’’
Buddy put his talon on my shoulder and explained a few things.
‘‘There’s a little bit of Buddy in everyone,’’ he said. ‘‘Everyone likes to make a kid laugh or hear a crowd chant your name.’’
Then Buddy leaned a little closer.
‘‘Not too many people know this, but the ice at the Coliseum is magic. When you take that first step into the rink, you’ll no longer be a 35-year-old, mild- mannered newspaper guy. You’ll be Buddy for a little while,’’ he said.
‘‘But I don’t look like a gargoyle (no jokes, please),’’ I said.
‘‘I keep a costume around in case of emergencies. It will turn into gargoyle skin as soon as you step on the ice,’’ Buddy assured me.
So there I was, a few strides away from the ice and Buddy’s words seemed like a distant memory. All I knew was I’d never done this before and there was a good chance I was going to end up like Dancing Homer instead of the San Diego Chicken, or even Rally the Raven.
The costume is like wearing an electric blanket turned on high. I could have seen better if I’d had a paper bag on my head. A little twinge of panic started to build in my stomach.
Sunday was one of the Beast’s biggest games of the season and the crowd was the largest so far this season. Jessica Mudry, the Beast’s marketing manager, gave me some age-old hockey advice - ‘‘Just go out there and get it done.’’
Thanks a lot.
The kids were already yelling for Buddy, but I was still me and it felt like I was skating for the first time.
I looked down and watched as my skate crossed the threshhold and the blade caught the ice. . . .
Hey, something’s happening. I feel different. I’m gliding across the ice just like I’ve done hundreds of times. I’m looking up at the crowd and they’re cheering. I’m pumping my talons in the air and waving my hockey stick. It’s all true! I’m . . . I’m . . . BUDDY!
Five days later, I’m back to being me. But those 3 hours were a wondrous experience and I think I lived up to Buddy’s example. My job was to get the crowd excited. That wasn’t hard since it was a rough, tough game and the Beast won 4-0.
Most importantly, I was there to make a Beast game a special experience for as many kids as possible. The Beast organization values families and wants to keep the kids coming back. Buddy is a big part of that effort.
The first task was to skate before the game started, then work the crowd.
I tried to interact with every group of kids I could find. Some were shy and some ran up and gave me a hug. It seemed like I shook hundreds of hands and patted hundreds of heads. I danced publicly to K.C. and the Sunshine Band for the first time since ninth grade.
My talons were sore from signing autographs and my thighs burned from running up and down stairs. There were kids celebrating birthdays and a few kids who had some bad breaks in life and needed some cheering up. I even banged the glass and mocked Hartford’s goalie a few times.
I now realize Buddy taught me a lesson about believing in something that doesn’t seem real. I know more than a few kids will keep their photograph of Buddy or their autograph from Buddy in their bedroom or on the fridge. Buddy is real in their hearts.
Buddy, by the way, is back from Canada and he’ll be at tonight’s game, putting a smile on a few thousand faces. As for me, I had a chance to step out of my usual role and do something kind of crazy and fun. How often do you have a chance to do that?
Thanks, Buddy.

Little did I know that this was the start of my second career. Let’s just say Storm, the Bridgeport Sound Tigers mascot, and I have never been seen in the same place at the same time. I’ll tell you this, the absolute best part of mascoting is making hundreds of kids laugh and shout with joy.
Oh, and drunk frat girls who want to know if the mascot is a girl or boy. I’ll let you figure out how they often try to tell.