My best day ever

December 2, 2025, started out as a regular day. The weather was cold and rainy. I thought there was going to be some snow, but there wasn’t. My Tuesday walking friend and I decided to call it a raincheck day because of the weather.

Since I needed to walk, after watching too many episodes of “Homeland,” my latest Netflix obsession, I did some housekeeping and then bundled up to go to walk the mall.

I was walking past Nordstrom’s, signaling lap #1, when I noticed a tall, handsome man. I did a double take, no, it wasn’t Husband #1, it was Martin Brodeur. Or, at the time, I thought it was.

For those of you who don’t know who Martin Brodeur is, he was the three-time Stanley Cup champion goalie of the New Jersey Devils hockey team. I grew up seeing his face everywhere. My dad had season tickets since their first year, and Marty was a part of our vernacular.

I walked up to the tall, handsome man and asked, “Are you Martin Brodeur?” He chuckled and said, “Yes. Yes I am.” And then I flipped out and started screaming a little. I also started sweating and I couldn’t stop saying, “Oh my gosh! I can’t believe it is really you!! I grew up watching you play!!”

Of course this was a silly thing to say because I am older than he is, but I became a total fan girl. I told him how my nephew is named after him (he really is, don’t ask). I told him how my son, the goalie, wore his number 30. “He played Jew hockey, not real hockey, like you did.”

Yes, I threw Son #1 under the bus.

And then I told him how we have his life-size fathead (giant stickers of famous athletes, google it please) hanging on our basement wall. “Unfortunately,” I began to tell him, “We also have one of Henrik Lundvqvist, because my husband is a Rangers fan.” (Lundqvist was the Rangers’ goalie.)

I was just babbling and babbling, and he was just looking at this 55-year-old woman, laughing and ruing the fact that he admitted his true identity.

Of course, I asked if I could take a picture, which I did. I also wanted to hug him, but I didn’t. I then wanted to call my dad to tell him, which, unfortunately, I couldn’t.

So the next best thing was texting my brother the picture. But I didn’t stop there. I called all my boys to tell them who I met. It is good to know that even though they are all Oreos, I continue to impress them as a boy mom with my recognition of Brodeur. “How did you know it was him? That is so cool, Mom.” Yes, I am cool. And possibly a tad pathetic, but that is okay.

My excitement and babbling didn’t stop there. As I continued my walk, I passed two guys eating lunch, and one of them was wearing a Devils cap. I walked up to him and said, “I know you don’t know me, but I just saw Marty Brodeur!! He is here at the mall!” “He really is here at the mall??” the stranger asked, all aflutter, “Yes, he is here!!!”

As I continued on my lap, I saw Marty in front of the puppy store. I was on the phone with Husband #1 at this point and I asked Husband #1 if I should run back to the Devils fan to tell him where Marty was. “Please don’t do that, Banj, I really don’t want you to get arrested.” I really, really wanted to, but Husband #1 was right. I didn’t want to get arrested because then I would be late to babysit my new surrogate grandchildren.

Yes, that was the only reason.

For the record, when I told Husband #1 who I saw, his response was, “It’s not like you saw some great Rav or something.”

Are you kidding me????? Because, for the record, I was just as excited when I saw Rav Aaron Feldman of Ner Yisroel at the airport.

Husband #1 was just salty because he is a Rangers fan. Believe me, if I had seen Mike Richter (google him) or Henrik Lundqvist, his response would have been different.

The end.

Banji Ganchrow of Teaneck will be telling this story about Marty to anyone who will listen for many weeks to come. She apologizes in advance.