Remembering Andy Eide

Beloved hockey writer Andy Eide, a colleague here on the Kraken app and website, passed away last April after collapsing due to a stroke on the press bridge right before puck drop of a mid-March afternoon home game at Climate Pledge Arena. Andy would have turned 54 on Saturday (a birthday he shares with his mom, Donna) and we all sorely and tenderly miss him, his laugh, and his fervent listening. We asked Darren Brown, who succeeded Andy as the Kraken’s NHL.com writer, for his thoughts on Andy, especially their time together with John Barr founding the “NHLtoSeattle” grassroots effort via website and podcast now renamed “Sound of Hockey.”

Every time I walk through the doors of Climate Pledge Arena, I think of my friend, Andy Eide. I pass under the neon-embossed “Press” sign that adorns one of the entrances on the west side of the building, a sign that remains prominently featured as the header photo on Andy’s still-active Twitter account. Seeing it always reminds me of him and makes me think of his larger-than-life, jovial personality, his booming laugh, and his proclivity for spending hours talking about his favorite thing in the world: hockey.

I only met Andy six years ago, but I got to know him well during our time writing and podcasting together. We were two very different people with dissimilar backgrounds. Yet we connected and created great memories together, growing close as friends and colleagues thanks to one common bond between us: hockey. 

I was connected with Andy through our mutual friend, John Barr. John recruited Andy and me separately to join “NHLtoSeattle,” John’s grassroots campaign that eventually succeeded in helping land the 32nd NHL franchise in the Pacific Northwest.

In support of the cause, we wrote and talked about hockey as much as we possibly could, even though we were still years away from the NHL arriving in Seattle. We figured if there was anything we could do to help the region learn about the game, even if it only reached a handful of existing hardcore hockey fans, then it was worth the effort.

Launching a Podcast

So, we launched a podcast, “Sound Of Hockey,” and began gathering in John’s basement (“BarrDown Studios,” as we called it) every week to spread the good word about the sport we all loved so dearly.

Every time we got together to record an episode, John and I would feverishly prepare our show notes to make sure everything ran as smoothly as possible. And while we did that, Andy would use the time to share story after story of things that happened in a Seattle Thunderbirds game the week prior or something a former Western Hockey League player that reached the NHL had said to him years prior. Andy loved that he had connections with NHL players like Shea Theodore, Keegan Kolesar, Ethan Bear, Mathew Barzal and so many others. He took great pride in telling us anecdotes from his time covering them in junior hockey.

A Final Tweet from Prolific Account

A prolific Twitter user, Andy sent his last tweet to the hockey world an hour before the doors to CPA opened to fans that day. “Perfect day to come inside for a big Pacific Division battle!” he wrote, complementing his words with a photo of the empty venue.

When he sent that tweet, Andy did not know what was in store for him later that day. But it oddly encapsulated who he was, at least for the last 11 years of his life, which he spent solidifying himself as one of only a handful of consistent hockey voices in a market that had long been starved for coverage of the sport.

The photo on Andy’s tweet was appropriate. He often talked about how much time he spent in empty junior arenas over the years, waiting for the Seattle Thunderbirds of the Western Hockey League to take the ice for warmups. He found the cold, cavernous buildings calming when they were devoid of fans, at least until pre-game rehearsals would start, at which point some song he didn’t particularly like would begin blasting on repeat.

Quiet and Bedlam, All in a Day’s Work

I recall a day at Angel of the Winds Arena in Everett when he and I were awaiting a tilt between the Thunderbirds and the Everett Silvertips. We were both quietly working on different articles on our respective laptops, enjoying the peace and quiet of the empty building.

Then, in an instant, the public address system erupted into deafening action, nearly jolting us both out of our seats. Lincoln Bear, Everett’s mascot, sped through the Zamboni doors on an ATV and launched off a small jump before taking a few practice twirls on the ice. As Lincoln revved the engine of his four-wheeler, the first few bars of Eminem’s “Till I Collapse” shook the empty arena. Then the song stopped, Lincoln revved again, and the song started over. Then it started over again … and again … and again.

With productivity rendered impossible for me, I looked over at Andy, who had continued his writing after a brief period of startle. To my amazement, he was acting as if nothing had changed in the building.

“How are you writing right now?” I screamed over the din.

“This is what it’s like writing in a junior arena!” Andy screamed back with a laugh.

This was what he did. He went to the places he loved, hockey arenas, and he did what he loved, writing and talking about hockey.

The photo of Climate Pledge Arena in Andy’s last tweet was fitting. He had done his time in the WHL readying himself for the arrival of an NHL franchise, which he believed for many years could one day become a reality. And here he was, yet again, in an empty hockey arena (albeit a much larger one than the WHL buildings where he cut his teeth) waiting for the team he covered to take the ice for warmups. 

What may get lost in the words of that final tweet is Andy’s wry sense of humor. A “perfect day” to come inside? No, it wasn’t. It was beautiful outside that day. Yet, I’m certain there’s no place Andy would have preferred to be than inside a cold, empty arena, waiting for hockey.

Scaling the Hockey Heights in Spokane

One more story if you don’t mind: I learned about Andy’s fear of heights on Sept. 26, 2021. That was the night the Seattle Kraken were set to play their first pre-season game in franchise history at Spokane Arena in Spokane, home of the WHL’s Chiefs.

Acrophobia was an unfortunate phobia for a hockey writer to have, considering Andy regularly sat in the highest seats possible at the arenas he visited. He didn’t show his trepidation, though, until that night in Spokane at a venue neither of us had visited previously. With no prior knowledge of the arena, we didn’t know about the perilous trek to the press box that laid before us that night.

To get to the press box at Spokane Arena, you must walk on a flimsy metal catwalk that dangles high above the upper bowl of seats and rattles back and forth with every step. I personally had no problem walking across it, so I scampered out onto the narrow walkway, assuming Andy was right behind me.

But when I turned back to make sure he was keeping up, I saw him lagging hundreds of feet behind, shuffling along with his hands grasped tightly to the railings on both sides. He was taking measured, attentive steps, acting as if a sudden movement would send us both plummeting. He kept his eyes on me and continued slowly following me even as I took a wrong turn and led us (to Andy’s dismay) out over center ice.

Realizing my mistake, I turned us back. “I don’t think we’re supposed to be here,” I said. Andy didn’t say a word in response but looked at me with some combination of panic and fury in his eyes. He silently turned and continued his methodical march until he found his own way to the press box, no longer trusting my direction.

Later that night, the Kraken took the ice as a team for the first time ever. Andy and I happened to be assigned seats next to each other, so we got to share the moment together. When the lights in the arena went down and Seattle emerged from its dressing room, the 10,208 fans in attendance screamed so loudly that both Andy and I felt the hairs on our arms stand up.

“I just got goosebumps!” I shouted.

“Me too!” Andy yelled back.

This wasn’t the first time Andy and I had needed to scream to communicate to one another in the press box of a WHL arena, but this was a bit, well, way more special than the previous time. It's a moment I will never forget. I’m so grateful Andy got to live out his dream. We’re all better fans and people for it.