Standing near the Zamboni entrance for many years, The Maven has become fascinated with a relatively new, rooting cult which I have named "The Rangers Glass Bangers."
As you shall see, the nickname perfectly fits this arresting version of man's inhumanity to glass – and his fists.
What "The Rangers Glass Bangers" fraternity does is pay huge bucks for seats directly behind the glass barriers that separate the ice from the arena.
This allows the purchaser to see the action as close to the actual players as possible; which it does, and that's nice.
What's debatable – at least in my noble opinion – is whether The Garden knew what the inevitable result would be.
Such fan-to-glass proximity converts what would seem to be normal human being into a combination of self-proclaimed fist-banger with assorted forms of anger thrown-in.
Mind you, I speak firsthand, having – too often – strayed behind their jerky gyrations.
"The Glass Bangers" swing into action at the slightest provocation, starting with a bad (penalty) call against the Rangers or a missed call after Washington's Tom Wilson mugs a Blueshirt.
For such minor indiscretions, "The Glass Banger" will go easy and merely flatten out the palm of his hand and slap it smartly against the pane with appropriate dastardly dialogue, sprinkled with a minimum of five excellent expletives.
No need to worry about offending the surrounding crowd. They'd be doing it too, but who wants to waste an expensive beer on a referee or Tom Wilson when there are a dozen glass-bangers alongside to do the dirty work.
The deluxe edition of this silly species is – to be kindly – more animated, more vocal, and usually leaves The Garden with a multi-colored fist and a blood pressure twice what it was when he entered the fray.
Any phys ed teacher will tell you that when the irresistible fist hits the immovable glass, fist loses by a TKO. But the glass-banger always figures it's worth the whack.
The target of a fist-banger usually is a particular player he dislikes or – when the Islanders visit The World's Most Famous Arena – anybody in a visiting jersey.
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There's no need for us to get into an argument over this. The season is over and even the glass-bangers are sorry they made fools of themselves.
The whole point of the glass-banging exercise is for the target player – or ref – to turn his head and actually check out the ill-tempered banger.
Most sensible players ignore the indignity, but every so often an enemy stickhandler will put on the brakes, stare and finally turn on a defusing who's sorry now grin.
Maybe even humming a chorus of "What Is This Thing Called Love?" But to a certified MSG glass-banger, love simply is defined by a many-splendored WHACK!