When light hit the bay

They played in a barn. That's not hockey slang. They really did play in a barn. On ground more suited for grazing cattle than a professional sports team.

They were the star attraction at the Florida State Fair. In the shadow of the Ferris wheel, right next to the corn dog and cotton candy booths, players molded their sticks into game condition.

The locker rooms had only five shower heads, meaning players had to clean up in groups of five after every game. The players lounge was nothing more than a couch and a television. The coaches' office was an oversized closet.

The press box hung over one of the goals and was nothing more than a wobbly table with folding chairs. Postgame receptions were held in a tent.

When Chicago's Dirk Graham looked at the digs, he turned to a reporter and said, "This is where they PLAY?"

But who complained? Hockey had arrived in Tampa Bay. Real hockey, plus a woman named Manon.

There was something cute, almost heroic about the inaugural version of the Tampa Bay Lightning.

It had stars. There was an 18-year-old kid named Roman Hamrlik. And a journeyman disguised as a scoring machine named Chris Kontos. And a guy no one wanted named Brian Bradley, who would become the Lightning's first All-Star.

The was Zam, Jabber and Wendel. There was Crispy, Cash and Espo. There was Tuck, Basil and Rammer. Fans cheered a little guy named Rob DiMaio and jeered a big guy named Adam Creighton.

But more than individuals, the Lightning's first season is best known for the team. Phrases such as "Crisp's system" and "Espo's five-year plan" became part of the local sports vernacular, along with phrases such as "What's a blue line?" and "Fight! Fight!"

Maybe many fans didn't know the difference between a blue line and a clothes line, but they did know the difference between a team that tried and a team that didn't. It didn't take long for the Lightning to win the hearts of the 10,500 who crammed into tiny Expo Hall every night.

After Alan Thicke -- Alan Thicke! -- mangled the names of the Japanese owners during the opening-night ceremonies, the Lightning was turned loose on the NHL. Behind Kontos' four goals, Tampa Bay buried the Blackhawks 7-3. Print those playoff tickets.

A month later, the Lightning reeled off an unbeaten streak of six games to push its record to 9-8-2. Print those Stanley Cup finals tickets.

Eventually, we were reminded the Lighting was just an expansion team. Detroit beat it 10-5 one night, then 9-7 a week later. Tampa Bay had a seven-game losing streak and an eight-game losing streak. It went from Dec. 22, 1992, to Jan. 23, 1993, with only one victory.

Tampa Bay won only nine of its last 45 games.

Yet there was something fun about that team. No one expected it to win, so when the Lightning beat Gretzky's Kings or knocked off the eventual Stanley Cup champion Canadiens, it was a big deal. Even when prolonged losing streaks were extended, fans praised the effort instead of dwelling on the losses.

Fans ignored Rob Zamuner's 24-game scoreless streak and concentrated on Bradley's 42 goals. Fans could not have cared less that Hamrlik looked like a boy among men, and they cheered every forward step in his growing process.

After the final home game, the players circled the ice and gave the fans sticks, pucks and smiles. The fans applauded to thank the players for a wonderful season. The players thanked the fans for giving them a season they would never forget.

Just ask one of those original players what that season was like. They fondly speak about the lousy ice and the little locker room. They talk proudly of how they battled and bled through 84 games and earned the respect of the league.

Only a few months later, everything changed. Kontos didn't come back because of a contract dispute. The arrival of new players such as Daren Puppa and Petr Klima raised expectations. Chris Gratton was drafted. Hamrlik wasn't a rookie anymore. Manon Rheaume was no longer hip. And the team moved to the ThunderDome.

The honeymoon was over. Effort wasn't good enough anymore. Trying and losing didn't quench the fans' thirst. Cheers turned into boos. Anger, not sympathy, was the fan reaction to six-game losing streaks.

Now all we hear about is Puppa's health. And Hamrlik's slow development. And an offer sheet from Philadelphia.

Do the owners care? What's up with Jason Wiemer? Why don't they trade this guy or that guy? These are the questions the fans ask these days. Warm and fuzzy hasn't been felt since that day the players passed out the sticks and pucks and smiles.

Only the playoff team of 1995-96 approached the same lofty status in the hearts and minds of the fans of the original team. When asked what his favorite team was, however, coach Terry Crisp doesn't talk about the playoff team, the team that helped him place third in Coach of the Year voting.

Instead, he talks about another team that worked hard every night, that fought every game, that perhaps was the only Lightning team the fans unanimously loved.

The inaugural team.