In the wee hours of June 2, seven R-J sports department employees posed for a photo in front of the White House. This may not tell all one needs to know about the first season in Las Vegas’ major league sports history, but it certainly provides context and a backdrop.
A soft, warm rain that had been falling had ceased. A humidity more fierce than a Tom Wilson bodycheck was now enveloping the wee hours.
One also could sense a camaraderie among those who had traveled a great distance via planes, trains and Uber drivers to chronicle Games 3 and 4 of the most unpredictable Stanley Cup Final ever, considering one team had not existed the previous year and the other had not won the Cup in 43 years.