A Very Loud Statement

As insane as this might sound, Alex Ovechkin's game-winning score wasn't what remained in the mind after 11 p.m. last night.

Oh, that last goal was flat-out breathtaking, a clutch steal and a deadeye shot from the only player on the ice who should have won this heirloom of a hockey game. From Russia with fire and flare, in his maiden playoff game, the kid sent Verizon Center into a cacophonous tizzy.

Blaring foghorns. Throaty screams. Two NHL doormats a year ago, duking it out in Game 1, trading body shots and goals, until someone dropped.

No scripted ending for the first Stanley Cup playoff game in the District in five years could have matched the reality of this decibel-climbing drama. Nothing could equal hockey's most flammable and marketable team rebounding from two goals down in the third period to rock Philadelphia's world, 5-4.

And yet, as good as Ovechkin's goal was, it's what happened after that resonates. It's the patented Lambeau Leap into that pane of glass, the only obstacle separating the zealots from their athletic hero. It was the commune at that moment, between a 22-year-old phenom and the frenetic fans of the Washington Capitals, that bordered on spiritual.

After two hours of the most riveting theater anyone in this franchise has seen in mid-April since 2003, this town has fallen hard for this player and this hockey team. At the exact moment Ovechkin hurled his body into the air, Washington felt about the Capitals like a 14-year-old girl feels about the photo of Justin Timberlake on her dresser.

Sergei Fedorov, of Russian Red Army and Detroit Red Wing fame, who has played nearly as many deafening arenas as both Bono and Bruce (Springsteen, not Boudreau), called Game 1 of the first round of the Eastern Conference playoffs the most raucous arena he has ever played in.

"Tonight was the loudest it's ever been for me," Fedorov said. "It's like 60 minutes non-stop. I had a broken stick, and I couldn't hear it break because it was so loud."

There were speed-metal guitars pumped through the speakers, grown men fist-pumping in red jerseys and Mohawk haircuts, a candy-apple red neon light encircling the arena.

After a complete, if necessary, assault on the senses and one of the most well-orchestrated and riveting pregame introductions ever, the Capitals and their roster full of young guns, old warhorses and a dozen minor-league call-ups -- including Boudreau, Hershey's old coach -- Washington actually had to begin playing an NHL postseason game.

Incredibly, the on-ice performance surpassed the pageantry, a back-and-forth shootout that ended with the Caps stealing Game 1 from the hard-checking Flyers.

"What I learned is we are a team who never give up," Ovechkin said in his broken and charming English. "It doesn't matter who scores, we just keep them going, keep them going. We believe in each other all the time, and this is key for us."

Before his only goal and one of just three shots, Ovechkin, the MVP-to-be, seemed more interested in showing the Flyers he could hit back rather than shoot the puck for most of three periods. He got help from another member of the Caps' kiddie corps, Mike Green.

The Calgary hotshot scored the first two goals of the third period to stun Philadelphia, which had been laying wood on Washington since midway through the second period.

If Green's first goal was hope for the Capitals, the second -- a flat-out laser from the top of the circle, right of the net -- was proof that 11 out of 12 wins to finish the regular season and shockingly recover from worst to first in the Southeast Division could be parlayed into a Stanley Cup playoff comeback.

The Flyers' 4-2 lead had begun to quiet the Phone Booth, but after Green's goals, the mayhem and noise returned, a feeling of almost anticipation that Boudreau's attacking club would not give this gift of an opportunity away.

Were you here last night, among this impossibly loud sea of red-clad fans, waving their red Teri-cloth towels, chanting in unison, "Unleash the fury!" as Axl Rose belted, "Welcome to the Jungle," you would have a conniption as they did.

Everything felt new, much like San Jose did in 1994, the year the expansion Sharks enraptured a sleepy northern California sports town by knocking off the Detroit Red Wings in the Western Conference playoffs. Having been in that building then, I have to say Washington is about as whipped up. The nation's capital has gone gaga over this homespun coach from Ontario and his multinational and multigenerational team of players, who all treat the puck like children treat a piñata at a birthday party -- swinging wildly at everything until they hear noise and applause.

Ovechkin did not have a shot on goal for more than two periods. But he let go of a wrist shot with less than six minutes left in the first period. The puck morphed into a bullet, a 200-mph projectile that missed high and to the right, crushing the glass and ricocheted almost to center ice.

It merely foreshadowed the scintillating end. The steal. The shot.

Bedlam. The District's first Stanley Cup playoff game in five years ended amid roaring applause and a growing hunger for Game 2 tomorrow.

"The crowd was so into it that it was pretty cool," Boudreau said. David Steckel, his former minor league center, added, "I have great friends in Hershey, nothing against them, but this place was rockin.' "

What a grand opening. What a pulsating end. How Washington missed this engagement for five seasons, how long the Capitals' legions have waited to unleash this fury.