Stanley Cup runneth all over the place

NEW YORK -- The principal couldn't silence the auditorium full of chattering, squirming school children. Neither could the teachers, with their glares and pointed fingers.

Only the sight of the glimmering Stanley Cup could make the kids pipe down and face completely forward.

A little more than an hour later, a young 9-11 widow wearing a Rangers jersey and clutching a camera managed a broad smile as she tried to lift the 35-pound trophy that her firefighter husband would have loved to see up close.

From the Upper East Side to Little Odessa to the northern edges of New York City, the Stanley Cup was treated like a first-class celebrity during its day on the town Wednesday. It can cut through a din and even offer solace, if only for a moment.

"That's the great thing about my job," says Cup keeper Phil Pritchard. "Everyone is always happy to see me."

The 36-inch-high barrel of sterling silver and nickel alloy is awarded to the team that survives four grueling rounds of the NHL playoffs. It's 109 years old, yet that doesn't stop children and adults alike from clutching, touching -- even kissing -- its shiny exterior.

The players are under its spell as well.

"You're just in awe, after watching it being raised so many times on TV, that you actually have it," Detroit's Darren McCarty said earlier in this postseason. "The thing that everyone wants to know is, 'Is this the real one?' Which it is. You're just in awe the whole time. Still are."

After a flight from Toronto on Tuesday, the Cup spent the night in the Marriott Marquis in New York.

"It got us concierge level," said Pritchard, who doubles as the director of information and acquisitions of the Hockey Hall of Fame in Toronto.

Still, there were appointments to keep, and Pritchard was up at 4:45 a.m. Wednesday to roll the Cup, in its velvet-enclosed flight case, to a 42nd Street studio for a series of TV and radio interviews.

In the early afternoon, the Cup made a stop at P.S. 225 in the Brighton Beach section of Brooklyn, an enclave of Russian immigrants known as Little Odessa.

Russian native and current New Jersey Devils forward Sergei Nemchinov, who won the Cup with New Jersey in 2000 and with the New York Rangers in 1994, did his best to answer the questions of children who spoke a hybrid of Russian and English.

His best moment in hockey?

"When I won this," he said, pointing to the Cup.

So many parents of the P.S. 225 students wanted to come to the assembly that the school had to turn them all away to be fair.

But even Nemchinov, who knows the power of hockey among his people, was overwhelmed by those who squealed and begged for autographs as if he were a member of 'N Sync.

"I don't deserve this," he said, his face flushed with disbelief.

Instead of staying a planned 30 minutes, Nemchinov sat at a small schoolroom desk, meeting and greeting, for 2 1/2 hours.

Meanwhile, the Cup was on to its next destination in Manhattan.

The Cup was the only reason Christine Curatolo was back at the firehouse on East 67th Street. Her last visit there was just after Sept. 11, when she learned her husband of less than a month perished in the attacks on the World Trade Center.

Rob Curatolo's life consisted of three things, his pals said: the firehouse, Christine and hockey.

"He's one of my best friends and I'd say half of the time we talked, it was about hockey," Charlie DeBiase Jr. said. "And half of that time, we talked about the Rangers."

The first photo Christine took Wednesday was a close-up of the three-inch square on the Cup owned by the 1994 Rangers.

She remembered how Rob, 31, was beside himself after scoring a goal in a firehouse hockey game last year.

"Couldn't stop talking about it," she said, shaking her head and smiling.

Christine, 30, is still blanketed in grief, as are Curatolo's seven siblings. Of his three brothers, two are firefighters and one is a policeman.

"Things are OK," firefighter Billy Curatolo said. "It's still hard. It's tough on my dad." His voice trailed off.

The Cup has soothed pain before.

Montreal's Guy Carbonneau took it to his father's grave, as did Detroit's Brendan Shanahan. It's been to countless hospitals and cancer wards, collecting tears in its bowl.

The last stop on the New York tour was an ice rink in Mount Vernon, a town just north of The Bronx. There, in front of kids who participate in a hockey club for the underprivileged, Mayor Ernest Davis proclaimed May 15 as "Stanley Cup Day."

Comments on the trophy?

"Cool," 8-year-old defenseman Timothy Schilling said.

"Shiny," added goalie Joe Gizzo, also 8.

A moment later, Pritchard and the Cup were racing to LaGuardia Airport for an evening flight back to Toronto.

For some players, the Cup should have more days like Wednesday.

"To me, winning it is all here," Devils defenseman Ken Daneyko said recently, pointing to his head. "It's not the trophy, it's about how hard you worked with a group of guys to attain it. What it symbolizes is more for the fans to share with people. They gravitate to the Stanley Cup, the specialness of it."