How I Learned To Stop Being A Hater

This isn’t a renunciation of my vitriol for teams, or a sign of some emotional maturity. I’ve sort of made my bones as a blogger and Z-list internet hockey pundit saying insane stuff about teams that made people howl. That’s all well and good. It really is, everything needs a jerk.

Every fanbase has assholes. I just don’t want to be the asshole of our fanbase.

I will never, under any circumstances, root for the Rangers or Penguins. Sorry, thems the breaks. This self reflection began by reading a post from the great Michele Catalano of American McCarver on how some fans, “Dont know where they end and their team begins.” That led to some soul searching that continued for a few days.

Typical Isles Depression

But upon careful consideration, I will no longer become annoyed, bitchy, and snarky if the despised teams win. I have friends that support teams I’d like to see sink into the ocean.  I don’t associate with the bandwagon jerkoffs that I actually despise. I can’t, my overpowering urge to throttle the “who the hell is Mike Bossy” people would get me in the pokey. But these fans I consider friends are just as passionate and knowledgeable about their team as I am of mine. They deserve happiness. Who am I to ballyhoo them in their moment of triumph?

Go, win. I don’t care. It’s fine. My friends deserve to be happy, and I’m sure there are a few decent other people in each fanbase (though, understandably less than most in Broadway Blue). I’ve made friends in every enemy camp. 2 friends from Boston, 2 from Philly(!ick!), 3 NJDers, 2 Pens fans, A Leafs fan, a plethora of Canes fans, and on and on. All teams I revile to varying degrees.

Oddly, I have no Sens fan friends. Could be because of what I said about them here.

Oh, they were pissed. I angered the hockey hipsters, they may get a Tim Horton’s cappuccino on my jersey.

These blossoming e-friendships are in addition to the number of friends who I stay in touch with primarily through hockey, like Tonawanda Tom, who honestly deserves to see his Sabres win a Cup and my police officer pal in NC who is a diehard Rags fan. All likeable people. What does hating their team get me? Other than pissed off and envious of their success? My team sucks. I’ve accepted that. As such, I’ll be jealous whenever someone wins the Cup.

This game has given me so very much. So many wonderful and lasting friendships, a passion that’ll be with me until I die, bumps, bruises, memories seared into my brain that though few and far between for a team as woe begotten as mine are still there. My team’s season ended in April. Time to accept that and look forward to next season and focus on playing the game, rather than wasting my time with infantile statements about how a team and it’s fanbase are trash.

I still don’t like a few teams, but why am I going to waste my time being angry? It’s futility of the highest order. As someone close to me told me last night, “Hockey is a great uniter.” I thought about that statement on the drive home, reflecting on it last night, and decided I no longer need the dark side of the force, so to speak.

International Symbol for Futility

I’d been stewing on this for a while, since a roadtrip through the Midwest with my buddies.

Sitting in Wrigley, where the aged ushers literally had no idea the last time they won it all, and the kids were being indoctrinated by their parents into supporting the Northsiders for future generations of futility… I can deal with another lean decade or two from my hockey and football teams.

Mathew Dumba: The Next Mr. Islander?

If they can keep their head up and keep their faith in such a sea of staggering failure, I can do the same until Charles Wang flies into the sun. But since that was entirely too fluffy: Charles Wang still should die in prison, Matt Cooke is a douche and Raffi Torres should die of asscrabs. That sounds a lot more like me.

And now, my mocky mockdraft!

1. Nail Yakupov – EDM will take him or trade. Very simple. He’s the Consensus Run Away topdog.
2. Filip Forsberg – Howson goes slightly off the board. Wants a crease crasher.
3. Mikhail Grigogenko – Montreal. Roy’s prodigal son. It’s done. It’s faite compli.
4. (The only pick we really care about) Ryan Murray – Snow takes a Dman. If Murray is gone, he grabs Dumba.
5. Alex Galchenyuk – Burke gets a playmaker to support Kessel.
6. Teuvo Teravainen – Teemu coaches up the young Fin.
7. Matthew Dumba (If he’s gone Cody Ceci)– Minnesota goes for a BIG Dman.
8.  Radek Faksa – My Canes correspondents insist
9. Morgan Reilly – Winnipoop gets the injured but dynamic Dman.
10.  Malcolm Subban – Tampa finally addresses the net question.

I will see you next time, or I will see you another time.

For Seasons

Although it seems so much longer ago, it was only near this time last year (give or take a few weeks) that we were boarding a plane at Dulles that would take us to Amsterdam and Paris. Much of Europe (and parts of the U.S.) were all agog over the impending royal wedding, which we were not, as obviously our invitations were misplaced by jealous postal carrier types. It was a madcap week on the continent, but we still had hockey on minds.

While taxiing, we constantly refreshed the twitters, desperate to hear the results of the deciding round 1 Caps-Rangers game. We won and it was wheels up. The Tampa Bay Bolts were next and we’d be back home in time to enjoy most of the second round. As half-smokes and Leinenkugels gave way to charcuterie and cappucinos, we let go of the Capitals for a moment, hopeful for their future. April in Paris and nod-nod, wink-wink in Amsterdam awaited us.

We got home, the Caps were faltering, bin Laden was iced and then it was all over. Sudden. Swept. That outcome was very bad, obviously different from this year’s 2nd round, but this one stings more. We were so damn close. So close. But there’s little time for sadness.

It seems we had more ups and downs this season that those previous; in part because there were, and also because we just felt them more this year. We were sad to see the departure of Papa “Sasha Whisperer” Arnott, but genuinely thrilled to have Jeff “the Hebrew Hammer” Halpern back. It was only in September we excitedly got (among others) Roman Hamrlik and Mattias Sjorgren’s signatures at CapsCon….the two taking very different paths over the season. 

Bruce Boudreau’s ”really big cup holders” and pinata gave way to John Carlson’s muddy feet and Brooksie’s ootsourcing; Mike Knuble was sent in and out of jail while Karl Alzner kept adding dogs and telling the truth. Rarely a week went by without goalie drama and just getting into the playoffs seemed questionable just over a month ago. Being emotionally attached to this team has its risks.

We had some ups and downs as well…mostly ups. We added dozens of new writers (now friends) from across the country and hosted the first-ever Gays Night Out at Verizon. The tom-fools over at RMNB asked us to stop by for a little bit, and we ended up just crashing in their basement. We the precocious Sidneys to their august Marios.

We saw the creation of the “You Can Play” project, and met Zach, a high school hockey player on his journey of coming out. We drank beers, and more beers, at various gatherings and were constantly thrilled to meet old and new readers (and even more thrilled you didn’t throw your beers on us or call security.)

Everything comes out in the wash

This season didn’t end as we had hope, but it gave us much more than we ever expected. For that, all hockey hugs go to the entire Caps organization and its extended clan. But it’s Spring, and it’s time to plant and look forward again to the fall. Time for Dale Hunter to spit out that overworked wad of chewing gum and give his jaw a rest. The furies shall rest a bit and dream about October. And we can finally wash our jerseys.

It’s impossible to know where the journey takes us next and who will come along. And yet we’re already looking forward to the adventure. Where’s our big trip to this year? Pittsburgh for the draft, of course.

We recall the off-season flying by last summer: the NHL Awards, the draft, dev camp, the rookie arrivals, training camp, and then fanboy camp – the Alumni game and Capscon. Our hockey friends became more like hockey family at each of those stops. Spring will give way to summer and then fall; before you know it, even crisper weather – winter is coming. Again.