August 13, 2010

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  "I'm a Blackhawks fan."

  That's what I said to the boy on the playground at Lincoln School (kindergarten) - the boy who wasn't a bully, but somenone I had deemed particularly obnoxious for reasons I can't now recall. Every day he would wear his St. Louis Blues hooded sweatshirt out to recess, and every day I liked him a little less. And so I had joined the ranks of Hawks fans out of antagonism, only in the knowledge that the apparent rebuttal to a fan of a St. Louis sports team was choosing its Chicagoan counterpart and that there was indeed a hockey team called the Chicago Blackhawks. I now had a favorite hockey team, but a more phone-in fan I could not imagine. I knew none of the players, none of the team's history, nothing of its current standing in the league (they could have been champions for all I knew), had never held a hockey stick or puck, and wasn't familiar with the rules of the game. The team was a placeholder, an answer in case the question would ever come up (it never did), and that's what the Hawks remained for some time. In the years to follow, I developed loyalty to other sports teams (St Louis Cardinals, Chicago Bears, and Chicago Bulls in that order) for various reasons that I won't go into here. I also played all of those teams' respective sports in some capacity be it organized through CYO, at school recess, or just in my backyard. But when I was seven or eight years old, my mother began taking me to Scotties Skateland on Wednesday nights and helping me to learn to rollerskate. At the time, the reasons for this escaped me. Looking back, maybe she thought this would be a good mother-son activity or that it would teach me the importance of practicing and developing a skill over time - but I like to think that she somehow knew that knowing how to skate would someday play an important part in my life. I can still hear the verbal progress reports she would give my dad when we returned home - "Aaron skated on the carpet all by himself", "Aaron held onto the rail and pushed himself around the rink", "Aaron can skate around the rink without using the rail".

  

  My skills improved over my early grade school years and my enjoyment increased accordingly. I loved skating, but I should point out that applying my skating to hockey never crossed my mind - I was having too much fun. I didn't think about hockey while skating for the same reason a young boy playing at the local pool doesn't think about doing the 200 meter butterfly at the Olympics. But the seed had been planted, and as I got older and became more invested in televised sports, I was inexplicably drawn to hockey. I say inexplicably because the rural Midwest is not a hotbed for hockey fandom, something I deal with to this day. Other sports were practically spoon-fed to you, but if you wanted to be a hockey fan, you had to work at it. The best I could get were occasional Blues (of course) highlights on the local news, articles from my brother’s Sports Illustrated, and last night’s scores and standings in the local newspaper. And then one night I discovered AM 1000 while desperately scanning the dial in hopes of hearing an important late season game. For the first time, I could follow the sport live. I thrilled hearing about Jeremy Roenick’s quick moves and Chelios’ defensive play. But the greatest inspiration came from hearing about the play of a man named Ed Belfour. I can still hear the announcer’s voice - “Big save by Belfour!! Shot from the point, Belfour with the pad stop, rebound, another save, big shot, Oh baby, Belfour hangs on!!!” I was as excited by his saves as I was by our goals. He was like this mythic figure that quietly watched over the team. And when I got my first hockey jersey, I put his name and number on it and wore it every chance I got. (I still have it, though it no longer fits.)

  

  Around this time, my dad helped further my interest by making arrangements with his siblings who had access to cable TV, i.e. ESPN, i.e. the occasional hockey game. Seeing an entire game live was the beginning of a transition of hockey from a distant interest to the only sport where I would watch literally anyone play. Replacing the other sports would be no minor task after a childhood of Ozzie and the Cardinals, Payton and the Bears, and Jordan and the Bulls. And it wouldn’t happen overnight, but after watching Mark Messier lead the Rangers to their first cup in 54 years in a Game 7 classic, I was on my way. In 1995, I headed off to Western Illinois University, and though I had heard that they had a roller hockey traveling club team, it wasn’t at the forefront of my mind. But one month into what was a whirlwind of new experiences I saw the flyer in my dorm’s lobby for tryouts . It would be Monday after marching band practice so I would have the time, but that’s not what really concerned me. I’ll never forget standing there with nothing but a pair of inline skates in my backpack, peering across the plaza and watching the players skate around and thinking, “I should just head back to my room.” After all, I didn’t want to play that badly; it’s not likely I could compete with these guys given that I‘ve never played before and could count on one hand the number of games I’ve even seen. Also, I had just begun to learn to skate backwards. But I couldn’t back down knowing that I’ve been itching to play for so long and that I may not get that opportunity again. So, in one of the several life-changing decisions that I made while in college, I walked over and remembering my somewhat limited skating ability said, “I’ll try playing goalie”. (Big mistake - goalies are usually exceptional skaters, especially in terms of maneuverability.) Fortunately, the team had a set of pads but unfortunately, they were very cheap and probably intended for use with a ball - which is what we used - instead of a puck. I made due but suffered my share of bruises from time to time. I had no “style” or “technique” other than “When the ball comes, try to put the nearest piece of equipment in front of it.” Two weeks later, we agreed to a pick-up game at Roller Country in Quincy. I would face a puck for the first time. The other goalie played most of the game, but they decided to put me in for the last ten minutes - the worst ten minutes of my career to this day. I was completely unprepared for the difference of a puck - it’s faster, it’s heavier, it flies very differently. At least half the shots scored, including a knuckler from the blue line. It was very demoralizing, but I had to buck up - two weeks later I would be the starter in net at a tournament at the U of I. Tournaments came and went and we won a game here and there. My game slowly improved over time after I adjusted to a puck and gained more experience. The bruises were piling up so I began buying my own set of equipment piece-by-piece from Play-It-Again Sports stores in various cities. I began watching hockey anytime I could now that I had cable TV for the first time. I became a fan of the NHL in general, but my heart always beat faster for Chicago. It was a surreal experience watching Ed Belfour now that I was playing goal myself. It must be how swimmers feel in the water next to dolphins or pilots flying next to geese - humbling, yet exhilarating. My time on that team was a key part of the four most important years of my life. My game has seen a very slow but very steady improvement over the years, but I never gave up and never stopped loving it.

  

  My interest reached the point where my father took me to my first pro hockey game - Blues v. Blackhawks in St. Louis. Bernie Nichols and Doug Gilmour scored in the first ten minutes, but the Blues scored the next three for a 3-2 victory. The night was still magical and yet more fuel for my hockey fire. after graduating, I returned home and resumed playing every Sunday at Scotties as I do to this day in the very rink I learned to skate those years ago. In 2001, I got my own place and bought the Center Ice satellite TV package. Every game, every night, on my television. This put my hockey interest in overdrive. Marion Hossa and Daniel Alfredsson kept me watching the Ottawa Senators, Mario Lemieux’s return piqued my interest in the Penguins, and of course, there was always my beloved Blackhawks.  So I have my three favorites, but I could easily be persuaded to watch anyone. Still my heart always beats faster for Chicago, which brings me to the motivation of this now long-winded post. This summer, the Chicago Blackhawks provided me with the greatest sports fan-related joy since Andre Agassi won Wimbledon in 1992. My favorite team in my favorite sport winning the highest honor in the year in which I predicted as such. Does it get any better? In 2006, they finished in last place. But then. Dealing. Acquiring. Shaping. Building. Gaining. Working. Grinding. Culminating in an overtime goal by a star player flooding a drought-stricken town with emotion and icing the cake of my summer. I must admit that I haven’t gone 48 hours this summer without remembering that the Chicago Blackhawks are Stanley Cup Champions. I still have the game on my DVR and must have watched the winning goal over a hundred times. I quickly bought the hat, and the commemorative DVD will be my next “unnecessary” purchase. I changed my profile picture, and for the first time ever changed the header on my site.  I will also forego the tradition of changing the site's color scheme on my birthday in order to maintain 'Hawk colors. I love you guys and I’ll see you again in….Oh my God! Two months?!?! Take your time NHL season. I still have a lot of basking to do. What can I say? I’m a Blackhawks fan.

  

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