turn out the lights, the party's over....all good things must come to an end......
I'll be here til the bitter end - or whatever happens - but this makes my heart hurt....
I became a hockey fan in the depth of the dead puck era, after catching a glimpse of a game on TV by chance in the middle of the night. If you knew my immigrant family growing up, you'd know how unlikely a chain of events this was. We had absolutely zero tradition of playing or following sports, it just wasn't part of the vocabulary. We had no cable TV for much of my childhood. On top of that, I'd always found the concept of "rooting for the home team" an essentially alien one--moving around multiple times growing up will do that to you.
But the game... the game was beautiful. I started checking up scores in the newspaper everyday. I checked books out of the library, dug through old SI articles on shelves, tried to learn as much as I could without actually being able to watch the games myself. I picked the Rangers to follow, almost at a whim, because 1) this was in suburban NJ, and thus they were somewhat local: at least I'd have no trouble finding newspaper coverage (which turned out to be a moot point when my family moved across the country a short while later); 2) I'd read about Pat Lafontaine trying to come back from his concussions and wanted to root for the guy (ironically, he would wind up playing his final game barely a month into my discovery of the sport, after suffering his fifth concussion); and 3) they were an Original Six team, and they had Gretzky, (I thought) how bad could they really be??
Of course, the Rangers were comically inept in the period I picked to follow them, missing the playoffs year after year and being in general a bloated overpaid mess of aging star free agents. I didn't care. I would look up the scores in the newspapers the day after games and suffer heartburn at the results, and lurk on the NYTimes messageboards in mingled commiseration (for what the fans were going through) and rubbernecking horror (for what was some quite spectacularly bad online behavior--believe me, those mods made hf mods look competent). I also followed the Avs, the Bourque trade giving me my first close-up impressions of Bruins fans.
It took going off to college + the lockout for me to drift away from hockey, and when the games resumed I resolved not to become a diehard fan of any team again, having (I thought) neither the time nor the inclination to put myself through the emotional ringer for something one ultimately has zero control over. Moving to Boston (in the fall of 2001--fortuitous timing, that) didn't change that resolve, though I did surprise myself by falling in love with the region as much as I have. The Pats in 2002, the Sox in 2003, 2004 and beyond, the C's in 2008... each time, it wasn't the team--and no sport ever compared to hockey for me--it was the passion of the region that moved me. For someone who never really had a hometown growing up, the sense of fierce pride, history and communal identity New Englanders have is totally unique, and intoxicating, though it's something that I couldn't with clear conscience claim as my own, having never grown up here.
2011 was a blast--I followed the Stanley Cup run from afar, still having no TV, and in the same along-for-the-ride spirit that I did for all the other championships, and then went back to being a sensible outside supporter. It took the Marathon bombing to wake something up inside. On lockdown, I lived on this board those several days and followed the police scanners along with everyone else here. For the first time in my life I felt like I can call myself a Bostonian, in full. Sometimes, it takes an event that terrible to mark you, to bind you to a place indelibly.
And then Toronto game 7 happened. The Pittsburgh series happened (the Rangers one was bittersweet for me). Bergeron in game 6 of the finals happened.
I knew very well that by missing out on the first 12 years I could have been following this team, I could very well have decided to jump in with both feet just in time to see their decline. When we were in the middle of winning the Presidents Trophy last season this was always in the back of my mind. But what can you do? When love comes to you what can you do?
I don't know what will happen to this Bruins team. I don't know if I can love another iteration of the team as much as I do this one. But I'll be there till the bitter end too, because I'd already missed out on so much of their run. It doesn't matter if they're good memories or bad, as long as they're yours, and you have them. At least this time, unlike when I was sixteen, I can see them happening with my own eyes.