Dear Sir or Madam,
Connection to your fans is inextricably linked to tradition, nostalgia, and a sense of belonging to a community. We are not on the ice, we cheer on our team and while a few enjoy it for the X's and O's and the action on the ice itself, the value to loyal fans is primarily that of an emotional connection to an ever-evolving team with a rotating cast of players, coaches, and staff. The popular video of the celebrations from Section 328 in the waning minutes of the game against the New Jersey Devils in early April of 2019 shows this better than words ever could.
You know this, which is why you do more than host 41+ hockey games per year. You have a social media presence, you host Casino Nights, you maintain a charity organization, community and fan events, etc. These all build good will and stability among a fanbase because they build exactly what I've described above, a sense of belonging to a team through the creation of memories that create a sense of nostalgia.
In 1999, Ron Francis scored the first hockey goal I ever saw in person. At 6, we had just moved to the Triangle and I had had trouble adjusting. Being a "Canes fan" gave me something to relate to in my new city. I turned to my mom and said "he's really good", not really understanding at the time how true that statement was.
In 2002, the BBC line scored 3 goals against the Montreal Canadiens in Game 6 of the Eastern Conference Semifinals, cementing me at 9 years old as an "every game" watcher and Erik Cole as my first favorite player. A few weeks later, I vividly recall waking up and sprinting down the hall to ask my dad whether the Canes ended up winning, only to learn of a triple overtime loss to the Detroit Red Wings. Days after that, I was crying on my living room couch watching Detroit raise the Stanley Cup.
In 2003, at a Skate with the Canes event, Kevin Weekes signed my goalie stick. He was unbelievably friendly, took the time to chat with my mom and I, and asked me about street hockey. I played with that stick in my driveway until the signature faded away, convinced somehow his powers were transferred to me.
In 2006, I watched the team raise the Cup from Section 306 (along with every other playoff game that year). Cam Ward raised the Conn Smythe, then Rod Brind'Amour raised the Cup. A few days later, Eric Staal signed a puck for me at the FYE at Southpoint Mall. I said "congratulations on winning the Cup" and he said "thanks bud, we could've have done it without your support." I, a grown man, am tearing up just writing about it, I was so thrilled.
In 2009, I was hopping up and down on furniture during two thrilling Game 7s. As time was running down against New Jersey, amidst a flurry of chances, I exasperatedly screamed "of course aren't coming back, it's Martin freaking Brodeur", only to be delightfully proven wrong in a matter of minutes by Eric Staal and Jussi Jokinen. A few weeks later I watched Scott Walker come back from the "adversity" of punching Aaron Ward in the face to send the Canes to the Eastern Conference Finals. As a high school freshman, it was the last Canes playoff win I would see until I was a married man.
These events (amongst many, many more) created such a backfill of nostalgia and loyalty that after moving to Atlanta for school in 2012, I remained a "watch every game" fan, while ensuring to make it back to the Triangle for a game at least once or twice a season. Through very lean years, my loyalty to my fandom of this team has not waned.
Ron Francis is gone. Erik Cole is gone. Kevin Weekes is gone. Cam Ward is gone. Eric Staal is gone. Jussi Jokinen is gone. Scott Walker is gone. Ray Whitney, Glen Wesley, Sean Hill, Brett Hedican, Nic Wallin, Tim Gleason, Tuomo Ruutu, Jeff Skinner, and Arturs Irbe are all gone. Every player save for Rod Brind'Amour and Justin Williams that would have supplied that stockpile of nostalgia is gone. As Jerry Seinfeld would say, am I simply rooting for laundry? I don't think so. Even now, I feel a connection to this team and a loyalty to remain supportive in an active way. How then, through 10 years of utter turmoil and frankly otherwise boring teams could I still feel a connection to this team despite 10 years of nothing from 2 states away?
The common thread of every fragmented good memory and good feeling of this team has been the unwavering presence of John Forslund. At 70-80 games a year (for those we aren't at in person), I have invited John Forslund and Tripp Tracy into my home to talk to me about hockey over 1,000 times, more than anyone not in my family. The FSCarolina broadcast, even in an early March when the team is 26-33-9 and angling for the 7th overall pick, is must watch television in my household. That moment with Kevin Weekes was special because John told me who he was. 2005-2006 was a 9-month fairytale season I will never forget, but it was John that read me the book. My shock and enthusiasm at beating Marty Brodeur twice before the end of regulation was validated by John's. Eric Staal once said in an interview about John that "every major moment and memory of his career has John Forslund as the soundtrack". If that's how a player feels, how much more for fans at home? Through 10 years of futility and long distance, without John I simply would not still be a die-hard fan of this team today. He is a 20-year connection from the nostalgic years of Hurricanes hockey in my childhood, through the dark years of the playoff drought, on now to the promising future in front of this team. Like a trusted news anchor, I tune in to hear John. He may be the only one left I actually tune in to hear. For someone who primarily watches the games on TV now, the team isn't your product. John and Tripp are.
I know John won't be around forever, and that saddens me. All good things come to an end. But with the news of not renewing his contract for the upcoming season, it seems it may be coming to a premature end. What a tragedy.
In September we are expecting our first child (a daughter), and one of the things I'm looking forward to is watching hockey with her and growing a Caniac. Those positive memories are things I want her to experience just like I did. I hope Andrei Svechnikov is her Erik Cole. I hope Sebastian Aho is her Eric Staal. I hope Jordan Martinook's bench interviews and antics can make her laugh the same way Ray Whitney's made me laugh. But, in spite of all the inevitable roster turnover that is a necessity in sports, I really hope that John and Tripp will be her John and Tripp.
I fear that without John I will not be an "every game" watcher of the team I grew up loving. I will watch often, but maybe just catch the box score more often than before. I know that I won't feel the same connection with the team, because that connection is facilitated first and foremost by John. He is the storyteller, he is the conduit. As someone who only attends a game or two per year, I don't know if this is even a drop in the bucket as far as the reasons you might have for not bringing John back if it comes to that. I know that ultimately the focus of this new regime is not the guy that comes in from out of state once or twice a year to catch a game in person, and rightfully so. But I know I'm not the only one that feels this way. The community that you struggled to maintain throughout the playoff drought was sustained largely by John. Disney World sells tickets because it builds Disney fans through its movies at home, and maintains a nostalgic pull for the parents who grew up watching the Disney movies of their own childhoods. Caniacs are Caniacs because of the quality of the product you deliver to their homes, and the games then reinforce and confirm that fandom. I would not be surprised if ticket sales dip if and when John leaves. I know if he's not leaving on his own terms, I won't buy any.
Cordially,
Anton Dubinchuk