GDT: Game 46 - Winnipeg Jets @ Toronto Maple Leafs - Wednesday, January 24th, 2024 - 6:00pm CST - Sportsnet - CJOB/Power 97

[B33R LEAGUE]

Not all of them

I really wish we weren't playing the laughs tonight.

So true. My brother learned that the hard way..

 

[Jets 31]

Me looking at that 1st PP

 

[King Woodballs]

Going to be another tough one without Scheifele and Vilardi.
Hope they can over come that tonight.
Otherwise sports media will be even more insufferable than usual tomorrow.

 

[enuffidiotsalready]

i feel like they'll fall for our little trap

 

[flyingkiwi]

I'd feel better about this game if we could score. I have a Leafs fan of a colleague I need to gloat at tomorrow.

For real though it's nice not to be the only hockey fan in the office for once

 

[Jets 31]

i feel like they'll fall for our little trap

 

[jokesondee]

I'd feel better about this game if we could score. I have a Leafs fan of a colleague I need to gloat at tomorrow.

For real though it's nice not to be the only hockey fan in the office for once

Thats the issue. The team is still a defensive powerhouse but the scoring has dried up without Scheifele and Vilardi it seems. I'll be pleasantly surprised if we dont go into the allstar break on a 3 game losing streak.

 

[Ponds]

Here's an unsolicited confession, I used to cheer for the Leafs. (This will likely be verbose, so if you don't care to read through my ramblings I won't hold it against you)

Some of my earliest memories are of going to Jets games at the Winnipeg arena, with my Dad. He would park a few blocks away and we would cut across the train tracks on foot. This was a time long before the Best Buy, Canadian Tire and Silver City were built. From what I recall, it was all empty lots. My Dad was tall and would walk fast, so I had to almost run just to keep up with him. It was dark and the wind was bitter. It made my eyes water and a proper gust would take my breath away. The cold air cut into my cheeks until they went numb. After what seemed like miles, we would come onto the street that lead to the arena and whatever discomfort I was feeling turned into pure jubilation.

I'll never forget walking through the front doors, being relieved from the cold by the bustle of the concourse and the aroma of popcorn. We'd usually meet a friend of my Dad there. He had the ticket hookup. He was loud, always laughing and cussing, and would shake my hand before passing me a ticket. When we would enter the seated area, I'd get a glimpse of that perfectly white ice, the gargantuan men in their matching uniforms gliding around for warm ups, and the smell of the rink, I fell in love with hockey.

Going to games with my Dad was just something we did. I didn't think about it as anything but a normal part of life. What everybody did. Until they left in 1996. I was lucky enough to join him for the last regular season game against the LA Kings. Keith Tkachuk scored an empty net goal for his 50th of the season in the dying seconds and it was so loud that my Dad made me plug my ears. He had told me prior to puck drop to take everything in, as it would likely be the last Jets game I'd ever go to. I was still too young to understand why.

(Years later I'd tell him we'd go to another Jets game together, that Winnipeg would get a team back one day. He would just shake his head. He was wrong)

He went to the series and franchise ending defeat against the Detroit Redwings with my Mom. I still remember where I was that day, at a family friend's house watching on the TV. When my parents picked me up after the game my Dad never said a word. What unsettled me was I could tell he had been crying. He would stop watching professional hockey for a long time.

My love of hockey was still growing. We lived so close to a community club I could literally spit from my backyard and have it hit the ice. On winter nights I'd fall asleep to the glow of floodlights in my bedroom window and the sound of pucks cracking against the frozen boards. There was no escaping it. I was now old enough that my Mom allowed me to go the rinks by myself. I'd put my skates on at our doorstep, walk across the lane and skate all day if there was no other obligation. I had also started playing for the club and my Dad's worst nightmare came true, I wanted to be a goalie.

Technically, he only had himself to blame. He'd given me boxes of hockey cards, and whenever I'd come upon a net minder I became transfixed. There was something so fascinating about them. Their asymmetrical equipment of a blocker and paddled stick in one hand, and a glove on the other, gave them an odd yet intimidating appearance. Which was aided by their most defining and mystical feature, the mask. There is nothing more beautiful or unique in the world of sports, giving each wearer the opportunity for rare artistic expression. From Ed Belfour's eagle, to Nikolai Khabibulin's fire breathing dragon, many have caught my eye. Yet none had the same affect on me as Curtis Joseph and his Cujo mask.

While with the Edmonton Oilers, he would have one of the all time playoff performances, in game 7 against Dallas. Capped off by a save in overtime that still gives me goosebumps.

Luckily for me, he would become a member of the Toronto Maple Leafs not too long after. Which meant I was able to watch him once a week every Saturday night, on channel 2. Naturally my fandom of Curtis Joseph bled into supporting the Leafs. In my defense, this was when the internet was much more primitive and my only access to televised hockey was Hockey Night in Canada. Which meant Leafs games. Had I been able to "legally" stream hockey the way I can now, I likely would have been a Ducks fan as the only player I loved more than Cujo was Teemu Selanne.

I'll spare most of the unfortunate details that was my time cheering on the blue and white. I genuinely detest them now and I'm old enough, and mature enough, to understand why so many people across the hockey world despise them and their fanbase. For a brief time though, they did boast a team capable of a few deep pushes come the post season. Guys like Gary Roberts, Darcy Tucker (a more convincing Wolverine than Hugh Jackman) and former Jet Tie Domi (met him as a child, very friendly) were tough as nails. Ironic considering the current Tik Tok Allstars that fill the spuds lineup now. Not to mention, Mats Sundin. He was an incredible player that constantly put the team on his back, the man loved a game winning goal. Say what you want, but him and Curtis deserved a Cup for how they carried those Leafs. Toronto don't make em like that anymore.

All of this just to say, when the Winnipeg Jets came back in 2011, I dropped the Leafs like a led Zeppelin. I still remember where I was, with two friends from Gimli in their apartment at the St. James Towers, when the official announcement was made that the Jets were coming back. A couple buddies of mine from the 204 have tragically clung on to their love for all things TML. There was no way I could ever do the same. When the Jets came back I was a Jets fan again instantaneously.

The Leafs filled a void in my life when NHL hockey was wrongly stripped away from Winnipeg. I may have cared for them, even loved them, but it could never replace the love I had for the city I was raised in and the team I was raised on. Even during the height of my blue and white obsession, Toronto seemed like a million miles away. Winnipeg was all I knew, it was tangible, it was home. Just like my father before me, who said goodbye to his childhood Montreal Canadiens to rightfully support a pro team in the underdog Canadian city that he spent the best years of his life, I said goodbye to the Leafs. I've never looked back.

For me the Winnipeg Jets symbolize my father and his love for hockey, his love for Winnipeg. They put us on the map and give us the chance to go toe to toe with the biggest cities in North America. No longer on the outside looking in, it let's Winnipegers be a part of the grandest stage. My Dad always told me that there was nothing that could ever replicate having an NHL team in Winnipeg. He's was right. My wish is for him to see the Jets lift a Cup before he dies.

So if you, or anyone you know, is from Winnipeg, and choose to support a group of hockey players over the one's wearing the flying Jet... in the words of Michael Jordan I ask you to please, get some help. Especially if it's the team from Toronto.

This the realest shit I ever wrote.

Go Jets Go!

 

[Mud Turtle]

Here's an unsolicited confession, I used to cheer for the Leafs. (This will likely be verbose, so if you don't care to read through my ramblings I won't hold it against you)

Some of my earliest memories are of going to Jets games at the Winnipeg arena, with my Dad. He would park a few blocks away and we would cut across the train tracks on foot. This was a time long before the Best Buy, Canadian Tire and Silver City were built. From what I recall, it was all empty lots. My Dad was tall and would walk fast, so I had to almost run just to keep up with him. It was dark and the wind was bitter. It made my eyes water and a proper gust would take my breath away. The cold air cut into my cheeks until they went numb. After what seemed like miles, we would come onto the street that lead to the arena and whatever discomfort I was feeling turned into pure jubilation.

I'll never forget walking through the front doors, being relieved from the cold by the bustle of the concourse and the aroma of popcorn. We'd usually meet a friend of my Dad there. He had the ticket hookup. He was loud, always laughing and cussing, and would shake my hand before passing me a ticket. When we would enter the seated area, I'd get a glimpse of that perfectly white ice, the gargantuan men in their matching uniforms gliding around for warm ups, and the smell of the rink, I fell in love with hockey.

Going to games with my Dad was just something we did. I didn't think about it as anything but a normal part of life. What everybody did. Until they left in 1996. I was lucky enough to join him for the last regular season game against the LA Kings. Keith Tkachuk scored an empty net goal for his 50th of the season in the dying seconds and it was so loud that my Dad made me plug my ears. He had told me prior to puck drop to take everything in, as it would likely be the last Jets game I'd ever go to. I was still too young to understand why.

(Years later I'd tell him we'd go to another Jets game together, that Winnipeg would get a team back one day. He would just shake his head. He was wrong)

He went to the series and franchise ending defeat against the Detroit Redwings with my Mom. I still remember where I was that day, at a family friend's house watching on the TV. When my parents picked me up after the game my Dad never said a word. What unsettled me was I could tell he had been crying. He would stop watching professional hockey for a long time.

My love of hockey was still growing. We lived so close to a community club I could literally spit from my backyard and have it hit the ice. On winter nights I'd fall asleep to the glow of floodlights in my bedroom window and the sound of pucks cracking against the frozen boards. There was no escaping it. I was now old enough that my Mom allowed me to go the rinks by myself. I'd put my skates on at our doorstep, walk across the lane and skate all day if there was no other obligation. I had also started playing for the club and my Dad's worst nightmare came true, I wanted to be a goalie.

Technically, he only had himself to blame. He'd given me boxes of hockey cards, and whenever I'd come upon a net minder I became transfixed. There was something so fascinating about them. Their asymmetrical equipment of a blocker and paddled stick in one hand, and a glove on the other, gave them an odd yet intimidating appearance. Which was aided by their most defining and mystical feature, the mask. There is nothing more beautiful or unique in the world of sports, giving each wearer the opportunity for rare artistic expression. From Ed Belfour's eagle, to Nikolai Khabibulin's fire breathing dragon, many have caught my eye. Yet none had the same affect on me as Curtis Joseph and his Cujo mask.

While with the Edmonton Oilers, he would have one of the all time playoff performances, in game 7 against Dallas. Capped off by a save in overtime that still gives me goosebumps.

View attachment 809565

Luckily for me, he would become a member of the Toronto Maple Leafs not too long after. Which meant I was able to watch him once a week every Saturday night, on channel 2. Naturally my fandom of Curtis Joseph bled into supporting the Leafs. In my defense, this was when the internet was much more primitive and my only access to televised hockey was Hockey Night in Canada. Which meant Leafs games. Had I been able to "legally" stream hockey the way I can now, I likely would have been a Ducks fan as the only player I loved more than Cujo was Teemu Selanne.

I'll spare most of the unfortunate details that was my time cheering on the blue and white. I genuinely detest them now and I'm old enough, and mature enough, to understand why so many people across the hockey world despise them and their fanbase. For a brief time though, they did boast a team capable of a few deep pushes come the post season. Guys like Gary Roberts, Darcy Tucker (a more convincing Wolverine than Hugh Jackman) and former Jet Tie Domi (met him as a child, very friendly) were tough as nails. Ironic considering the current Tik Tok Allstars that fill the spuds lineup now. Not to mention, Mats Sundin. He was an incredible player that constantly put the team on his back, the man loved a game winning goal. Say what you want, but him and Curtis deserved a Cup for how they carried those Leafs. Toronto don't make em like that anymore.

All of this just to say, when the Winnipeg Jets came back in 2011, I dropped the Leafs like a led Zeppelin. I still remember where I was, with two friends from Gimli in their apartment at the St. James Towers, when the official announcement was made that the Jets were coming back. A couple buddies of mine from the 204 have tragically clung on to their love for all things TML. There was no way I could ever do the same. When the Jets came back I was a Jets fan again instantaneously.

The Leafs filled a void in my life when NHL hockey was wrongly stripped away from Winnipeg. I may have cared for them, even loved them, but it could never replace the love I had for the city I was raised in and the team I was raised on. Even during the height of my blue and white obsession, Toronto seemed like a million miles away. Winnipeg was all I knew, it was tangible, it was home. Just like my father before me, who said goodbye to his childhood Montreal Canadiens to rightfully support a pro team in the underdog Canadian city that he spent the best years of his life, I said goodbye to the Leafs. I've never looked back.

For me the Winnipeg Jets symbolize my father and his love for hockey, his love for Winnipeg. They put us on the map and give us the chance to go toe to toe with the biggest cities in North America. No longer on the outside looking in, it let's Winnipegers be a part of the grandest stage. My Dad always told me that there was nothing that could ever replicate having an NHL team in Winnipeg. He's was right. My wish is for him to see the Jets lift a Cup before he dies.

So if you, or anyone you know, is from Winnipeg, and choose to support a group of hockey players over the one's wearing the flying Jet... in the words of Michael Jordan I ask you to please, get some help. Especially if it's the team from Toronto.

This the realest shit I ever wrote.

Go Jets Go!

Wow. Awesome writing Ponds. Your story took me back so many years to almost the exact same experience with my Dad. Crossing those train tracks in the bitter cold.

I believe that back in the WHA days there was a LocoMart there and a small Canadian Tire. Eventually Canadian Tire expanded and took over that whole area.

I know that LocoMart was there because my Dad worked there. It was also my first job - collecting carts.

Great memories. Thanks for taking me back.

 

[UFO]

Wrong thread, lol

Argh, had both tabs open. Shouldn't be doing too many things at once.

 

[Aggie204]

Well i look at it like this,if Toronto can't beat us with no Scheifele, Vilardi and Helly playing, shit will hit the fan over there on HF Leafs.

If/when that happens, HFJets trolls take all my energy for the main boards.

 

[Jets 31]

Here's an unsolicited confession, I used to cheer for the Leafs. (This will likely be verbose, so if you don't care to read through my ramblings I won't hold it against you)

Some of my earliest memories are of going to Jets games at the Winnipeg arena, with my Dad. He would park a few blocks away and we would cut across the train tracks on foot. This was a time long before the Best Buy, Canadian Tire and Silver City were built. From what I recall, it was all empty lots. My Dad was tall and would walk fast, so I had to almost run just to keep up with him. It was dark and the wind was bitter. It made my eyes water and a proper gust would take my breath away. The cold air cut into my cheeks until they went numb. After what seemed like miles, we would come onto the street that lead to the arena and whatever discomfort I was feeling turned into pure jubilation.

I'll never forget walking through the front doors, being relieved from the cold by the bustle of the concourse and the aroma of popcorn. We'd usually meet a friend of my Dad there. He had the ticket hookup. He was loud, always laughing and cussing, and would shake my hand before passing me a ticket. When we would enter the seated area, I'd get a glimpse of that perfectly white ice, the gargantuan men in their matching uniforms gliding around for warm ups, and the smell of the rink, I fell in love with hockey.

Going to games with my Dad was just something we did. I didn't think about it as anything but a normal part of life. What everybody did. Until they left in 1996. I was lucky enough to join him for the last regular season game against the LA Kings. Keith Tkachuk scored an empty net goal for his 50th of the season in the dying seconds and it was so loud that my Dad made me plug my ears. He had told me prior to puck drop to take everything in, as it would likely be the last Jets game I'd ever go to. I was still too young to understand why.

(Years later I'd tell him we'd go to another Jets game together, that Winnipeg would get a team back one day. He would just shake his head. He was wrong)

He went to the series and franchise ending defeat against the Detroit Redwings with my Mom. I still remember where I was that day, at a family friend's house watching on the TV. When my parents picked me up after the game my Dad never said a word. What unsettled me was I could tell he had been crying. He would stop watching professional hockey for a long time.

My love of hockey was still growing. We lived so close to a community club I could literally spit from my backyard and have it hit the ice. On winter nights I'd fall asleep to the glow of floodlights in my bedroom window and the sound of pucks cracking against the frozen boards. There was no escaping it. I was now old enough that my Mom allowed me to go the rinks by myself. I'd put my skates on at our doorstep, walk across the lane and skate all day if there was no other obligation. I had also started playing for the club and my Dad's worst nightmare came true, I wanted to be a goalie.

Technically, he only had himself to blame. He'd given me boxes of hockey cards, and whenever I'd come upon a net minder I became transfixed. There was something so fascinating about them. Their asymmetrical equipment of a blocker and paddled stick in one hand, and a glove on the other, gave them an odd yet intimidating appearance. Which was aided by their most defining and mystical feature, the mask. There is nothing more beautiful or unique in the world of sports, giving each wearer the opportunity for rare artistic expression. From Ed Belfour's eagle, to Nikolai Khabibulin's fire breathing dragon, many have caught my eye. Yet none had the same affect on me as Curtis Joseph and his Cujo mask.

While with the Edmonton Oilers, he would have one of the all time playoff performances, in game 7 against Dallas. Capped off by a save in overtime that still gives me goosebumps.

View attachment 809565

Luckily for me, he would become a member of the Toronto Maple Leafs not too long after. Which meant I was able to watch him once a week every Saturday night, on channel 2. Naturally my fandom of Curtis Joseph bled into supporting the Leafs. In my defense, this was when the internet was much more primitive and my only access to televised hockey was Hockey Night in Canada. Which meant Leafs games. Had I been able to "legally" stream hockey the way I can now, I likely would have been a Ducks fan as the only player I loved more than Cujo was Teemu Selanne.

I'll spare most of the unfortunate details that was my time cheering on the blue and white. I genuinely detest them now and I'm old enough, and mature enough, to understand why so many people across the hockey world despise them and their fanbase. For a brief time though, they did boast a team capable of a few deep pushes come the post season. Guys like Gary Roberts, Darcy Tucker (a more convincing Wolverine than Hugh Jackman) and former Jet Tie Domi (met him as a child, very friendly) were tough as nails. Ironic considering the current Tik Tok Allstars that fill the spuds lineup now. Not to mention, Mats Sundin. He was an incredible player that constantly put the team on his back, the man loved a game winning goal. Say what you want, but him and Curtis deserved a Cup for how they carried those Leafs. Toronto don't make em like that anymore.

All of this just to say, when the Winnipeg Jets came back in 2011, I dropped the Leafs like a led Zeppelin. I still remember where I was, with two friends from Gimli in their apartment at the St. James Towers, when the official announcement was made that the Jets were coming back. A couple buddies of mine from the 204 have tragically clung on to their love for all things TML. There was no way I could ever do the same. When the Jets came back I was a Jets fan again instantaneously.

The Leafs filled a void in my life when NHL hockey was wrongly stripped away from Winnipeg. I may have cared for them, even loved them, but it could never replace the love I had for the city I was raised in and the team I was raised on. Even during the height of my blue and white obsession, Toronto seemed like a million miles away. Winnipeg was all I knew, it was tangible, it was home. Just like my father before me, who said goodbye to his childhood Montreal Canadiens to rightfully support a pro team in the underdog Canadian city that he spent the best years of his life, I said goodbye to the Leafs. I've never looked back.

For me the Winnipeg Jets symbolize my father and his love for hockey, his love for Winnipeg. They put us on the map and give us the chance to go toe to toe with the biggest cities in North America. No longer on the outside looking in, it let's Winnipegers be a part of the grandest stage. My Dad always told me that there was nothing that could ever replicate having an NHL team in Winnipeg. He's was right. My wish is for him to see the Jets lift a Cup before he dies.

So if you, or anyone you know, is from Winnipeg, and choose to support a group of hockey players over the one's wearing the flying Jet... in the words of Michael Jordan I ask you to please, get some help. Especially if it's the team from Toronto.

This the realest shit I ever wrote.

Go Jets Go!

Brilliant stuff , just a great read. I was a goalie too, us smart guys that liked to get hit with a very hard piece of vulcanize rubber need to stick together.

 

[DRW204]

Here's an unsolicited confession, I used to cheer for the Leafs. (This will likely be verbose, so if you don't care to read through my ramblings I won't hold it against you)

Some of my earliest memories are of going to Jets games at the Winnipeg arena, with my Dad. He would park a few blocks away and we would cut across the train tracks on foot. This was a time long before the Best Buy, Canadian Tire and Silver City were built. From what I recall, it was all empty lots. My Dad was tall and would walk fast, so I had to almost run just to keep up with him. It was dark and the wind was bitter. It made my eyes water and a proper gust would take my breath away. The cold air cut into my cheeks until they went numb. After what seemed like miles, we would come onto the street that lead to the arena and whatever discomfort I was feeling turned into pure jubilation.

I'll never forget walking through the front doors, being relieved from the cold by the bustle of the concourse and the aroma of popcorn. We'd usually meet a friend of my Dad there. He had the ticket hookup. He was loud, always laughing and cussing, and would shake my hand before passing me a ticket. When we would enter the seated area, I'd get a glimpse of that perfectly white ice, the gargantuan men in their matching uniforms gliding around for warm ups, and the smell of the rink, I fell in love with hockey.

Going to games with my Dad was just something we did. I didn't think about it as anything but a normal part of life. What everybody did. Until they left in 1996. I was lucky enough to join him for the last regular season game against the LA Kings. Keith Tkachuk scored an empty net goal for his 50th of the season in the dying seconds and it was so loud that my Dad made me plug my ears. He had told me prior to puck drop to take everything in, as it would likely be the last Jets game I'd ever go to. I was still too young to understand why.

(Years later I'd tell him we'd go to another Jets game together, that Winnipeg would get a team back one day. He would just shake his head. He was wrong)

He went to the series and franchise ending defeat against the Detroit Redwings with my Mom. I still remember where I was that day, at a family friend's house watching on the TV. When my parents picked me up after the game my Dad never said a word. What unsettled me was I could tell he had been crying. He would stop watching professional hockey for a long time.

My love of hockey was still growing. We lived so close to a community club I could literally spit from my backyard and have it hit the ice. On winter nights I'd fall asleep to the glow of floodlights in my bedroom window and the sound of pucks cracking against the frozen boards. There was no escaping it. I was now old enough that my Mom allowed me to go the rinks by myself. I'd put my skates on at our doorstep, walk across the lane and skate all day if there was no other obligation. I had also started playing for the club and my Dad's worst nightmare came true, I wanted to be a goalie.

Technically, he only had himself to blame. He'd given me boxes of hockey cards, and whenever I'd come upon a net minder I became transfixed. There was something so fascinating about them. Their asymmetrical equipment of a blocker and paddled stick in one hand, and a glove on the other, gave them an odd yet intimidating appearance. Which was aided by their most defining and mystical feature, the mask. There is nothing more beautiful or unique in the world of sports, giving each wearer the opportunity for rare artistic expression. From Ed Belfour's eagle, to Nikolai Khabibulin's fire breathing dragon, many have caught my eye. Yet none had the same affect on me as Curtis Joseph and his Cujo mask.

While with the Edmonton Oilers, he would have one of the all time playoff performances, in game 7 against Dallas. Capped off by a save in overtime that still gives me goosebumps.

View attachment 809565

Luckily for me, he would become a member of the Toronto Maple Leafs not too long after. Which meant I was able to watch him once a week every Saturday night, on channel 2. Naturally my fandom of Curtis Joseph bled into supporting the Leafs. In my defense, this was when the internet was much more primitive and my only access to televised hockey was Hockey Night in Canada. Which meant Leafs games. Had I been able to "legally" stream hockey the way I can now, I likely would have been a Ducks fan as the only player I loved more than Cujo was Teemu Selanne.

I'll spare most of the unfortunate details that was my time cheering on the blue and white. I genuinely detest them now and I'm old enough, and mature enough, to understand why so many people across the hockey world despise them and their fanbase. For a brief time though, they did boast a team capable of a few deep pushes come the post season. Guys like Gary Roberts, Darcy Tucker (a more convincing Wolverine than Hugh Jackman) and former Jet Tie Domi (met him as a child, very friendly) were tough as nails. Ironic considering the current Tik Tok Allstars that fill the spuds lineup now. Not to mention, Mats Sundin. He was an incredible player that constantly put the team on his back, the man loved a game winning goal. Say what you want, but him and Curtis deserved a Cup for how they carried those Leafs. Toronto don't make em like that anymore.

All of this just to say, when the Winnipeg Jets came back in 2011, I dropped the Leafs like a led Zeppelin. I still remember where I was, with two friends from Gimli in their apartment at the St. James Towers, when the official announcement was made that the Jets were coming back. A couple buddies of mine from the 204 have tragically clung on to their love for all things TML. There was no way I could ever do the same. When the Jets came back I was a Jets fan again instantaneously.

The Leafs filled a void in my life when NHL hockey was wrongly stripped away from Winnipeg. I may have cared for them, even loved them, but it could never replace the love I had for the city I was raised in and the team I was raised on. Even during the height of my blue and white obsession, Toronto seemed like a million miles away. Winnipeg was all I knew, it was tangible, it was home. Just like my father before me, who said goodbye to his childhood Montreal Canadiens to rightfully support a pro team in the underdog Canadian city that he spent the best years of his life, I said goodbye to the Leafs. I've never looked back.

For me the Winnipeg Jets symbolize my father and his love for hockey, his love for Winnipeg. They put us on the map and give us the chance to go toe to toe with the biggest cities in North America. No longer on the outside looking in, it let's Winnipegers be a part of the grandest stage. My Dad always told me that there was nothing that could ever replicate having an NHL team in Winnipeg. He's was right. My wish is for him to see the Jets lift a Cup before he dies.

So if you, or anyone you know, is from Winnipeg, and choose to support a group of hockey players over the one's wearing the flying Jet... in the words of Michael Jordan I ask you to please, get some help. Especially if it's the team from Toronto.

This the realest shit I ever wrote.

Go Jets Go!

Tldr
But cheer for whoever you want and which ever team makes you happy..... Except the Habs.

 

[Ponds]

Wow. Awesome writing Ponds. Your story took me back so many years to almost the exact same experience with my Dad. Crossing those train tracks in the bitter cold.

I believe that back in the WHA days there was a LocoMart there and a small Canadian Tire. Eventually Canadian Tire expanded and took over that whole area.

I know that LocoMart was there because my Dad worked there. It was also my first job - collecting carts.

Great memories. Thanks for taking me back.

You're welcome and thank you as well, I appreciate the kind words and the information. I can't recall the surroundings in great detail, mainly the train tracks and the frigid darkness.

Keeping up with my father as a child was a task. He was never the best at holding up for my siblings and I while walking, something that drove my mother nuts. He came to visit me this summer and has slowed down considerably. I had to wait for him on our walks and it's moments like that it really sinks in how fast time goes by. My childhood seems like yesterday.

Another funny Jets related story from that era was when my grandmother babysat me. I was telling her about Bob Essensa but the way I'd pronounce his name was closer to Baba Senza. She'd try and correct me by saying "You have a Baba Tanya, who the heck is Baba Senza?" She was very confused at the time until my parents clarified that I was talking about the Jets goalie.

 

[Potrzebie]

oh man I can't believe the jets have a chance to win the stanley cup tonight! and again on Saturday!

 

[Ponds]

Brilliant stuff , just a great read. I was a goalie too, us smart guys that liked to get hit with a very hard piece of vulcanize rubber need to stick together.

Haha no doubt and thank you as well!

This conjured an image of the dude playing in net and having his water bottle popped by a blistering wrist shot. "Hey careful man, there's a beverage here!"

 

[Jets 31]

Haha no doubt and thank you as well!

This conjured an image of the dude playing in net and having his water bottle popped by a blistering wrist shot. "Hey careful man, there's a beverage here!"

I actually said that one time when the player went by my net and he was dying laughing.

 

[Inanna]

Here's an unsolicited confession, I used to cheer for the Leafs. (This will likely be verbose, so if you don't care to read through my ramblings I won't hold it against you)

Some of my earliest memories are of going to Jets games at the Winnipeg arena, with my Dad. He would park a few blocks away and we would cut across the train tracks on foot. This was a time long before the Best Buy, Canadian Tire and Silver City were built. From what I recall, it was all empty lots. My Dad was tall and would walk fast, so I had to almost run just to keep up with him. It was dark and the wind was bitter. It made my eyes water and a proper gust would take my breath away. The cold air cut into my cheeks until they went numb. After what seemed like miles, we would come onto the street that lead to the arena and whatever discomfort I was feeling turned into pure jubilation.

I'll never forget walking through the front doors, being relieved from the cold by the bustle of the concourse and the aroma of popcorn. We'd usually meet a friend of my Dad there. He had the ticket hookup. He was loud, always laughing and cussing, and would shake my hand before passing me a ticket. When we would enter the seated area, I'd get a glimpse of that perfectly white ice, the gargantuan men in their matching uniforms gliding around for warm ups, and the smell of the rink, I fell in love with hockey.

Going to games with my Dad was just something we did. I didn't think about it as anything but a normal part of life. What everybody did. Until they left in 1996. I was lucky enough to join him for the last regular season game against the LA Kings. Keith Tkachuk scored an empty net goal for his 50th of the season in the dying seconds and it was so loud that my Dad made me plug my ears. He had told me prior to puck drop to take everything in, as it would likely be the last Jets game I'd ever go to. I was still too young to understand why.

(Years later I'd tell him we'd go to another Jets game together, that Winnipeg would get a team back one day. He would just shake his head. He was wrong)

He went to the series and franchise ending defeat against the Detroit Redwings with my Mom. I still remember where I was that day, at a family friend's house watching on the TV. When my parents picked me up after the game my Dad never said a word. What unsettled me was I could tell he had been crying. He would stop watching professional hockey for a long time.

My love of hockey was still growing. We lived so close to a community club I could literally spit from my backyard and have it hit the ice. On winter nights I'd fall asleep to the glow of floodlights in my bedroom window and the sound of pucks cracking against the frozen boards. There was no escaping it. I was now old enough that my Mom allowed me to go the rinks by myself. I'd put my skates on at our doorstep, walk across the lane and skate all day if there was no other obligation. I had also started playing for the club and my Dad's worst nightmare came true, I wanted to be a goalie.

Technically, he only had himself to blame. He'd given me boxes of hockey cards, and whenever I'd come upon a net minder I became transfixed. There was something so fascinating about them. Their asymmetrical equipment of a blocker and paddled stick in one hand, and a glove on the other, gave them an odd yet intimidating appearance. Which was aided by their most defining and mystical feature, the mask. There is nothing more beautiful or unique in the world of sports, giving each wearer the opportunity for rare artistic expression. From Ed Belfour's eagle, to Nikolai Khabibulin's fire breathing dragon, many have caught my eye. Yet none had the same affect on me as Curtis Joseph and his Cujo mask.

While with the Edmonton Oilers, he would have one of the all time playoff performances, in game 7 against Dallas. Capped off by a save in overtime that still gives me goosebumps.

View attachment 809565

Luckily for me, he would become a member of the Toronto Maple Leafs not too long after. Which meant I was able to watch him once a week every Saturday night, on channel 2. Naturally my fandom of Curtis Joseph bled into supporting the Leafs. In my defense, this was when the internet was much more primitive and my only access to televised hockey was Hockey Night in Canada. Which meant Leafs games. Had I been able to "legally" stream hockey the way I can now, I likely would have been a Ducks fan as the only player I loved more than Cujo was Teemu Selanne.

I'll spare most of the unfortunate details that was my time cheering on the blue and white. I genuinely detest them now and I'm old enough, and mature enough, to understand why so many people across the hockey world despise them and their fanbase. For a brief time though, they did boast a team capable of a few deep pushes come the post season. Guys like Gary Roberts, Darcy Tucker (a more convincing Wolverine than Hugh Jackman) and former Jet Tie Domi (met him as a child, very friendly) were tough as nails. Ironic considering the current Tik Tok Allstars that fill the spuds lineup now. Not to mention, Mats Sundin. He was an incredible player that constantly put the team on his back, the man loved a game winning goal. Say what you want, but him and Curtis deserved a Cup for how they carried those Leafs. Toronto don't make em like that anymore.

All of this just to say, when the Winnipeg Jets came back in 2011, I dropped the Leafs like a led Zeppelin. I still remember where I was, with two friends from Gimli in their apartment at the St. James Towers, when the official announcement was made that the Jets were coming back. A couple buddies of mine from the 204 have tragically clung on to their love for all things TML. There was no way I could ever do the same. When the Jets came back I was a Jets fan again instantaneously.

The Leafs filled a void in my life when NHL hockey was wrongly stripped away from Winnipeg. I may have cared for them, even loved them, but it could never replace the love I had for the city I was raised in and the team I was raised on. Even during the height of my blue and white obsession, Toronto seemed like a million miles away. Winnipeg was all I knew, it was tangible, it was home. Just like my father before me, who said goodbye to his childhood Montreal Canadiens to rightfully support a pro team in the underdog Canadian city that he spent the best years of his life, I said goodbye to the Leafs. I've never looked back.

For me the Winnipeg Jets symbolize my father and his love for hockey, his love for Winnipeg. They put us on the map and give us the chance to go toe to toe with the biggest cities in North America. No longer on the outside looking in, it let's Winnipegers be a part of the grandest stage. My Dad always told me that there was nothing that could ever replicate having an NHL team in Winnipeg. He's was right. My wish is for him to see the Jets lift a Cup before he dies.

So if you, or anyone you know, is from Winnipeg, and choose to support a group of hockey players over the one's wearing the flying Jet... in the words of Michael Jordan I ask you to please, get some help. Especially if it's the team from Toronto.

This the realest shit I ever wrote.

Go Jets Go!

That was beautiful to read. I read it twice, in fact.

I get teased a lot, most of it good-naturedly, for over-sharing in here but you've shown how moving it is for guys to also share their story. And shown why more of them, like Mud Turtle, have similar experiences that are lovely to read.
Thank you for really perking up my afternoon!

 

[Mortimer Snerd]

Once again, it got creepy in here without any involvement from me.

So ... you are not the only creep.
Maybe the oldest one though.

 

[nobody imp0rtant]

So ... you are not the only creep.
Maybe the oldest one though.

I'm 66 and way creepier. I don't think anyone can touch me. Or would want to.

Oh hey, see? Creepy.

 

[Stumbledore]

I'm 66 and way creepier. I don't think anyone can touch me. Or would want to.

Oh hey, see? Creepy.

I'm 78 but I'll yield to your advanced level of creepy. You can own the title. Of course, I've no idea what the hell is considered creepy in here any more. All I did was try to engage a young woman in some harmless banter, not discuss tying them up or bowel movements or dismembering someone or ass wiping technics.

 

[bustamente]

I said it against the Bruins game and he failed me but Kupari scores tonight, and I'll say this before the game starts but Samsonov is going to get a SHUT OUT tonight.

 

[Jets 31]

I'm 78 but I'll yield to your advanced level of creepy. You can own the title. Of course, I've no idea what the hell is considered creepy in here any more. All I did was try to engage a young woman in some harmless banter, not discuss tying them up or bowel movements or dismembering someone or ass wiping technics.

Aaaaand over the edge we go.

 

[Ponds]

That was beautiful to read. I read it twice, in fact.

I get teased a lot, most of it good-naturedly, for over-sharing in here but you've shown how moving it is for guys to also share their story. And shown why more of them, like Mud Turtle, have similar experiences that are lovely to read.
Thank you for really perking up my afternoon!

Thank you, ya'll are too kind.

I'm naturally an open person, never been hesitant to express what's within, with a few exceptions of course. Part of why I signed up for the boards is my enjoyment of writing, which sadly I've neglected of late due to other commitments. I figured this would be a decent outlet to get the old fingers up and running again. The brain too... I guess. That and the fact my wife couldn't care less about hockey or sports in general, or anything I have to say on the topic. My close friends have heard me babble on enough as well, I'm sure. I say, why not subject a bunch of virtual strangers to some of it?

I also enjoy reading of other people's experiences and insights so as far as I'm concerned, feel free to share away!

 

[Buffdog]

Here's an unsolicited confession, I used to cheer for the Leafs. (This will likely be verbose, so if you don't care to read through my ramblings I won't hold it against you)

Some of my earliest memories are of going to Jets games at the Winnipeg arena, with my Dad. He would park a few blocks away and we would cut across the train tracks on foot. This was a time long before the Best Buy, Canadian Tire and Silver City were built. From what I recall, it was all empty lots. My Dad was tall and would walk fast, so I had to almost run just to keep up with him. It was dark and the wind was bitter. It made my eyes water and a proper gust would take my breath away. The cold air cut into my cheeks until they went numb. After what seemed like miles, we would come onto the street that lead to the arena and whatever discomfort I was feeling turned into pure jubilation.

I'll never forget walking through the front doors, being relieved from the cold by the bustle of the concourse and the aroma of popcorn. We'd usually meet a friend of my Dad there. He had the ticket hookup. He was loud, always laughing and cussing, and would shake my hand before passing me a ticket. When we would enter the seated area, I'd get a glimpse of that perfectly white ice, the gargantuan men in their matching uniforms gliding around for warm ups, and the smell of the rink, I fell in love with hockey.

Going to games with my Dad was just something we did. I didn't think about it as anything but a normal part of life. What everybody did. Until they left in 1996. I was lucky enough to join him for the last regular season game against the LA Kings. Keith Tkachuk scored an empty net goal for his 50th of the season in the dying seconds and it was so loud that my Dad made me plug my ears. He had told me prior to puck drop to take everything in, as it would likely be the last Jets game I'd ever go to. I was still too young to understand why.

(Years later I'd tell him we'd go to another Jets game together, that Winnipeg would get a team back one day. He would just shake his head. He was wrong)

He went to the series and franchise ending defeat against the Detroit Redwings with my Mom. I still remember where I was that day, at a family friend's house watching on the TV. When my parents picked me up after the game my Dad never said a word. What unsettled me was I could tell he had been crying. He would stop watching professional hockey for a long time.

My love of hockey was still growing. We lived so close to a community club I could literally spit from my backyard and have it hit the ice. On winter nights I'd fall asleep to the glow of floodlights in my bedroom window and the sound of pucks cracking against the frozen boards. There was no escaping it. I was now old enough that my Mom allowed me to go the rinks by myself. I'd put my skates on at our doorstep, walk across the lane and skate all day if there was no other obligation. I had also started playing for the club and my Dad's worst nightmare came true, I wanted to be a goalie.

Technically, he only had himself to blame. He'd given me boxes of hockey cards, and whenever I'd come upon a net minder I became transfixed. There was something so fascinating about them. Their asymmetrical equipment of a blocker and paddled stick in one hand, and a glove on the other, gave them an odd yet intimidating appearance. Which was aided by their most defining and mystical feature, the mask. There is nothing more beautiful or unique in the world of sports, giving each wearer the opportunity for rare artistic expression. From Ed Belfour's eagle, to Nikolai Khabibulin's fire breathing dragon, many have caught my eye. Yet none had the same affect on me as Curtis Joseph and his Cujo mask.

While with the Edmonton Oilers, he would have one of the all time playoff performances, in game 7 against Dallas. Capped off by a save in overtime that still gives me goosebumps.

View attachment 809565

Luckily for me, he would become a member of the Toronto Maple Leafs not too long after. Which meant I was able to watch him once a week every Saturday night, on channel 2. Naturally my fandom of Curtis Joseph bled into supporting the Leafs. In my defense, this was when the internet was much more primitive and my only access to televised hockey was Hockey Night in Canada. Which meant Leafs games. Had I been able to "legally" stream hockey the way I can now, I likely would have been a Ducks fan as the only player I loved more than Cujo was Teemu Selanne.

I'll spare most of the unfortunate details that was my time cheering on the blue and white. I genuinely detest them now and I'm old enough, and mature enough, to understand why so many people across the hockey world despise them and their fanbase. For a brief time though, they did boast a team capable of a few deep pushes come the post season. Guys like Gary Roberts, Darcy Tucker (a more convincing Wolverine than Hugh Jackman) and former Jet Tie Domi (met him as a child, very friendly) were tough as nails. Ironic considering the current Tik Tok Allstars that fill the spuds lineup now. Not to mention, Mats Sundin. He was an incredible player that constantly put the team on his back, the man loved a game winning goal. Say what you want, but him and Curtis deserved a Cup for how they carried those Leafs. Toronto don't make em like that anymore.

All of this just to say, when the Winnipeg Jets came back in 2011, I dropped the Leafs like a led Zeppelin. I still remember where I was, with two friends from Gimli in their apartment at the St. James Towers, when the official announcement was made that the Jets were coming back. A couple buddies of mine from the 204 have tragically clung on to their love for all things TML. There was no way I could ever do the same. When the Jets came back I was a Jets fan again instantaneously.

The Leafs filled a void in my life when NHL hockey was wrongly stripped away from Winnipeg. I may have cared for them, even loved them, but it could never replace the love I had for the city I was raised in and the team I was raised on. Even during the height of my blue and white obsession, Toronto seemed like a million miles away. Winnipeg was all I knew, it was tangible, it was home. Just like my father before me, who said goodbye to his childhood Montreal Canadiens to rightfully support a pro team in the underdog Canadian city that he spent the best years of his life, I said goodbye to the Leafs. I've never looked back.

For me the Winnipeg Jets symbolize my father and his love for hockey, his love for Winnipeg. They put us on the map and give us the chance to go toe to toe with the biggest cities in North America. No longer on the outside looking in, it let's Winnipegers be a part of the grandest stage. My Dad always told me that there was nothing that could ever replicate having an NHL team in Winnipeg. He's was right. My wish is for him to see the Jets lift a Cup before he dies.

So if you, or anyone you know, is from Winnipeg, and choose to support a group of hockey players over the one's wearing the flying Jet... in the words of Michael Jordan I ask you to please, get some help. Especially if it's the team from Toronto.

This the realest shit I ever wrote.

Go Jets Go!

That's where you lost me