Confessions of a late-blooming but mostly dedicated Canucks fan

My only exposure to hockey before 2010 was accompanying my best friend to watch her older brother play at the local arena when we were in our teens. As I recall, those games chiefly featured dropped gloves and fist fights, both on and off the ice. I don’t remember much about the games or who won or lost. I was a pacifist, not keen to watch violence of any kind, but true friendship has its responsibilities.

In the first 30 years of our marriage, Mr. Fluffster from time to time expressed a desire to go to a live hockey game, but whenever he did, the Fluffster offspring and I would rapidly find really pressing business elsewhere.

Fast forward 40 years to the 2010 Vancouver Winter Olympics. By the final gold medal game, I’d started to pay attention (couldn’t avoid it, as Mr. Fluffster watched, and by that time of day, I was reluctant to shift my carcass off the couch and go do something else). I got to know the Canadian players, and began to understand the rules (and the appeal) of the game. I also discovered that fights were actually not the main draw.

The following year, Mr. Fluffster began watching the Vancouver Canucks occasionally and I joined, wielding my bit of hard-earned hockey knowledge. I didn’t always stick around for the whole game, but a seed had been planted.

For his birthday in May, it occurred to me that a pair of hockey tickets might be welcome. My naivete about the difference between regular season and playoff tickets led me to venture blithely and optimistically onto the Internet. By some miracle avoiding dodgy sites, I stumbled onto a reputable reseller with a pair of tickets for a second round Canucks versus Predators game at a reasonable price! Mr. Fluffster was surprised, and most impressed.

The evening of our game arrived, and we took our places in the very loud Rogers Arena. Our seats had little white Canucks towels hung over the backs (towels pictured, top of this post). These puzzled me a bit, never having watched an NHL playoff game (or any game) in person before.

When the first mad round of towel waving started, I felt thoroughly self-conscious. Could I really pick that thing up and wave it around my head, screaming loudly? My first attempt was probably quite comical:

go Canucks, go!

Subsequent efforts became slowly less inhibited (and louder) as the game progressed and goals were scored. By the end, I was shouting with the best of them (well, maybe not quite; I’m not that loud). But I found it quite liberating.

As I recall, the Canucks lost that particular game, but they went on to knock Nashville out of the second round. That was the year they went to game 7 before losing the Stanley Cup to Boston. By that time, I was a hardened fan. My siblings and their families arrived for a family reunion in mid-June, and were told we’d be available to entertain them every evening except June 15, which we planned to spend in front of our television, and we’d be happy to suggest alternative outings if they weren’t interested. 

My two nephews and niece decided they wanted to be in the thick of things and headed downtown to watch the game on big screens with the crowds. My sister and brother-in-law opted to watch with us (everyone else went to a movie). The Fluffster offspring was working that evening, and didn’t get home until after the game had ended.

The aftermath was, of course, a historical black eye for Vancouver. My nephews and niece came home just at the end of the second period, saying they didn’t like the general atmosphere downtown and preferred to just come watch with us. Yes, they’re very sensible.

The Fluffster offspring got home just in time to watch the news coverage. We could actually see the smoke rising over downtown from our window. When my sister went home, she took great pleasure in telling colleagues who asked about her trip: “Oh, we had a riot!”

My love affair with hockey continues to this day. Sadly, Canucks overall results have gone downhill since 2011, but I haven’t yet given up on the possibility that one day, they’ll make it past the first or second round and win a Stanley Cup. I always was one for the underdog.

Sadly, the Fluffster offspring has never come on board. In 2012, he spent a weekend at a “game jam,” where groups of aspiring software developers, graphic designers, and the like work for 60 hours straight creating video games together. He came home with a door prize, which he described as “some kind of sports jersey” before staggering off to bed. When pressed the next morning, he conceded that the sport was hockey. “Oh, and it’s got a signature on it.” He couldn’t remember which team or which player. It turned out to be an Alex Burrows signed Canucks jersey worth more than $300. That was the point at which we gave up all hope.

We continue to be fans to this day. I’m now keener than Mr. Fluffster, who watches bits here and there, but doesn’t get enthusiastic until playoffs (and even then, only if warranted).

One of the things I miss about not working is post-game celebrations or commiserations with Canucks fan colleagues. Those just aren’t as much fun on my own. I might have to join a Facebook group or something.

Go, Canucks, Go!

Please?

trophy cup by Nikita Kozin from the Noun Project; hockey by Tamiko Young from the Noun Project