Flaming Fanaticism; a Self Study

It's a strange thing, but I enjoy it every time. People have been offering me congratulations after each of the Flames' last two playoff games -- both wins over Chicago to pull their series even 2-2. ME, as if I was right there on the ice! To me, this is an acknowledgment of my long-standing loyalty to my chosen team.

I used to scoff at those who would include themselves when speaking of their team: 'We' won a big one, or, they got the better of 'us'. It's a pretty far-fetched grasp on reality, and a poor use of the language. However, in recent years I have taken exactly that approach to the Flames, having some fun with it. I always predict lop-sided, ridiculous scores when the opportunity arises, and usually predict sweeps of all playoff series. I like to pretend I have the ear of Flames management, and am in on conference calls and lineup meetings. I can trace these delusions of grandeur back to three separate experiences, two of them at the Saddledome itself:

May 1989 -- I was 11 years old, and had just begun to take an interest in pro hockey. I'd been going to Victoria Cougars games with Dad for a long time, but wasn't really what you'd call an active NHL fan. I was watching TV alone and came across Game Seven of the Flames-Canucks first round series. I knew enough to know this was a pretty big situation, and if there were ever a time to sit through an entire game on TV, this was it. I was treated to a classic game, though I'm sure I didn't fully appreciate it at the time. (I'm lucky enough to now have a VHS copy of that clash, though we lack a VCR at the moment.)

One of the teachers at my school was a Montreal Canadiens fan, and when his long-time heroes and my newly-adopted team met up in the Cup finals, he offered up a fun wager: A bottle of pop to the winner. The night of May 25th, when Lanny raised the trophy in the final game of his long career, everyone was gathered at school for some sort of spring concert or talent show. The game was on a TV in the library, and I was able to catch the big moment before our turn on stage. Now that I think of it, Dad was probably out in the sweaty gym wondering what the heck was happening in that game! The next morning, Mr. Lidster came striding into my classroom to present me with my own little trophy, two litres of 7-Up.

March 1993 -- Dad had put together an awesome hockey trip that would have us attend three games, while visiting Uncle Don and hanging out with the Calgary clan. Don was acquainted with Lanny McDonald, who was working in the front office at that time. Lanny was kind enough to sign my jersey, show us his ring, chat with us for a good 15 minutes, show us around the bowels of the 'Dome, and send us down to ice level to watch the Flames practice. He told me just where to stand by the tunnel, and said, "If anyone doesn't want to sign your jersey, tell them Lanny said they have to." The only signature missing from that '93 team is Mike Vernon.

Don was with us for a bit, taking a break in his work day. He was there in the stands with us right behind the bench, when Al MacInnis walked through and recognized him (they belonged to the same golf club). 'Chopper' was my favorite Flame, and stopped to say hello, chat with Don, shake my hand, sign my jersey, and make sure we had our tickets for the game that night. Wow! What a thrill for a youngster, who had already suffered several playoff disappoinments in rooting for the Flames those last four seasons. That experience firmly cemented my loyalties, and ensured I'd be a fan for life.

April 2004 -- by this point, it had been a really rough ride, a long time since any playoff action and 15 years since the Cup win. But that didn't sway me from backing my boys year after year, hoping they would break out of their long-standing funk and return to being the playoff contenders of my youth. 2003-04 had been a good season, and Calgary found themselves back in the playoffs after a seven year hiatus. I was doing well at work, and had a good relationship with the afternoon talk show host at the radio station. He still had connections in Calgary, having been a TV anchor there in the past, and offered to try and get me playoff tickets. It worked out, and Dad and I were able to be at the Saddledome for Game 3 vs. Vancouver.

Calgary was bedlam, with the team colours up in every business, multiple flags on every car, and those new red jerseys on just about every person -- an amazing display of pride and excitement. After enjoying the pre-game party in the parking lot for a while, we headed in to take our spot in the nosebleeds. The lights went out, and there was a video production several minutes long paying tribute to us, the loyal fans, and celebrating the success of the season to date. The team hit the ice, the music was pumping, fire was shooting out of the scoreboard, and it was deafening all around us. I'm usually pretty reserved at hockey games, but this time I joined in by screaming myself hoarse, costing my poor dad his hearing temporarily.

The game itself turned out a 2-1 Vancouver win, though they lost their goalie to injury (a small moral victory for me). The Flames still won the series, and went on an incredible run to Game Seven of the Finals, damn near winning it all. Despite being a loss, that Game 3 in Calgary was a huge moment in the franchise's history, and a wonderful reward for all those years of sticking with the club. I felt honoured to be in the building with all those other Flames nuts, and was proud to have Dad at my side.

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Funny what some people will get all worked up about, eh? This has been a pretty long and self-absorbed blog post, but I guess that's bound to happen sometimes on one's own blog. I'm trying to put all sorts of positive karma out there to help us win our best-of-three with Chicago! Thanks for reading, we'll resume our regular programming after the playoffs (well, probably sooner than that).