When I moved to Minnesota, the Wild were in their inaugural season. I knew from seeing the Northstars on television that Minnesotans were rabid fans. During their Stanley Cup run in 1990-91 season, the Northstars were on television on the East Coast. I remember how loud the fans were on tv. I never thought it was real until I went to a Wild game. It made sense that the Wild retired the #1 for the fans, because Minnesota fans truly are rabid and amazing.
My first Wild game was during my wife's bachelorette party. She was out with friends and would be using the apartment we shared. I didn't mind, however, because I had won two "on the glass" seats to the Wild take on the Vancouver Canucks. Though the Wild got killed (the final score was 5-2), the events at the game were a lot of fun.
I was with my best man, Paul. He was a huge Blues fan, but had adopted the Wild as his "other" team (a common practice in sports). As we sat by the ice, we realized that everyone around us in our section was obviously new to either the sport or to the physics of the rink. Several people were getting Hockey explained to them ("So how does icing work?"), while others had placed their drinks on the rim in front of the glass. Anyone who understands what happens during a check into the glass knows you do not ever put anything on that rim.
For those of you who don't know, there is a small amount of give between the glass and the boards in order to protect the players (and the fans) from hard checks. When someone gets checked into the glass, it bends slightly and vibrates. Now back to the story.
So the guy next to me puts his full beer on the rim just before a nearby faceoff. Immediately, I know this is going to be bad. The Wild lost the faceoff, and the Canuck player who picked up the puck started to go up ice by the boards. Scott Pellerin zeroed in on him and slammed him into the boards. The beer shot off the rim, spraying out of the bottle, and landed on his lap. I had to bite my cheeks to keep from laughing. I remember him screaming, "what the hell?" over and over again. Later in the game, the Wild scored a goal and everyone by the ice started banging on the glass. As we cheered, a police officer came down and started moving everyone back with his nightstick. It was hilarious and disturbing at the same time. He pushed us back from the glass saying, "you might damage it. That's enough, sir. Don't make me remove you." Of course, when the hot girl one section over did it on the second goal, he just smiled.
Several games later, we finally moved into the upper levels. I have mentioned before: any real fan sits in the upper levels. It's like a cult. The fans who paint themselves, the fans who know all the stats, and the fans who can see how the game will develop sit up above the ice to see it all (it also helps that it's cheaper). That game showed me the true, die-hard, crazy hockey fans. There was Mr. and Mrs. Wild (who had legally changed their names) and painted themselves to look like the logo. Mister Wild even tattooed the logo onto his back (that's dedication). There was "The Chief." I think every team has a "chief," who is (usually) a man that dresses up in Native American gear and tries to rally the fans. Truly, the fans of the Wild are sometimes even better than the team.
The best game I ever attended, however, was the first game of the 2003 conference finals between the Wild and Mighty Ducks of Anaheim (thanks alot for that one, Disney). When my wife and I entered the arena, every seat was covered with the Wild version of the Homer Hanky (I call it the Wild Washcloth). During the game, every time we needed a rally, the fans waved their towels. It was an amazing scene to see about 19,000 people waving these towels around and around in the air. It was honestly inspiring. Less inspiring, however, were the people who were not their for the Wild, but there for the experience. I can sum it up with Dorky Annoying Guy (or Dag for short).
Dag was sitting next to me for the whole game. He was the kind of person who would yell things like, "Come on, just shoot it," when the Wild were setting up during the power play. He was almost as bad as a guy I saw at a St. Cloud Huskies game. This guy would yell over and over again, "FEED THE DOG!" This meant pass the puck to the guy on the point. Anyway, Dag didn't really care if the Wild won the game or not. At one point, he got on his cell phone and called a friend. He kept asking, "Can you see me on tv? Are there any celebrities here? Etc." At one point Wild player Jeremy Stevenson was hit in the eye with a stick (and it was maliciously done). The ref did not call a penalty (thanks alot Fraser) even though Stevenson was bleeding from his eye. As Wild fans hollered and booed, Dag asked me why they cared so much. That's just one of the signs of a passive fan, or as I call them bandwagoneer. Here are some more:
When you don't become outraged by the uncalled injury of a team member, you might not be a hockey fan
When you're above the action following the players and you have to ask where the puck is, you might not be a hockey fan.
When you turn to the person sitting next to you and ask, "when is the period over," instead of looking at the clock, you might not be a hockey fan.
These are all examples of what Dag did at that game. It frustrated me that at a point when the Wild needed their true blue (or green) fans to support them, they instead had schmucks like Dag who only cared about being noticed and being able to tell his friends he was there. I cannot stop people like that from going to games, but I really hope that karma pays them back for not really caring.
I will continue to love Hockey until the day I die. The movement and speed of the game is fluid like art. I hope the game returns this upcoming season. Should you have the opportunity, check out a live professional game. You'll be amazed at how much better and faster it is than high school or even college.
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