The Washington Capitals won the Stanley Cup last night. The morning after, it somehow seems both impossible and inevitable at the same time. It has reminded me of why I like hockey.

Hockey's just a game (and big business for the pros) but it is more than that. Hockey (like other team sports) teaches lessons that extend beyond the arena: how to deal with repeated failures; achieving success through effort, selflessness and teamwork; persevering in the face of inevitable adversities. Successful players learn those lessons and serious fans do too.

I enjoy watching hockey anytime, anywhere, at any level. I’ve often said I’m a fan of hockey more so than of any particular team. When I travel to NHL cities, I pick up a t-shirt of the local team; the Blackhawks, Flyers, Maple Leafs, Stars, Lightning, Rangers. When I’m wearing one back home, sometimes people ask, “Are you a Flyers fan?” I say, “Nope, a hockey fan.”

However, there’s something special about following a team closely and rooting for it during the ebbs and flows of its journey through a long season and its evolution over multiple years. As a kid growing up in the 70s, my brothers and I were Boston Bruins fans; my Dad rooted for his Montreal Canadiens. The Bruins won the Cup twice in that decade; the Canadiens six times. It was heaven…and hell. And I was hooked.

As a northern New Englander of French-Canadian heritage, hockey was more than a casual pastime. My father had played on local teams. My friends and I all played, both hockey on ice and, endlessly, ball hockey in the street. We organized our weeks around practices and games. My parents sacrificed money and time to pay for gear and shuttle us to the arena, always staying to cheer us on.

I played on travel teams that took long trips on precarious school busses through perilous winter weather to play. We travelled throughout New Hampshire and Massachusetts, mostly, but many years we also had a road trip into Quebec where much better teams usually thrashed us. Lessons learned. To keep costs down, we stayed in the homes of the opposing players, whom we hosted when they visited to play, surely a lesson in sportsmanship. Seeing the homes and lives of people from a cross-section of society taught a small-town kid yet more lessons.

My family didn’t have the money for travel and tickets to see NHL games in person but our cable service delivered both the CBC hockey feeds (in French and English) and the Boston channel with Bruins coverage (WSBK Channel 38). “La Soirée du Hockey” (or “Hockey Night in Canada” ) was a Saturday night ritual and the program’s opening theme song is still burned into my brain.

Hockey was serious in my hometown. In the first 30 years after World War II, our two high schools (one Catholic, one public) won the state championship 28 times, including a ridiculous 16-year run for the Catholic school, Notre Dame. As a result, the community dubbed itself “Hockeytown USA.” A giant puck and crossed hockey sticks hung over Main Street as you entered the paper-mill town.

One of my brothers, who is 5 years older than me, was a much better player and a rugged defenseman on state championship-winning teams. One of his teammates, who improbably became my high school history teacher for a year when he was hired to coach the school’s hockey team, went on to a successful coaching career, including having his name engraved on the Stanley Cup as an assistant coach for the New Jersey Devils.  Shortly after that happened, the Cup and other NHL hardware was on display at the Canadian embassy in Washington.  I went to see it, in part to find his name. In some tiny way, it connected my personal history with hockey’s larger legacy.

I was a scrappy second-line forward as a kid but was too small for the more physical high school game. Long before we fully realized their significance, I endured two concussions during games that knocked me out cold. One time I woke up in my hockey gear on the exam table of a Northborough, Massachusetts ER; the other time I woke up in the car, with my father driving us to our hometown hospital.

I stopped playing hockey as soon as I could get a job to save up for college. I moved away, went to school, started a career, and hockey was not the same for a long time. I was inattentive through the 80s; a casual fan, catching games here and there, watching the playoffs but not fully engaged in the decade of Bossy and Gretsky.

In 1994, my wife and I moved to Virginia for my job. I started watching—and then rooting for—the nearby Washington Capitals. They became “my” team; the first since the Bruins of my youth. Kolzig, Bondra, Oates, Juneau, Zednick. I occasionally went to watch games in person, buying very affordable multi-game ticket packs. Back then, games rarely sold out; you could stroll in just before the game and buy tickets at the box office. Washington was not exactly a hotbed of hockey.

However, by 1998, the Caps were in the Stanley Cup finals. Although Detroit swept the series, we were contenders.  We were usually competitive and the arrival of Alex Ovechkin gave us more hope than ever. I watched and rooted during the ensuing years as the fan base grew, ticket prices soared, and games always sold out. We had great regular season success but never made the finals again. Often thanks to Pittsburgh, we never got past the second round of the playoffs. Big name players came and went. Good players and coaches tried and failed. The hockey gods were absurdly fond of doling out bad luck at crucial moments in key games. The Caps developed a reputation for choking; taking leads and then inexplicably collapsing. It was like Lucy holding that football for Charlie Brown. Each year we hoped it would be different this time but somehow, some way, we ended up on our backs with a thud.

This year was especially bleak. Accustomed to repeated failures, everyone knew the Caps would lose. In the off-season, they had lost big-name players to free agency, so they didn’t have the depth to go far. They may not even make the playoffs, many said. Ovechkin and Backstrom—the two remaining vaunted “Young Guns” of an earlier era—were aging and many thought it was high time to come up with a new plan for the future. The coach, Barry Trotz, did not get a contract extension because everyone suspected he just couldn’t get it done in the playoffs. Clearly, there was no way the Caps could win the Stanley Cup in 2018.

Until they did. With flashes of brilliance, scrappy play, countless blocked shots, all-in commitment, and a little luck for a change, the team never gave up. They fell behind in every round of the playoffs, but came back to win. They somehow gelled as a team with a lethal combination of star veterans, blossoming prospects, and improbable heroes who all became part of the winning formula. Six different players scored in one victory over Vegas and none of them were named Ovechkin or Backstrom.  Kuznetsov was a star worthy of Conn Smythe consideration.  Holtby was rock solid after starting the playoffs on the bench.  Oshie, Carlson, Wilson, Smith-Pelley, Orlov, Beagle, Eller; the list of contributors goes on and on. Trotz’s calm presence on the bench seemed like genius now. An always-talented Ovechkin was noticeably more mature, exuding leadership by example in his relentless two-way play. His uninhibited child-like displays of emotion said it all: Want it desperately, worry when it’s close, get angry when it goes badly,  cheer passionately when your teammates succeed, and explode with joy when you win.

After I left my hometown nearly 40 years ago, it suffered the fate of many small mill towns. Factories closed and as many jobs left, many people did too. My sister and my brother still live there, though. My brother’s  two kids—one boy, one girl—played hockey and he coached sometimes. But hockey’s not the same there as it once was. The smaller town has just one high school now and it is not competitive against the schools from larger cities in the southern part of the state. Kids don’t even play hockey in the street much anymore.

But in Washington, DC last night, the streets were teeming with people in red hockey jerseys and t-shirts, screaming wildly for a team that was playing 2400 miles away. In thousands of homes throughout the region and beyond, kids and adults alike were glued to their television set, learning to love hockey and hopefully learning a life lesson or two.

Yes, hockey’s just a game. But it’s a helluva game.

Tramps, what a wonderful story. As a Canadian I can relate. The Toronto Maple Leafs were my team. As a 12 year old I was at the old Maple Leaf Gardens to watch the first all star game (the Stanley Cup winners- the Leafs vs the league all stars.. I was equally enthralled with baseball- AAA-and saw Jackie Robinson play for the Montreal Royals before he played for theDodgers.

I played a bit of hockey but was never good at it. I ice skated for years (until I gave it up 4 years ago due to balance problems.).

Glad the Caps won it.

Thank you Tramps. This was nice.

...good post.......

my golf buddy

is from Minnesota,

he was telling me their goalie had lost an EYE playing hockey

and

during games he would take out the glass eye and just let the other team see a Hole

we concluded Hockey Players are tougher than Football Players

or

possibly Insane

Great post Tramps, change a few details and I could tell a similar tale....including the annual trips through VT and to Quebec city, playing in places like Bellows Falls VT, where the 'Zamboni' was a WW2 jeep with pulling some ice cleaning contraption. For the overnights where we were hosted with local families, there was often an exchange of small gifts, I now wish I'd held onto some of those mementos. Throughout my underwhelming, nondescript hockey career, I wore the #29 of my hero Ken Dryden.

An incredibly dorky photo...6th or 7th grade, I think...

For many years, I payed little attention to the NHL, focusing more on college hockey as Hockey East, but came back to checking out NHL games about 10 years ago...only to discover a college teammate was a TV announcer....here's Pierre with hair and outside the glass; he was a good teammate. (Hobart College 1981 or '82).

As a Penguins fan...…  :-)

Very enjoyable read Tramps, reminded me of talking hockey with my Canadian (Flin-Flon) next door neighbor years ago in Georgia.

And congratulations to the Caps.  A well earned Cup!

Tramps - I sent this to my SIL a mega-hockey fan and he loved the write-up.  As to the next generation, my GS (his son) loves the game, likes being goalie and his team won their league (10 yo) - and rooted for the Caps after the Bruins lost.

marj