One Fan

        The clock is ticking on the Phoenix Coyotes’ future here in Arizona. We all know it. If you listen to some media members, the decision has been made to move the franchise back to Winnipeg. Others, including the principals involved in the sale say nothing’s decided yet. On Twitter and Internet message boards, Americans and Canadians have been going back and forth, some of their arguments turning ugly. I’ve tried to stay out of those arguments the best I can.
        I have tried my best to refrain from bashing on Winnipeg for several reasons, the first and foremost is, I’ve never been there, so I don’t feel I can bash a place I have never been. Some of the other arguments I’ve read and even had a few directed at me in an effort to bait me into bashing include “You don’t know what it’s like to have this sport in your blood since birth.” “You have no idea what it’s like being a hockey fan from Canada.” “You can’t skate.”
        You know what? Fair enough. You’re right. I don’t know what it’s like to be a hockey fan from Canada. But, guess what? That also means you have no idea about what kind of hockey fan I am. We’ll get to the skating part later.
        My dad grew up in the Bay Area of Northern California and started liking hockey when the California Seals (later Oakland Seals and then California Golden Seals) came about. He’d gone to a few games and loved it. He was never a big sports guy, but he loved hockey and followed this team. He wanted to take me when I was a little older, but they left in 1976 to become the Cleveland Barons.
        We moved to San Diego shortly thereafter. San Diego had no NHL team. The closest NHL team we had was the Los Angeles Kings, but, growing up in San Diego you’re bred to hate all things north of Orange County. So, dad and mom would tell me about hockey, watch the occasional game on TV, but that was about it. And then it happened.
        1980 Winter Olympics. Lake Placid. The Miracle. I started getting into hockey a little more after that. But again, with no local team, it was a little hard. I tended to follow players more than teams. About that time, there was some kid named Gretzky that was already showing brilliance on the ice, as his Hart Trophy showed. Add Messier, Lemieux, Robitaille (even though he was a King) and I followed them and rooted for them.
        I moved to Phoenix, and still followed players more than teams at this point. When it was announced that the Jets were coming to Phoenix, we were excited and sad at the same time. I’d already gone through a franchise leaving town when the San Diego Clippers packed up and headed to Los Angeles. It’s not a good feeling. We felt bad for the people of Winnipeg, we really did. But, Phoenix was finally getting an NHL team.
        Now, at this point, I had yet to actually go to a live hockey game. That first season, we had seats three rows behind the home goal. From the first game, I was hooked on this sport even more than I had been. Seeing the NHL live is the best sport in the world to watch in person, no question. The first home playoff game against the Ducks in 1997? I still get goosebumps remembering that feeling walking into that building.
        That first season I also went out and bought some Bauer inline hockey boots and several sticks. A bunch of coworkers and I started playing pickup games. Most of these guys had played some hockey as kids, so I was at a disadvantage. I practiced with them, and got better. Don’t get me wrong, I still can’t skate backwards to save my life, so my career as a defenseman is out. However, as a right winger I did okay. I play the old Keith Tkachuk style. Park my butt in front of the net and redirect shots. We found that once I planted there it was extremely difficult to move me.
        When we moved to Colorado for work and family reasons, we’d go to Avalanche games wearing our Coyotes gear to cheer on our guys. We had a team to follow now. When Ray Borque was traded to the Avs, and the Coyotes were out of it, we rooted for the Avs. Why? We wanted to see Ray lift Lord Stanley’s Cup, finally.
        We came back to Phoenix, excited to start going to the games, and it happened. The lockout. We weathered that storm and started going to the games, A.J. who was two now, in tow. By the end of that first season, he knew #19 = ShaneDoan (He said it as one word), #2 = Keith Ballard, and #31 = Cujo.
        Doaner is A.J.’s hero. And now, his little brother is howling along with him, and also pointing out #19. Both want to be hockey players when they grow up. Skating lessons are going to happen this summer.
        And, unfortunately, I’ve been having to have talks with A.J., who’s now 8, about what he’s been hearing in the news for the past two years about the Coyotes leaving. He once asked recently why they didn’t call themselves the “Arizona Jets” since that’s what they were called in Winnipeg. He knows about Greztky’s greatness as a player through old videos and me, and he has firsthand experiences with Gretzky’s failure as the coach of the Coyotes. I’m making sure he knows this sport’s proud history.
        Mostly though lately, I’ve having to help prepare him in case the Coyotes do move. It’s not a fun conversation by any means. Ask him his favorite sport, he says hockey. His favorite team? The Coyotes. His favorite athlete? Shane Doan. Just one more storm to weather as a father.
        Why did the NHL come here? Look at the kids in the Valley who are now playing hockey because of the Coyotes. Is it Canada? No, it’s not. But, it is growing and has been ever since they’ve been here. These kids love this sport and this team. Growth. In that respect, the Coyotes have been winners here in the Valley.