Growing a Chicago sports fan is a humiliating dependence.
I've been hooked since the day my father took first in the family to a White Sox game at the old Comiskey Park, when my young sister, which was used to watch the games on a black-and-white TV with UHF reception snowy, pronounced, "look, the play of colours!" I am absolutely hooked since I saw my first game Blackhawks at the since demolished at the Chicago Stadium. In a previous article, I tried to describe the ephemeral power that music has on our soul-namely, the power to transform our emotional state and lead us to another place. For better or worse, sport has such a transformative capacity.
Growing up, my dad shared subscriptions for a year or two for games Chicago Blackhawks hockey. It was during this time that I was able to enjoy the true beauty of hockey (along with 20,000 raucous fans). The momentum of the game can change in an instant; a control drive or a defensive play often means more than a major offensive pass or shot. That is what I love about hockey. More than any other sport, is seemingly minor elements which impact so much the present moment and the end result. In addition, the old Chicago Stadium (even then it was old, having been built in 1929) literally shook with every great pass or the stellar defensive play. It certainly shook even more when the home side scored, helped by the pitch incessant baritone of 3,663 tube Barton organ that want to signal a goal. As a music club, Chicago stadium was a sensual Temple which resulted in the senses, addicted patrons and begged him to seek higher levels of pleasure.
Unfortunately, the Blackhawks couldn't win the Stanley Cup. Although they had terrible teams in my heyday of childhood of the late 60 's and early ' 70, with players like Bobby Hull, Stan Mikita, Tony Esposito and Pit Martin, have failed to win the Cup. The most memorable and poignant, lost at home game 7 the Montreal Canadiens in 1971 after being ahead 2-0 in a game in late in the second period. A fluke goal from the centerline by Jacques Lemaire zipped past or Tony, cut the cable with 1 goal and gave the Canadiens the momentum above that they desperately need. They finally beat the hawks 3-2 to win another Stanley Cup.
Listening to those games on radio as described by the wonderful work Play Lloyd Petit, was emotionally spent. It wasn't just a fan at that point, but a member of the team, my emotions rising and falling faster than Jacques Lemaire turned. I was only eleven years old, but often felt that my emotional commitment exceeded that of most of the players or management.
Unfortunately, once again, being a fan of Chicago sports will guide you in emotional depth. Not only is the failure of my infinity hockey team loved it, but a collective failure to "win" the majority of Chicago sports teams. Yes, it is true that the Chicago Bears, under the tutelage of Mike Ditka, broke the streak in the 1985-1986 season. But let us not forget that the bears have won at least two more Super Bowls in years 80. Thanks Charles Martin of Packers for body slamming Jim McMahon in 1986 and dashing all hopes of a victory of the Super Bowl. It is true that the Chicago Bulls won big in the 1990s under the expert guidance of Phil Jackson and the magic of Michael Jordan. However, let us not forget the 1975 Western Conference finals when the Bulls stole home court advantage, went up 3 games to 2, but lost the next two games against the eventual champion Golden State Warriors.
The Cubs deserve an entire chapter of their own, but let me mention just a couple of years and names: 1984, Leon Durham; 2003, Steve Bartman. Enough said.
As for my other favorite team-the White Sox-at least they took their long drought by winning the World Series in 2005, the first time since 1917. Still, the 1983 playoffs, with names such as Britt Burns, Tito Landrum and Jerry Dybzinski persecute forever long tenured Sox fans.
But, back to hockey. In 1991, my wife and I had just moved from Chicago to San Antonio. During the Blackhawks surprising playoff run during the 1991-1992 season shortened by the strike, which ends with a visit to the Stanley Cup finals, we look at all the playoff games the local sports bar. There was no other place to get the television feed. Has become our routine. Every other night the Hawks want to gamble, and want to meet at the bar after work, enjoy a cold drink in the fervent heat of southern Texas and scream and shout for a victory. For eleven straight playoff games, the Falcons did just that. Until they reached the final against the Pittsburgh Penguins. Twenty years removed from dashed dreams of 71, I sit in a sports bar in a foreign city, mentally taken back in those days much themselves. I have reverted to that child of eleven-year-old whose every breath, every emotional ebb and flow, revolves around the success of his hockey team.
Instead of names like Jacques Lemaire, Ken Dryden, Henri Richard and Yvan Cournoyer steal my dreams, names like Mario Lemieux and Jaromir Jagr beset my reality. The good side, Belfour, Roenick and Chelios are replaced, Esposito, hull and Mikita. The different names, though, does not produce a different result. In game 1, the Husk Hawks leads 3-0 and 4-1. I implore Eddie Belfour to hang onto the puck, but to no avail. Out a rebound, Mr. Lemieux scored the game winning goal with 10 seconds left to rally the penguins to an incredible victory 5-4. Pittsburgh using this initial momentum 1 game to sweep the hawks 4 games to none to win the Stanley Cup (although the series was actually closer than the score would indicate).
Chicago loses again and I am devastated once again. Swear off my addiction. After all, how silly is it left the soul ride on the wings of a sports team? I remain faithful to my commitment and stay off this drug. Then spring training, or Mini-Camp or pre-season starts again and I fall off the wagon sport forever be haunted by a last-second score by the opposing team.
I am a sports fan in Chicago.
Harangue Daily was started by a group of friends who had a lot to say, but just agreed. These candid discussions on topics ranging from politics to music, art, nature, life, love, and the human condition has always been a free flow of ideas that serve to strengthen, rather than destroy, the bands of our friendship.
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