A wiser man than I once told me, “When you don’t know what else to do or where else to turn, it’s time to come clean.” Here goes.
Born in 1981 in Lethbridge, Alberta, hockey had been a part of my life since I was an embryo, thanks to parents who would rub a growing baby bump and imagine whether their first-born child would someday play defence or right wing. My folks bounced around Alberta in my earliest years, from Taber to Barrhead, Viking to Grande Prairie, eventually settling in Fort McMurray days before my fifth birthday.
I suppose I had always been aware of the Oilers, and the toddler-sized T-shirts and jerseys prove I’ve always bled Oiler blue through and through, but I don’t remember embracing them until the 1987 Stanley Cup playoffs. I’m not sure why it took me so long to come around. I suppose I was too focused on naps, eagerly awaiting the next episode of Sesame Street, and trying to avoid falling off playground equipment.
That ’87 Cup run changed everything. I can remember my parents sending me off to bed sometime during the first period, and they always rejected my impassioned pleas to stay up late. Staggering off down the stairs to my bedroom, I would stop and sit at the bottom of the basement steps, straining to hear the noise from the television. After about 10 minutes I'd shout up "What's the score?" and my father would call it out me.
After another 10 minutes passed I asked again, and my father responded with the updated score. Waiting another 10 minutes, I asked again, but the answer didn't come immediately. "Okay, come on up," my father said, reluctantly. I sprang up those steps like it was Christmas morning, catching the final period before a trumpet blared the Hockey Night in Canada theme, bringing an end to the night's action.
The next night brought the same thing, and by the end of the week I was allowed to watch the entire game without spending any time on the basement steps. I remember a Kirby salesman coming to the door one night. He asked who was winning and my dad told him the Oilers were up, and Paul Coffey had just scored. To this day, I don’t think I’ve ever felt more sorry for anyone. He was missing a spectacle unlike anything I had ever seen.
I loved the Oilers before I loved the game, because in the mind of a child who had only held any devotion to his parents, it was impossible to separate one from the other. I spent countless hours next to my dad during that run, learning the rules, the different players and teams, and cultivating my disdain for the Calgary Flames. Marveling over those Oilers and their larger-than-life superstars, I was hooked, and remain hooked to this day.
However, I haven’t always been completely devoted to the Oilers, blocking out allegiance to all others with unwavering support for the oil drop. During this long, winding, and increasingly rocky road, I’ve been guilty of a few indiscretions that might call my fanhood into question. After nine straight losses, I don’t know what else to do to lift the jinx or snap the curse surrounding the team, so here’s my Oilers fan confessional.
- During the 1989 Stanley Cup playoffs, a small part of me got swept up in the fervor surrounding the Calgary Flames. I saw all the red banners waving, the “Go Flames Go” signs displayed in front windows, and thought for a moment that it would be nice to see another Alberta team win the Cup. Forgive me, I was eight.
- In 1993, I purchased a Chicago Blackhawks jersey. I already had a few Oilers jerseys, and decided that it would be cool to eventually own a jersey from each NHL club. That was soon followed by a Boston Bruins jersey. In hindsight, I should have decided to own a jersey for each of my favorite Oilers by position.
- During the In 1994 Stanley Cup playoffs, I got swept up in the idea that the New York Rangers were an extension of the Oilers. Messier, Tikkanen, Graves, Lowe, Anderson and MacTavish had gotten the band back together on Broadway, so it was okay to root on the Blueshirts, right? Wrong. I should have turned on the turncoats.
- In 1999, I fell into the misguided theory that losing to the eventual Stanley Cup champion gave the Oilers a little more credibility, so I was happy to see the Dallas Stars roll through teams en route to a championship. But it doesn’t matter what happens after you’ve been eliminated, and moral victories are for losers.
- After the Oilers dealt Ryan Smyth in 2007, I was so upset that I threw my allegiance behind the New York Islanders in the playoffs. I was hoping Smyth would win the Cup, bring it back to Edmonton, and tell Kevin Lowe to sit on it. Of course, under the weight of my unwavering support, the Islanders crashed and burned in five games.
- I’ve never, ever actively rooted against the Oilers. However, during the Fall For Hall, Suck Huge For Nuge, Fail For Nail, Play Bad For Ekblad, and Obliterated For McDavid campaigns I’ve tried to make the best of a bad situation. When a season is over by December it’s okay to keep an eye on the draft day prize.
Every Oilers fan knows what it’s like to be in an abusive relationship. They apologize and promise to change. They identify shortcomings and work to correct them. They assure us things will get better. I’m starting to think that my actions factor into these results, and I don’t expect this confessional to make much difference, but it feels good to unburden myself and come clean. After years enduring this cycle of abuse, I don’t know what else to do or where else to turn.
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Oil Spills
- Jesse Joensuu has been placed on waivers and Martin Marincin has been returned to the Oklahoma City Barons. I'm not going to tie the Oilers' fortunes to either Joensuu or Marincin, because I don't think they make much difference either way but those are some curious moves from a team that continues to have problems identifying, acquiring, and developing talent.
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