honky tonk hockey
Let me start by saying this blog is not going to win me friends in Nashville.
I moved to Tennessee the same year our Nashville Predators were born. From the very beginning, NHL hockey in Nashville was a horse of a different color. It wasn’t a sport or a game. It was an entertainment experience. Before games, between periods, and after games, the Preds’ organization did things right. They had big giveaways and celebrities. They played concerts between periods. They made over-the-top efforts to teach people the rules of the game. It felt like Nashville feels all the time. And it was a family-friendly experience, for sure. And as people learned the game, they learned to be hockey fans.
Back then, the on-ice product was, in my opinion, unwatchable (much like the current Titans of the NFL). It was boring hockey the likes of which would have New Jersey Devils’ fans longing for their neutral zone trap days. I’d say it was the stuff of nightmares, but it produced such a sound, peaceful sleep that even Freddy Krueger couldn’t survive it. It was as if “going through the motions” were going through the motions.
And tickets were easy to come by. In fact, up until about five years ago, you could damned-near walk in and sit on the bench with the team in any game not against the Red Wings.
The Red Wings were our self-appointed rivals. Of course, no one bothered to tell them. In fact, I’d wager most of their players couldn’t pick out Nashville on a map of the U.S., let alone consider us among their biggest rivals. I guess it was our attempt to play with the big fish.
Speaking of big fish, the only thing we got out of our Detroit “rivalry” was a lot of losses and an absurd tradition of throwing catfish onto the ice during games. Don’t get me wrong. The catfish thing has sort of grown on me. It’s comical in an oblivious sort of way, but that doesn’t make it any less absurd. I know, I know. It was our answer to Detroit’s octopus. If they can throw a fish (Someone help me here. Is an octopus even a fish?), so can we. But the octopus has real meaning. It’s symbolic of something important to hockey fans everywhere—not just in Detroit. And I’d rather eat octopus than catfish any day of the week.
I guess I should just chalk it up to being the way traditions are born, even if this one is a bad copycat. It’s ours now, much like Tim McGraw’s “I like it, I love it…” after each goal. And “Fang Finger” (that’s not nearly as inappropriate as it sounds) when our opponents get a penalty.
But one tradition I simply can’t embrace is the chorus of “You suck” and “It’s all your fault” chants that erupts across the arena when Nashville scores. Like most people who grew up playing sports, my coaches taught me the value of good sportsmanship. You cheer for your team—not against your opponent.
I grew up with hockey. I played in many states and all across Canada. I played against teams from Russia and Sweden. And, as an adult, played with people from all over the world. We all play the game a little differently, but we share a few common bonds. Pure love of the game, its speed, and its occasional quirkiness. The love of good, clean hits (both giving them and receiving them). Respect for the game and for each other.
My dear friend, Flo Pilote, often told me stories about how brutal it was to play in a 6-team league. The competition was far fiercer because there were so few positions available. They fought hard and sometimes viciously with each other. I’m sure they called each other a bad name or two along the way, but they respected each other and the game of hockey.
When I coached, we taught the kids to respect the other team. For example, the league said we couldn’t shake hands after games because they were afraid of conflicts. We broke that rule every single game because it was the right thing to do. You play hard and you honor the contest when you’re done.
We benched players for poor sportsmanship. After one victory, we heard of our team taunting the other kids. The next practice did not involve pucks. And I imagine the memory of it still triggers some of the team’s gag reflexes even now, more than 10 years later. Just ask leaders from that team. Ricky Bart. Brent Flournoy. Chad Harrington. Respecting the other team is more important than winning.
If you want to get literal, no one in the NHL sucks. As much as I grouse about former Sabres who should never have been on the ice in overtime of Game 6 of a Stanley Cup final (I know… “Get over it!”), even that guy didn’t suck. And if I’m being honest, it wasn’t “all his fault” either.
But you don’t have to get literal to hate those chants. You just have to be human. They collectively demonstrate the worst of us at a time when we should be celebrating the best of us. We scored a goal. We defeated the opponent. We did something well. And yet, here in Nashville, we choose to de-value the accomplishment by being crass, unsportsmanlike, and just plain rude to our guests. Jumbo Corica would’ve kicked our asses all over Ray Lee field with his fungo bat if we had behaved like that back in the day. Roy Mansell and Jim Hildreth would’ve skated us until we dropped. And we would’ve deserved it.
Let me ask the parents out there… How would you feel if your kid was the goalie and every time the other team scored all of their parents stood up, pointed at your kid, and began chanting that he (or she) sucked and it was “all his/her fault”? So why is it okay for you to sit next to that same kid and join in those ugly chants at a Predators’ game? Tradition? I call bullshit. If you’re at a Preds’ game and you join in those chants, you’re just teaching your own children it’s okay to behave like that. It isn’t.
I’ve been to NHL games in a handful of other cities. Of course, you get the random asshole who screams “you suck” at a particular player—usually in a vain attempt to get under the skin of the other team’s biggest star. But this is the only place I’ve seen where they make it “a thing.” Or maybe, more appropriately, “a thang.”
The Preds are just two games away from a Stanley Cup championship—the first in franchise history. They have evolved from the worst embodiment of “soccer on ice” to one of the most entertaining tickets in the nation. They play fantastic hockey. They never quit. And they are an absolute joy to watch, but I find I have to mute the television when they score. Should they win—and I hope they do—the poor sportsmanship displayed by the people in Bridgestone Arena will be a black mark on that accomplishment.
Call me old-fashioned or just old. I used to work for a couple of the current Preds’ owners. They created an amazing culture—one where people felt energized and excited. One where we respected each other, all the time. No matter what. I owe them a great deal. And I can’t imagine they condone the kind of poor sportsmanship displayed by our fans to the opposing teams.
I am thrilled at what the ownership group has done to create a unique experience for the people of Nashville. Frankly, I don’t think it would work anywhere else in the NHL. They’ve also done an incredible job transforming our team into a true contender. They play the kind of hockey that creates hockey fans from people who have never seen the game before. It’s fast. It’s exciting. They hit. They score. And they win.
I have overcome my personal need to see my hometown Sabres win a Cup before the Predators. I am rooting for my friends—the Cigarrans—and the team to bring the Cup to Nashville. But I don’t think I can call myself a fan until we show the rest of the league and its players the respect they also deserve.
Cheers (and Go Preds!).
