I’ll admit that I was a latecomer to hockey. For the longest time, I did not understand the intense passion of its fans. They were not only Canadians but also Americans from the Upper Midwest plus Swedes, Czechs, and Danes I met over the years. Sure, I was pleased in 1980 when a bunch of American college kids beat the Russians in Lake Placid, New York, in what became known as the “Miracle on Ice.” But frankly, I was much more focused on the U.S. Men’s Alpine Ski Team during the 1984 Winter Olympics. At those games, Bill Johnson was the first American man to win an Olympic gold medal in downhill skiing.
In the early 1990s, I had access to complimentary tickets to LA Kings home games. My cousin-by-marriage, Wayne Gretzky, was the team’s star player. You would think that such an illustrious association would make me an instant, rabid fan. It didn’t; I thought the game consisted of a bunch of thugs crashing around on the ice. But, I just didn’t understand it.
That all changed when the Firebirds came to the Coachella Valley. I was offered tickets by the Desert Magazine sales team. My daughter, Charlie, (then eight years old) was starting to take figure skating classes at the Berger Foundation Iceplex. I thought she might find some inspiration in the hockey players’ skating techniques.
She was an instant fan. Of course, it helped that the ’Birds seemed to win every game we attended. But, that first season was quite memorable. Charlie pored over the team roster and quickly developed her favorites. She screamed herself hoarse every time there was a fight. The annual Teddy Bear Toss event worked on her like a kind of nirvana. She developed a routine at games. We had to arrive 15 minutes before the puck dropped to get a frozen lemonade from E&E Pel’s and an order of Fuego Fries.
I was not immune. For the first time, I found myself getting into the action – reading up on the history of the game, appreciating the nuance of passing, and groaning audibly after unproductive power plays. It wasn’t long before Charlie acquired a hat, then Dad got one. Next, she received her first sports jersey for Christmas during the second season. Then, incredibly, the guy who once pooh-poohed attending Kings’ games got his first professional sports jersey. Heaven help me, we even discussed getting pairs of Vans sneakers to match our jerseys.
Of course, the Firebirds are a developmental league team. And their entire roster changed since last season, as frequent contributor Judd Spicer says in his analysis of the team in this issue. (Be sure to check out his podcast, called Fire and Ice.) But, I breathed a sigh of relief when Charlie and I attended our first game this season and saw that her favorite player from last year, goalie Niklas Kokko, had returned. She roared every time Kokko caught a puck on the fly in his left hand. And that is music to a dad’s ear. Let’s go, Firebirds!
