Over reading week, I had the pleasure of going to an NHL game. It was my first Maple Leafs game. Living up to their reputation, the Leafs were outplayed by the Pittsburgh Penguins third-stringers. While I didn’t see Crosby, I had the honour of sitting next to one of the best hockey fans I’ve ever met. His greatest strength was his ability to support one of the worst teams in the NHL while remaining upbeat and optimistic, an ability fuelled largely by alcohol. He was the Leafs Fan.
The Leafs Fan loves hockey, but he loves drinking more. By the time the puck drops, he’s had at least four beers. He must be buzzed in order to cheer for a team that just traded Kaberle and labelled this campaign “a rebuilding year,” yet again. The Leafs Fan is preparing for a night of celebrating the win, or more likely, trying to dull the pain of another loss.
The Leafs Fan has done his homework, and has a vague idea of the three major facets of hockey: fighting, hitting the puck, and drinking. His knowledge of the intricacies of rules like offsides and icing are not complete, but these subtleties are superficial to the ultimate purpose of the game: beer. But, that doesn’t stop him from sharing his understanding of the rules with anyone and everyone in sections 110-130.
As the puck drops, the Leafs Fan stands and, with complete disregard for the families, children, and real hockey fans on all sides, begins to shout. His cry is louder than a space shuttle launch from 14 feet. But sadly, the herd of fans is about as coordinated as the team itself, and collaborative activities like the wave or encouraging chants are out of the question.
No one is safe from the Leafs Fan’s buffoonery. The Malkins, the Rupps, the referees, the trivia participants, even Carlton the Bear fall victim. Nothing is sacred. Jests such as “OH WHERE’S CROSBY, DOES HE HAVE A LITTLE HEADACHE? DOES HE HAVE A LITTLE BOOBOO?” incite rage in children who have come to see their Canadian idol. Noticeably absent from the Leafs Fan’s criticisms are the Leafs players themselves, who are playing like … well, Maple Leafs. James Reimer hasn’t held on to one shot in the entire game, the power play unit can’t keep the puck in the opposing zone, and Kovalev plays his defenders like a fiddle. Nonetheless, “WHO GOT DRAFTED IN THE SEVENTH ROUND, KOVI?” I’m not sure either.
Following the game, which surprisingly turned out to be an exciting shootout loss for the Leafs, the Leafs Fan shares his vision for the Leafs playoff run. They’re only eight points out, he explains, but the team shouldn’t have any trouble catching up with Carolina. Then they’ll crush Philly and move to the second round easily, he tells his friends, sloshing beer and peanuts everywhere.
I’d like to make it clear that I’m not specifically anti-Maple Leafs, despite my abhorrence for everything Toronto. This fan exists in arenas, ballparks, and gridirons everywhere, and if you’ve ever been to a game, you’ve probably encountered him or her. Only two summers ago, I went with my lovely girlfriend to a Cubs game and became the subject of ridicule after chuckling at a Cubs-thrown dirtball. I know Leafs fans who love hockey, and who understand it. I’m just concerned about the way the culture of certain sporting events has evolved. The game shouldn’t be a place to get wasted and fight. It should be Stompin’ Tom Connors’ “good ol’ hockey game.” While I understand that people have fun in different ways, there’s a clear line between fun and obnoxious drunkenness, a line too often crossed. Please, Leafs Fan, and sporting fans everywhere, let sports be sports.
