I can still remember exactly how I became a true hockey fan.
I remember staying up late to watch the 2004 Stanley Cup Final between the Flames and Lightning, reveling in Gary Thorne’s play-by-play. The lockout year bummed me out, and I spent most of my time watching baseball and football instead.
But I always kept up with hockey. I played Backyard Hockey on the PC all the time. When Jaromir Jagr was traded to the Rangers, I lost my mind.
Finally, on January 12th, 2006, my dad called my brother and I to the television in our living room. The Rangers were taking on the Edmonton Oilers at the Garden. More notably, Mark Messier’s #11 was being hoisted to the rafters of Madison Square Garden.
“If you’re going to be a Ranger fan, you’ve got to sit and watch,” my dad said to me.
I ran upstairs, grabbed my white Messier jersey, hastily put it on and ran back down and plopped down next to him on the couch.
Dad telling me that I “needed” to watch was not something to take lightly. Sports were (and are) a major part of our house. Dad knows Cleon Jones’ batting average in 1973 better than he knows his email password. Mom knows the starting lineup of the New York Sack Exchange Jets and has a special place in her heart for her favorite third baseman, George Brett.
When my brother asked at a young age if it would be okay if he could root for the Yankees since all his friends were Yankee fans, my father said it was perfectly acceptable contingent on his finding another place to live.
Matt was distraught. So we’re both diehard Met fans 20 years later.
On that night in 2006, we watched a parade of Ranger greats. We heard Mark Messier get choked up as only Messier could, proudly bawling his eyes out over the love of his team. Our team.
The Rangers won in overtime that night, with Jagr scoring the game-winner 14 seconds in.
A few months later, when I was meandering Toys ‘R’ Us, I picked up a copy of NHL 07 for the PlayStation 2. I had never owned a hockey video game, and my parents seemed confused that I asked for it. I got it on a whim. Alex Ovechkin was on the front cover. Rangers defenseman Aaron Ward was one of several featured on the back.
I played it every day. Michael Nylander, Martin Straka and Jaromir Jagr made a fearsome top line for my teams. Jim Hughson was play-by-play. Dad would pick up the controller and make games close, but he would love to play. I will say, he was much better at MLB 05. It was just fun to share the time with him.
Dad gave an admirable effort in our various video game endeavors. From “Rocky,” to Madden, to MLB and NHL, he was better than he gave himself credit for.
From 07 on, I got every NHL game. I learned the names and basic skill sets from the games, but for stories, moments or history, I would turn to my dad. Before long, we would start going to the Garden more regularly, trying to get to at least one game a year.
My family would gather together most every game night when my brother and I were in high school. Mom complains she can’t see the puck, but she’s a good sport about it. I can still remember staying up well into the morning hours waiting for Marian Gaborik to net his triple-overtime winner against the Washington Capitals. As the clock ticked down on Game 6 of the 2014 Eastern Conference Finals, Dad, Matt and I got together and were jumping around just like Henrik Lundqvist was in the crease.
Before the finals began that year, the three of us went to the “Rangerstown” party adjacent to the Garden and had our picture taken with the Prince of Wales Trophy. Dad got an autograph from his favorite player growing up, Ron Duguay. It was just an awesome day.
We sat around in agony for the Stanley Cup Final that year. I sweat through my shirt every night. But for the highs and lows, we were all together.
Nowadays it’s harder for the three of us to be together watching the games. Matt lives in New Jersey now. I’m still wrapping up my senior year of college, and am generally so busy at nights I usually just end up streaming the game while I’m out. Our dog Shea has replaced our spots on the couch.
This is primarily the reason why I write this. Today, my father turns 57. We debate what makes a good defenseman, or whether enforcers really have a place in the modern NHL, but ultimately, watching a game together is still fun. My brother and I owe our love of hockey, the sport that has given us so much euphoria and heartbreak over the years, to our father.
Matt works as an editor for NHL.com and plays as a goalie in a men’s roller league. I work for MSG Networks as a production assistant and am a play-by-play broadcaster for my school’s hockey team. We love the game. It’s a major part of our lives.
I can’t afford “Dad Gift” things. I can’t get him the big-screen TV he’s wanted, or a new Corvette or golf clubs or things that dads get on their birthdays.
At the very least, I wanted to write this article to let him know that I am who I am today because I had him as a father. He gave my brother and I a strong ethical code, the courage to pursue our dreams because “the worst they can say is no,” and to “take the extra minute and do it right.”
And I am where I am in my career because of that one night in January, 2006.
Happy birthday, Dad. Love you.
