Finding the honor in the hooliganism helped me find something new to love about a sport I already appreciated.
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As I write this, my hockey team of choice is coming off an earned but nonetheless difficult loss in the NHL Stanley Cup Conference Finals. The privilege of following a team this far into a season is not lost on me, and my heart is still holding tightly to the hopes that we’ll skate away with the Cup for the second time. My memories of the first Cup victory in franchise history, won the same year I left my adopted hometown for college, still linger – and feel so close, I can nearly taste it.
Almost as significant a memory as the win itself, was a fight that erupted in Game 3 of that year’s Stanley Cup Final. Vincent Lecavalier, an extraordinarily rare fighter in his years of play, dropped his gloves to take on Jarome Iginla, in a fight that captured the high emotions of the 1-1 tie in an incredibly high profile series. Perhaps the fight is fresh in my mind is because I have a framed signed photo of it on my wall…but in truth, the reasoning isn’t important.
Admittedly, in the face of the recent brawl between Rougned Odor and Jose Bautista, this hockey fan simply shrugged; fighting on the field of play is far less shocking to us. As a longtime hockey watcher, I get asked often about the nature of fighting in hockey: “Why do they do that? That seems dumb.” And as a female hockey fan, it’s generally assumed that I condemn the fighting: “Oh! You watch hockey… but don’t you hate the fights?”
In some cases, I don’t care for the fights. Choreographed bouts, ones decided on by players before the game, feel campy and inauthentic.
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In some cases, I don’t care for the fights. Choreographed bouts, ones decided on by players before the game, feel campy and inauthentic. But there are fights that I do actually really appreciate. The fight that Lecavalier and Iginla engaged in was one of honor, one fueled by the former’s desire to correct perceived slights in games past. It was a tactile way of saying “you don’t get to treat my brothers this way,” and it felt authentic because his gloves so rarely come off.
I still remember every detail of the one fight I ever got into. I kicked a classmate HARD on the playground because he hit my sister. While I was small (and remain small), my size or likelihood didn’t matter in the moment. I just wanted to let him know I wasn’t going to let him mess with my sister. And this is the honor that lies beneath the best altercations. Yes, fights are sometimes used as a way to disarm the opponent, to create a distraction that interrupts the other team’s momentum. Still others are borne of bad blood between individual players. But the best fights are a part of something bigger- something protective.
Odor and Bautista’s fight was like this; the emotions were a boilover from a bat flip in the prior year’s ALDS. Similarly, the Lecavalier/Iginla one-night-only bout was one fueled by the desire to address past slights. And my playground kick aimed at something similar: defending the honor of someone who had been wronged. In all these cases, there was something pure-hearted behind the pugilism. Finding the honor in the hooliganism helped me find something new to love about a sport I already appreciated, and endeared me to these hulking athletes in a way I never expected.
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Photo: Getty
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