A Love Born Out of Spite

The year was 1967. It was the year my father, a mild-mannered, shy, quiet soul, fell in love. This love would become strong, unwavering and not without its hardships.

No, this is not the kind of love that would eventually manifest itself into the handsome young man writing this entry for you today. That love would come later on. This love, was a love born out of spite. It is a love I, myself share. Oddly enough, I owe it all to fans of the Montreal Canadiens.

In 1967, Matthew Barton was certainly aware of hockey, but had never fully jumped into the realm of full-on die hard fandom. He knew of the teams, and he certainly knew the game. My father and his brothers would grow to become synonymous with a twice a week ice-time at the local arena; If you hadn’t played “Barton Boys” hockey, you hadn’t played hockey.

Now, while he had yet to accept the hopeful, glorious highs along with the desperate, bitter lows of choosing a sports team in which he could rest his faith, he was most certainly aware of the kind of attitude needed to be a “die-hard”. Anyone (whether knowing the game or not) who has looked at their Twitter/Facebook feed during the Stanley Cup playoffs this year is also blatantly aware of the utter ridiculousness of it all – yup, I said it.

Here’s the deal: In ’67 the Montreal Canadiens were poised to win their third consecutive Stanley Cup, after ousting Detroit & Chicago, respectively, in the two years prior. So, naturally, Habs fans (and I’m referencing Seinfeld here) had “hand” in their relationship with fans of other teams. So, like any fan with “hand”, these Habs fans – these friends and school-mates of my father – started chirping. The only thing worse than a chirping fan, is a chirping Habs fan. (You know my affiliation, so don’t even bother to defend, here.)

Yes, my father is mild-mannered, and shy…he is also stubborn and antagonistic (traits I can concede he has passed on to his children). The latter traits will trump most any other if he cares enough; and in 1967, my father cared. He cared, not for who he thought would be the best hockey team; not for who had the most cups…he cared about silencing the chirping. He cared about serenity. If another team were to beat the Canadiens and win the cup, my father knew he could go to school and not have to put up with the overzealous boasting that, until now, wasn’t even directed at him. That’s how bad it was and he’d had enough.

So, Matthew Barton, the antagonist, began to truly watch hockey, but he needed a team. He had to root for someone: a team that could be better than Montreal, a team that, by winning a game in general, could piss of an entire nation of Habs fans. He chose The Toronto Maple Leafs.

The Leafs won the cup that year; playing Montreal in the Stanley Cup finals, taking them out at home in game 6. They haven’t won another since. Montreal would go on to win the following year, and many years thereafter, but in 1967: the chirping was silenced. My father found peace. My father fell in love…with the Toronto Maple Leafs.

Hey, Dad, listen…the chirping has stopped again for the year. Here’s to you, and here’s to 2011.