Reason I Love Hockey #11

The Superstitions

Now, I'm a good, superstition-fearing theater person. I do not, under any circumstances, utter the word "Macbeth" in or around a theater, and even in other settings I flinch and glance warily over my shoulder to make sure the Theater Gods aren't listening. I consider the fact that I can't whistle to be one of my greatest assets as an actress, as that also brings bad luck to the theater. Participating in the single most cursed production ever (our director needing to take medical leave a week into rehearsal, having to rebuild half the set the day after opening, and calling 911 for one of our cast members ten minutes before curtain one night were just three in a long series of unfortunate events) put the fear into me for good.

But nothing, nothing prepared me for the full-on devotion to superstition that comes with being a hardcore hockey fan. It's part of the game: there are unwritten rules, things that will make the Hockey Gods either pleased or angry, and it's our duty to figure those things out. Because without their blessing, we're cursed. There are some pretty extreme examples of hockey-fan superstition: people who don't shower or change their clothes after a win, who need to have their viewing area arranged just-so, who observe a strict code of behavior, clothing, and consumption in order to help their team. But I think every fan has at least one thing they're superstitious about, whether it's a lucky shirt or an unlucky word to mention.

Buffalo has an abundance of these types of crazies, because, let's face it--we have a lot of failures to blame ourselves for, and we're self-hating enough to do so. After Game 1 of the ECF this year, sports radio was fielding calls from people who needed to clear their consciences and admit their guilt for causing a painful Sabres loss. There was a call from a woman who had taken the night off work to watch the game, even though she knew they always won while she was working, and from a guy who was kicking himself because he met some Sens fans in a hotel lobby and actually accepted the drink they bought him. Meanwhile, I'm sitting in the car, convinced they had lost because I had worn my Sabres sweatshirt to the game. The same sweatshirt which had proven itself unlucky in the Islanders series. I hadn't heeded the warning signs, and now I was paying the price.

Sure, it can be a pain in the ass being superstitious--having to avoid food and clothing the shade of on of your opponent's colors like the plague, mentally dragging yourself over the coals when you slip up and cause a loss--but there's something to be said for feeling like you are somehow responsible for your team's fate. Truly believing that the attention paid to details which couldn't be less related to the game at hand can change the course of history. It's somewhat hubristic, but we fans are just that important.