Family Bonding
You wouldn't know it to look at me, but I come from huge jock stock. In high school, my mom played softball and field hockey, and was head basketball cheerleader. My dad, captain and self-proclaimed best player of the football team, also played lacrosse and wrestled. My mom went on to major in physical education in college, and now teaches gym and coaches basketball at my old grade school. My dad is a physician and runs his own practice, which partially specializes in treating sports injuries. (A number of Sabres and Bills have been treated there, including Paul Gaustad after his ligament injury.) To this day, they are both incredibly active, and plan entire vacations around skiing, canoing, and hiking. Now, you would think they'd have produced at least one super-star athlete, right? No such luck. We three kids--we're not exactly immovable blobs, but we're not particularly athletic either. My sister used to collect PE credits for dance and bowling (at least until she was cut from the team), and as for me.... Well, let's just say that the celebration of Andrew Peters' goal against the Flyers last season brought back memories of my first and only goal as a member of my high school's soccer squad. My brother gets a little bit closer: Possessor of a naturally athletic build he did next to nothing to cultivate, he will captain both his football and lacrosse teams next year, though I'm pretty sure that selection was based more on character than talent. (Not that there's anything wrong with that. In fact, I prefer it that way.) The point is, after they moved from northern New York state to Buffalo in 1979, my sporty parents became fast fans of the Bills and Sabres, but their kids were somewhat less than interested. Sure, sports talk was almost impossible to avoid in my house, so I inevitably picked up a few things (Lesson #1: I must unconditionally hate anyone who wears, displays, or otherwise flaunts the Miami Dolphins logo--no questions asked--or else I am not their daughter), but it wasn't a type of relationship I actively pursued with my parents and siblings.
But then hockey happened. Of course, hockey had always been happening, but in 2006 it happened in a Big Way. The Sabres were suddenly everywhere, including my backyard, family room, dinner table, and general consciousness. And no one was immune. Even my sister, who had chosen this unfortunate time to plan a road trip to LA with her best friend, did so with a Sabres flag flying from the window, and glass paint loudly expressing her love for one crooked-faced number thirty. Before she left she demanded I keep her posted on the scores and news via text message as she drove through a (literal) hockey desert. (This may seem like no big deal, but anyone who knows my sister knows it's a very. Big. Deal.) Suddenly on game days I was gluing myself to the couch between my parents, instead of wandering upstairs to listen distantly to their hooting and hollering for a few hours. And my brother was right there with me, trying to play it cool, but never passing up an opportunity to jump up and scream like a kid whenever a goal was scored. Yes, we were bandwagon jumpers of the tallest order, but we were also the best bandwagon jumpers we could possibly be. Whatever it looked like from the outside, we all genuinely loved the game. But even more, I loved loving it with my family by my side. I finally knew what all the fuss was about.
As the magic of that season faded, and the residual anger at the Hurricanes started to wear off (you know, to less than I-am-blind-to-all-else levels), I half expected us to retreat into our apathetic shells. But it didn't happen. Maybe I can chalk it up to the Sabres' bang up season, but the passion is still there, on all sides. Even through heartbreak. My sister and I consoled each other after the most recent post-season let down, and subsequent departure of, you know, those guys, saying it just wasn't meant to be, and we'd be strong and make it though. We said it until, eventually, we believed it. My brother and I, on the other hand, worked through our pain by having several empassioned arguments about whether or not Darcy Regier is an idiot. Meanwhile, my parents looked on, amused, saying things like, "You think this is bad? Imagine what the 90s were like." Yup, we're all one big, happy, sports-fan family, now. Ready to suffer and celebrate together. I love it.
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5 comments:
Gamber - Good stuff. My family has an odd, yet neat, way to celebrate the Sabres when we're all not together. When the Sabres score, we ring each other once. Kind of a long distance high five!
Mark, that's fantastic! I get all lonely when I don't have anyone to high five after a goal, so I might have to try (steal) this.
Gambler, when I first met the B. boys I thought the ringing thing was totally adorable. (Still do.) We were all at a graduation party this weekend and when the phone rang one of the boys yelled, "Sabres scored!" so now it's like a Pavlovian response.
The ability to suffer and celebrate with loved ones is the best!
My sister has had season tix the past two years and when I moved down to FL during the spring of 2006, right before the playoffs, she would text or call me at the end of each period. It's not so frequent now, but our conversations typically revolve around the Sabres still.
After big goals (Max OT, Andrew Peters, etc) one of us (or my dad) will call and there will be a discussion about how awesome that was and how great it is for them to be at the game. I've learned to not get too bitter when that little bit is thrown in.
And I agree, celebrating with family is the best way to watch the games. It's going on 20+ years since my family's been doing it.
My dad shared season tickets with his office this year, and the seats were awesome. Halfway up the lower bowl, just to the visitor's side of center ice. There was one problem though: there were only four of them, and there are five of us. It worked out great when I was away at school, but as soon as I came home it was a constant competition to see who would be giving up their ticket for any given game. I gotta say relished calling my little brother during the Caps game we went to and saying "It's a good thing you chose not to come to this one. It was almost exhausting to get out of my seat and cheer six times in the first 12 minutes like that!" Hey, he got way to many opportunities to rub it in while I was in Minnesota. I couldn't not pay him back!
Yeah, suffering and celebrating through Buffalo sports has been a big part of my parents' marriage for 25 years now. But it's great that it's now becoming an entire-family tradition.
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