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Wednesday, September 8, 1999
Flames have a lot to learn
And if they had been there, among the teeming throngs of thousands at the last Stamps game, amid the raucous revellers and the red-faced rowdies, they would have had the chance to see and hear and feel.
They would have applauded OURGUYS and damned THEIRGUYS and tried to figure out what the hell happened on the goal line with a second to go.
They would have drank too much and screamed too much and talked to total strangers like old comrades and said Whadda Game as they headed home.
They would have hated coach Wally Buono for not playing safe or loved coach Wally Buono for his gusto.
They would have ordered salted peanuts and not apologized for the mess.
Yes, those who run the Calgary Flames would have got an inkling of what sports is all about --the passion, the conflict and the just plain fun.
Then again, I'm not counting on it.
Yes, hockey season is upon us. The training camp of the Calgary Flames is in full swing. Prepare yourself.
You will hear much lamentation this year, you will count many empty seats and the fat-walleted sultans of the Saddledome will issue dire millennial warnings from the first luxury box they can find.
SUPPORT THE FLAMES OR ELSE!
WE'VE ONLY SOLD 9,000 TICKETS!
Well, I've got news for them.
I'm tired of supporting the Flames or else.
I'm tired of the attitude.
When did hockey become a substitute for those who like to fritter away a night at the opera?
I'm tired of getting dirty looks from people when I cheer and when I occasionally use language not found in the Anglican Church Hymnal.
I'm tired of hearing tales of fans who've shelled out their hard-earned dough and then are chucked out for blowing one of those red horns or ringing a cow bell.
I'm tired of the fact the hard hats in the nosebleed seats are made to feel less welcome than a boatload of Chinese refugees.
I'm tired of ticket holders who sit next to you and talk loudly about mutual fund investment strategies during our team's powerplay.
I'm tired of those who sit like robots until the Jumbotron says NOISE in big capital letters or TWO COMPUTER-GENERATED HANDS start clapping on the big screen. I'm tired of people who don't do The Wave.
Yes, I am tired.
I'm tired of the fact nobody cares my pal Nosebleeder Bob is no longer a season ticket holder because he figures there's more fun in a morgue.
I'm tired of not enough cheese on the nachos and warm beer at cocktail prices, even when I don't drink it.
I'm tired of a team establishment afraid of loosening up because some old coots might wave a gold card and complain the missus and her knitting will be disturbed.
I'm tired of the boring games.
The ones where you don't really care who wins because, after watching players trying in vain to pass the puck, your eyes glaze over and the sound of the final buzzer is a reprieve, not a victory.
I'm tired of hearing about the team working harder and how they're Young Guns and how it's old-time hockey, while I fear the closest we'll get to the Cup is at Honey's Pizza and Dr. Zoom's recollections of past glory.
I'm tired.
But maybe it's all for the best.
Maybe those puck pooh-bahs down at the Saddledome will finally get their wish.
I won't be there unless they pay me.
And, with thousands of empty seats this season, unruly crowds won't be a problem.
Call Dinger at 250-4305 or
email rbell@sunpub.com
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