Edmonton Oilers fans react to the loss against the Florida Panthers in game 7 of the NHL Stanley Cup final, in Edmonton on June 24, 2024.JASON FRANSON/The Canadian Press
There was no joy in Mudville on Monday night. No riots either, which for any Vancouverite who lived through 2011, was, if not exactly a joy, at least a relief.
The shame of that event lingers. Will there ever be a time when there is a possibility of a Canadian team winning (or losing) a tournament-deciding game without the ghost of the Stanley Cup Riot still hanging around, reminding police forces that they’re going to have to be on their game, and the rest of us to hold our breath? Dredging up our dishonour?
I’m doing it now, I know.
I was early in my life in my adopted city, Vancouver, but nowhere near it on that notorious night. I was sitting on the bed of a tiny Banff hotel room, working, glued to what was then (and will always be to me) Twitter, listening to wall-to-wall coverage online and, as an arts writer, contributing in small ways to The Globe and Mail’s reporting. There were people attending a show at Vancouver’s Queen Elizabeth Theatre who were stuck inside, with all the burning-car craziness just outside.
Like many of my fellow residents of the Lower Mainland, I was in shock. I was also a little scared, given the proximity of colleagues and loved ones to the violence.
The morning after, driving to Calgary and the airport that would take me home, I was listening to Albertans weigh in on a call-in radio show. They were full of ire and judgment – as was I, but Vancouver was my city so I felt I had implicit permission to criticize it. I can make fun of my brother/sister/parent/relative all I want; don’t you dare try it, though, Alberta.
Along the Trans-Canada Highway, I was angry again – now at these callers. Don’t you dare talk about my city like that. My city. It was the first time I, a transplant from Toronto, fully felt that Vancouver was home. It only took a riot.
The link between sports and civic pride is fascinating; in part because it’s so strong, in part because it’s kind of nonsensical. How many actual Edmontonians were on that losing team (although just getting to Game 7 of the Stanley Cup finals made them winners)? Two. How many born-and-bred Floridians are on the Panthers? Zero. The Olympics are a different story, but the NHL? It’s all about money, trades and wheeling and dealing.
And yet. We cheer these teams on, take pride in them, as if they are our own, as if they represent us in some way.
Edmonton had become Canada’s team; my team, too. Watching the game Monday, I felt real sorrow at the loss – followed by trepidation, still rooted in 2011, about what might come next.
We kept the TV on, watched the devastating close-ups of Connor McDavid and the other shattered Oilers; watched them leave the ice so the Panthers could celebrate. Then, an interview with Florida coach Paul Maurice.
Mr. Maurice has spent more than 25 years coaching in the NHL, nearly 2,000 games – for teams including Toronto and Winnipeg. All along, the Stanley Cup had eluded him. Until Monday.
On live TV, Mr. Maurice looked into the camera and said the win was “for my mom and dad, in Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario.” And for his brothers in Sault Ste. Marie and Waterloo, Ont. He name-checked LaSalle, Ont., too.
“All of the people who suffered through 30 years of me losing and making excuses,” he joked, then stared into the camera again, “Mom and Dad, especially. Hey Dad, your name’s going up with your heroes Beliveau, Richard, Howe, Lindsay, Maurice.”
Those names etched into the Stanley Cup: Jean Béliveau, from Trois-Rivières, Que.; Montreal’s Maurice “The Rocket” Richard; “Terrible” Ted Lindsay from Renfrew, Ont.; “Mr. Hockey” Gordie Howe from Floral, Sask., now the namesake of a great bridge linking Canada and the U.S., at Windsor and Detroit. And Paul Maurice, from the Soo.
His final words in that interview really caused a stir in one of his former hometowns. “If I could have one thing more,” he looked directly into the camera again, “it would be for the Winnipeg Jets to win the next Stanley Cup.”
Mr. Maurice, mensch that he is, knew what he was doing. He was talking to Canada – a country he understood would be mourning the Cup that didn’t make it home, hasn’t made it home in three decades. This was your victory too, he was saying. Canada, you built this team. The Panther pedigree is filled with Canadian blood and experiences. Take a bow and believe it: this is your win too.
And for a moment, just a moment, it felt that way, way up here in Mudville.