Reasons to Be Cheerful (or: me, the Rangers, and why losing isn’t so bad)
To say my fledging career as an ice hockey fan has had its ups and downs would be a bit like saying the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel is quite a big painting, or that Natalie Portman’s sort of okay looking, in her own way. Two seasons it’s been people, two. I spent the first of those passionately embracing my local side before losing them to the ravages of recession and a second travelling around the UK trying to pretend that I was fine with not having a team of my own to support, I’d get by.
I was a latecomer to all things NHL in comparison, as I spent my first season dividing my brain between all-encompassing love (for the Newcastle Vipers) and learning the rules, regulations, and everything else that makes hockey the game it is. I had scant little time left over to immerse myself in the big, scary world of the big show, with its 30 teams and 20+ man rosters and interminable post-season. As such, I gave of myself all too easily, flippantly selecting the Calgary Flames as my team of choice.
And then it all went wrong. I’ve written in detail about my agonising over shared allegiances and it’s plagued me ever since the New York Rangers starting creeping into my consciousness. I was gripped with paranoia about being tagged a ‘glory hunter’ for jumping on the Rangers’ bandwagon, and wracked with guilt over abandoning the team I had chosen first. After all, they hadn’t done anything wrong, had they? They were plugging along modestly, vying for a play-off position. Could I really ask any more? But it was already too late. The Rangers had a hold of my heart.
Like a new kid at school, I shyly joined in with the Blueshirts in-crowd, on Twitter and on the Rangers website, and found myself embraced into a family in the way only a hockey community can embrace, and I knew that it didn’t matter what anyone else thought. I was home.
Most importantly, I love this team. I am fully invested in them as people, as players and as a unit. From the pure awesomeness of Captain Cally, about whom I have waxed lyrical on many an occasion (to the point of professing my desire to bear his children on Twitter), to the knocking it out of the park season of break-out young defencemen Ryan McDonagh and Michael Del Zotto, to the solid, reliable and unwavering toughness of the gritty, balls-out lower order; the likes of Brandon Prust and Mike Rupp. I love them all, simple as that.
I recognise, appreciate and applaud the system John Tortorella has fostered and all who reside within it. It’s a tight-knit family, a group with youth on their side, character and team spirit by the bucketload and enough individual talent to raise their heads above the parapet without falling foul of the prima donna trap that can befall a team that builds itself around a small core of talented players, or the constant nagging fear of what an injury to one of that core could do to the team dynamic.
It’s pure work ethic; on a full organisational scale. And most of all it’s running a tight ship, and staying on an even keel – Tortorella is loath to let wins go to his team’s head: there is always SOMETHING that can be improved upon. And likewise in defeat, there are always positives to be found. Thus keeping some very talented feet very firmly on the ground (ice!), where a less disciplined regime might otherwise have allowed its players’ respective heads to ascend into the clouds.
Let’s consider for a moment what they achieved this season, doing it ‘the right way.’ They won a thrilling Winter Classic, ensnaring me in their blue honeytrap in the process. They topped the Eastern conference and were only two points shy of the Presidents’ trophy having won the same number of games as Vancouver. None too shabby. Their incredible defence ensured they were third in the goals against standings, but lest we forget, this isn’t a purely defensive side – they work as a unit at all times, on the forecheck just as much as when throwing their bodies behind shots, and this was not reflected anywhere as well as in their penalty kill, which was the fifth best of its kind in the league, and on top of that they were third in the league for holding onto a lead. And as for physicality, they hit. Oh how they hit. Bodies on the line, all day long. Oh and they were fifth in the league in penalty minutes, and topped it in fighting majors. Not that it’s a plus point as such, but it shows the heart that exists throughout the ranks at Madison Square Garden.
The amount of 3rds and 5ths in the stats really stands out. That’s the beauty of Tortorella’s system: it doesn’t rely on one specific area for success – the Rangers are no one trick pony. There’s no explosive powerplay unit (chuckle), there’s no pure reliance on goaltending – okay, perhaps SOME reliance. But they sit in the top few in every single statistic – in a game of inches, the Rangers don’t give even one, in every area of the ice. They are right in amongst it all. Really. All of it.
So then we were off to the play-offs. My first experience of supporting a team in the post-season, and New York did not disappoint – from a slightly masochistic point of view. They provided a proper rollercoaster ride. It was sport exactly how I like it. No 4-0 sweeps. Not even a 4-0 win. They scrapped and scraped for every victory, mental strength ebbing and flowing, injuries being sustained and recovered from, key players losing form, regaining it and then losing it again. New stars emerging. A one goal win here, a single goal loss there. And those overtimes. It was about as draining as a run could get.
Every single series was a battle. Against Ottawa we were our own worst enemy. Battling against some real attacking prowess, we butted up against a side who had ran us hard all season. We SHOULD have been more than a few shades better than them. But we made hard work of it, and after back-to-back losses in games 4 and 5 I was convinced it was over. Then the Capitals – the ‘looking in the mirror’ series. It was a game of chess, a constant frustration. The annoyance of Brayden Holtby who suddenly came good, much to the delight of his highly visible mother. And finally the New Jersey Devils. The big one. Comparisons to 1994. Our bitter local rivals.
At so many points I thought ‘it’s over’ but every time, we battled back and dug our heels in. Until I finally did believe. I DID think we could battle back. We WOULD take it to a game 7. We had done, twice already – we could do ANYTHING. The Cup well, it’s a wily beast, and our opponents, if we made it that far, would be a team who have really found their form in these play-offs. As for us, were we fatigued? Highly likely. Struggling for goals? Perhaps. Battered and bruised? For sure. But beaten? I didn’t think so. So when it finally came to an end early in overtime of game 6, it was quite hard to take it all in. There’d be a game 7 still, right? Right? It couldn’t be over. Wrong. It was.
On reflection, the loss still hurts. But in a way that will heal. Let’s face it, having supported a team for less than a season, to see them lift the Stanley Cup straight away would have been, well, a bit cheeky of me. So in a very strange way, I’m sort of glad. It’s a singularly British notion: the idea that losing might not actually be that bad, in the long-run. Not that I actively WANTED to lose you understand: in the moment, I screamed in every goal, grimaced every time we conceded, and shed a few stunned tears when it was finally all over. But looking at the bigger picture, let’s be honest: this is may be an ending of sorts, but in reality, it’s just the beginning. The future looks exceedingly bright. Despite a number of free agents who presumably the management will look to re-sign, the core of this team will remain next season and be strengthened by some rookies, including the amazing Chris Kreider, who threw himself into the play-offs like a man possessed and promises great things for the future.
With Tortorella at the helm we will stay focused on the task at hand, and realise that doing it ‘the right way’ comes at a cost – commitment to playing that way. And to endure the losses it brings. But those losses have been few, and undoubtedly in the pain of loss, this team will learn what it takes to win. It’s everything they’ve done this season. Just with a little more besides. And they will find that little more – because that’s what winning teams do. If we had won the Stanley Cup this season, it would have left this young, improving team with little more to aim for. But instead, we’ve still got the ultimate prize in our sights – to come so close and fall at almost the final hurdle will give this group the drive and motivation to take it even further next time around. So fear not, Blueshirts. The cup will be ours. Oh yes, it will be ours.