Habs 3 : 1 Flyers
Thursday, October 12, 2006
Tonight, I went to the Wachovia Center to see my beloved Habs take on the Flyers. Early season game on a rainy Wednesday night in October. All the elements are in place for a raucous evening in an arena full of the most notoriously rabid sports fans in the nation. Right?
Wrong. What a boring crowd! Granted, the Habs scored 38 seconds into the game, and that would take the wind out of any crowd, but this one went to sleep almost as soon as the puck dropped. I was still wolfing down some fries and had barely gotten myself situated (by which I mean I still hadn't spotted the other Habs fans in the crowd) when they scored. Mouth full, awkwardly holding onto my tray of fries, I pump a fist in the air and stand up to emit the best muffled cry of victory I can manage with a mouthful of half-chewed fries. I turn back to see if anyone else is cheering. Nothing. All I see is angry faces in an ocean of orange-and-black. And then the heckling started. I'm not going to repeat what I heard, but it wasn't very nice, though they were kind enough to leave my mother out of it. Thanks, fellas.
There was a 4-year old kid next to me whose dad didn't seem at all perturbed by the stream of invectives showering down from above. No earmuffs for this one dammit—he's a Philadelphian. This sort of language is a part of his heritage.
After a single period of tepid action and the score still 1-0 for the Habs, the crowd actually started to boo the home team. And this is after a hard fought, emotional win over the Rangers just the previous night! It didn't get any better from that point on, and the Habs eventually won the game 3-1 on an empty-netter. Four games into the seasons, the disgusted fans were already tearing up their season tickets and mothballing their team jerseys. I even heard audible boos vaguely directed at me on the subway ride back home, though you could tell this was just a reflex action. This was the sound of fans going through the motions, but holding back because they know they'll ultimately have to reserve their best boos for the home team.
The best explanation of this bizarre ethos came to me from Sama:
And that's what I've come to realize is unique about this city. No matter how good things are, there's always this sense that Philadelphians are resigned to a life of unmet expectations, crushed dreams and inevitable failure. They pull it off well, though. No bitterness and no jealousy. They seem to enjoy sports victories, but treat them like momentary windows into a life unburdened by the pall of destiny. Like a death row inmate unexpectedly getting a roll of two-ply Charmin quilted toilet paper: a small pleasure, to be sure, but one that simply can't lift the spirits enough to make one forget about the broader situation.
I also have tickets for the January 11th game. Look for more observations immediately afterwards.
Sama, any thoughts?
Nic
Wrong. What a boring crowd! Granted, the Habs scored 38 seconds into the game, and that would take the wind out of any crowd, but this one went to sleep almost as soon as the puck dropped. I was still wolfing down some fries and had barely gotten myself situated (by which I mean I still hadn't spotted the other Habs fans in the crowd) when they scored. Mouth full, awkwardly holding onto my tray of fries, I pump a fist in the air and stand up to emit the best muffled cry of victory I can manage with a mouthful of half-chewed fries. I turn back to see if anyone else is cheering. Nothing. All I see is angry faces in an ocean of orange-and-black. And then the heckling started. I'm not going to repeat what I heard, but it wasn't very nice, though they were kind enough to leave my mother out of it. Thanks, fellas.
There was a 4-year old kid next to me whose dad didn't seem at all perturbed by the stream of invectives showering down from above. No earmuffs for this one dammit—he's a Philadelphian. This sort of language is a part of his heritage.
After a single period of tepid action and the score still 1-0 for the Habs, the crowd actually started to boo the home team. And this is after a hard fought, emotional win over the Rangers just the previous night! It didn't get any better from that point on, and the Habs eventually won the game 3-1 on an empty-netter. Four games into the seasons, the disgusted fans were already tearing up their season tickets and mothballing their team jerseys. I even heard audible boos vaguely directed at me on the subway ride back home, though you could tell this was just a reflex action. This was the sound of fans going through the motions, but holding back because they know they'll ultimately have to reserve their best boos for the home team.
The best explanation of this bizarre ethos came to me from Sama:
Hope you're enjoying Philly this week - the Eagles game has probably lifted the spirits of the entire city and I imagine that you are getting your first taste of "Eagles-mania". Hang on for the ride buddy, the more they win the more surreal it will get.
Of course, unfortunately it will all end in abject failure and disapointment....but that doesn't come until January - so enjoy this part.
And that's what I've come to realize is unique about this city. No matter how good things are, there's always this sense that Philadelphians are resigned to a life of unmet expectations, crushed dreams and inevitable failure. They pull it off well, though. No bitterness and no jealousy. They seem to enjoy sports victories, but treat them like momentary windows into a life unburdened by the pall of destiny. Like a death row inmate unexpectedly getting a roll of two-ply Charmin quilted toilet paper: a small pleasure, to be sure, but one that simply can't lift the spirits enough to make one forget about the broader situation.
I also have tickets for the January 11th game. Look for more observations immediately afterwards.
Sama, any thoughts?
Nic