All Habs Hockey Magazine actively works to engage with passionate hockey enthusiasts around the globe. We are proud of our role as an industry pioneer in creating a world-wide community of Habs fans since that very first tweet on January 9, 2009.
All Habs is also proud to provide a platform for guest writers to express their views on important issues. Today, we present a piece from a young journalist about his journey of discovering and finally embracing the Montreal Canadiens.
A professional sportswriter from Wirral, England, Ryan fell in love with the Habs while researching for an article. Now, he typically listens to Canadiens games after midnight in the UK, before catching all the highlights and news the following morning. Ryan writes for a variety of newspapers, magazines and websites, most notably The Guardian in Britain.
Your comments are welcome.
by Ryan Ferguson, Guest Contributor, All Habs Hockey Magazine
WIRRAL, ENGLAND — For diehard Montreal Canadiens fans, the capriciousness with which people jump on and off the Habs bandwagon must be incredibly frustrating, especially during the playoffs, when folks with no prior connection to hockey declare a sudden interest in the team’s fate. Accordingly, I understand if you don’t wish to hear about yet another person falling in love with this team. But, for the sake of posterity, I would like to tell my story anyway; the story of how an Englishman with only a tentative grasp of hockey became besotted with Canada’s most fabled sports team, and everything it represents.
It all began in January when, as a professional sportswriter, I was working on a detailed feature article about the mystique and universal allure of the New York Yankees, arguably the most famous sports team in the world. Whilst researching, I began looking at other giants of the sporting world, teams that transcend their game and belong to a more illustrious realm of importance. Naturally, I studied the Dallas Cowboys, Real Madrid and the Los Angeles Lakers, before stumbling across Le Club de Hockey Canadien, a team quite unlike any other in the passion it inspires and the history it creates.
As a passionate baseball fan for more than a decade, I have a pretty good understanding of the sporting landscape in North America, but hockey was never a strong point, by my own admission. I had a vague understanding of the Habs’ unique culture and standing, but required a detailed trawl through the Internet to fill gaps in my rudimentary knowledge. I read about the team’s tradition, and admired pictures of the Bell Centre, as a great sense of desire and excitement built up inside. With no easy way of watching hockey here in Britain, I began listening to Canadiens games through a neat radio app, satisfying my gripping curiosity for the team.
From that first moment listening to that first game, I was completely enthralled by the magic and majesty of Montreal Canadiens hockey. The sense of happening, the sense of deep and rich history, was palpable through the airwaves, as the roaring crowd created a miasma of expectancy. When I first heard the inimitable Michel Lacroix announce the starting lineups on an epochal Saturday night – “Mesdames et messieurs, ladies and gentlemen, accueillons nos Canadiens!” – I was totally and utterly amazed. With each passing name, so magical and beloved, the crowd grew louder, from Max Pacioretty to P.K. Subban and on to an earth-rumbling, goosebump-inducing crescendo: “Nombre trente et un…number thirty-one…CAREY PRICE!”
Awesome. Just absolutely awesome.
I was completely caught up in the moment, which only got better when, for the first time, I heard the Bell Centre denizens rise as one to produce a spine-tingling rendition of ‘O Canada.’ The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, as the emotion of a nation came flooding through the radio speakers. I’ve rarely enjoyed a more compelling moment in a lifetime following sports and, at that moment, you could say I was totally won over for life.
As the weeks and months unfurled, I continued to listen and, through the distinguished play-by-play of Dan Robertson and Sergio Momesso, I became increasingly familiar with the players and their abilities. I heard the endless cheers for Price in Montreal, and the persistent boos for Subban on the road. Both players, I figured, must be truly brilliant. And, before long, I found myself not only enjoying the pageantry-filled broadcasts, but also actively rooting for the Habs to win.
Due to the time difference between Canada and England, I mostly listened to the first period while falling asleep at night, then quickly checked the highlights early the following morning. Initially, I lacked a clear understanding of the game, which has minimal exposure here in Britain. The most I’d ever seen was occasional highlights of the Stanley Cup Finals. Therefore, I began learning on the fly, googling key terms as I listened to games, and watching explanatory films online. Even now, my knowledge of the sport is, at best, mediocre. But I’m more of a Canadiens fan than a hockey fan, and everything this team stands for means more to me than the nuts and bolts of strategy and personnel.
Whilst the actual games were fantastic, I simply couldn’t get enough of the Habs idea, the Habs notion, the Habs concept. It took hold of my imagination, and I began digging deeper, reading books and watching documentaries, learning about and absorbing Montreal Canadien heritage. I learnt about the Richard riots and Jacques Plante‘s mask. I learnt about Jean Beliveau and Guy Lafleur, Ken Dryden and Patrick Roy. I learnt about the Stanley Cup victories and the present drought; about playoff dramas and eternal hope. I learnt about class, dignity, and sophistication, as the Canadiens became part of my everyday experience. I even learnt about Habs music, and found myself reciting lyrics in the shower: “You can say it’s just a game, but that just proves what you don’t know…”
Ultimately, I grew to love the Montreal Canadiens. I love that the Habs exist almost as a religion, with fans prescribing God-like qualities to those who don La Sainte-flanelle, and trading stories of sick friends who were healed merely by touching the sacrosanct sweater of Maurice Richard. I love that the Bell Centre, and the Forum before it, stands as a temple to Habs history, a tabernacle to Canadien continuity. I love the tradition and ritual, the faith and iconography.
I’m enthralled by the Canadien cult, by the way this illustrious hockey team so fervently grips an entire city. When the Habs win, I’m told, Montreal is smiley and ebullient. But, when they lose, its mournful and morose. I love that. It means the Canadiens truly matter, which, in the bog of contemporary sports, is mightily impressive. Indeed, hockey may mean more in Montreal than any one sport in any one city in the world. In Quebec, the Habs’ power play proficiency is more hotly discussed than politics or religion, economics or weather. Who wouldn’t want to be part of that?
The Montreal Canadiens are defined by courage and reverence, strength and symbolism. They’re ingrained in the psyche of the Montreal populace. But they also stand as a uniting pillar of a linguistically-diverse metropolis, pulling people together no matter of race, creed, class or faith. In Montreal, everybody is united under the fabled Bleu-Blanc-Rouge, which I wholeheartedly admire.
Accordingly, as the season wore on, I felt ever more accepted as a new member in the Habs kingdom. My gameday experience was still largely confined to radio broadcasts and video highlights, but, for Game 5 against Tampa Bay, I pulled out all the stops, somehow finding a stream online to watch live. To witness the Bell Centre in all its glory, and the Habs fight back to force a sixth game, was truly incredible. Of course, the end was ultimately painful, but, hey, I suppose that was my baptism in the Montreal Canadiens faith.
Thus, as the summer rounds into view, I’ve been left with a lot to contemplate, a lot to consider. My first season living and dying with the Habs was simply brilliant. Now, I’m excited for many more seasons, and many more memories.
The Montreal Canadiens famously abide by a heart-touching motto, which encapsulates the hereditary nature of rooting for this grand old lady of hockey: To you from falling hands we throw the torch. Be yours to hold it high. And, while I may have stumbled accidentally across the torch, I promise unreservedly to hold it high, like a beacon of hope in the depths of British night.
Ryan is always keen to connect with fellow Habs fans around the world. Follow him on Twitter, @PrentoniaPSV
