A Deep Delve Into the Psyche of a Tortured Sports Fan

I once received some sage advice from my old man: "Accept that your team will never win it all."

I still remember the context in which it was said, where I was and the conversation that sparked it. We were driving home from Game 4 of the 2001 NHL Western Conference Final at Savvis Center in downtown St. Louis. The hometown Blues had just lost a heartbreaker to the Colorado Avalanche (a game that saw the Avalanche score three goals in 78 seconds and another in overtime to seal it), and the Blues were now facing a grim 3-1 series deficit with a shift back to Denver. My father and I left the arena that night in bleak fashion, realizing the mountain they would have to climb to get back into the series.

My dad and I at one of the hundreds of Blues games we attended together.

It was only the second time the Blues had reached the third round of the playoffs in my lifetime, with the first coming in 1986, when I was a one-year-old. If you're wondering, yes, they lost that one, too.

Roman Turek giving up what is likely a bad goal.

We were on our 25-mile trek home to neighboring St. Charles when I called Blues netminder Roman Turek every name in the book and questioned my love for the team. After all, this was just a year removed from witnessing Game 7 of the first round in person; a game that saw the eighth-seeded San Jose Sharks upset the Blues, all thanks to a horrific goal that was originally shot from the red line. And that was on my 15th birthday and was my marquee present from my parents to attend the game.

My dad was disappointed too, but obviously, had seen this story before. He witnessed the franchise make the Stanley Cup Final in its first three years of existence, only to go 0-12 in that span. He witnessed the 1970s, when the Blues were mediocre at best. He witnessed the beginning, the middle and the end of the 25-year playoff streak that didn't even include a single trip to the Stanley Cup Final.

Like me, he witnessed the 1996 team lose its starting goalie, Grant Fuhr, to a cheap shot from Nick Kypreos, then a loss in Game 7 of the next round to the Detroit Red Wings in, unfortunately, memorable fashion.

After my rambling and anger burst from the passenger seat, those words of wisdom came from my father's mouth.

"Accept that your team will never win it all and you'll never be disappointed."

This sounds completely hopeless, but it is quite possibly the greatest advice a sports fan can receive. Because I followed this logic, I enjoyed the highs of the regular season, was happy when they made the playoffs and wasn't as heartbroken when they inevitably were defeated for the final time each season.

It got me through the 2003 team that would have had an excellent shot to win it all after going up three games to one on the Vancouver Canucks in the first round, only to lose it in Game 7.

It got me through the roughest years in Blues franchise history, when they made the playoffs just once from 2005-2011, only to be swept in that one series.

Some friends and I with the Stanley Cup in 2007.

It's even gotten me through recent times, when the Blues were expected to be Stanley Cup challengers but seemed to fall short in the first and second round every year.

It kept me even keel in 2016, when the Blues made the third round for the first time since 2001. They were up in the series 3-1 against the Blackhawks before facing a Game 7, then had to play another Game 7 in Rd. 2 against Dallas after being up in that series. The Sharks were again the face of defeat, ousting the Blues in six games in the Western Final. The highs and lows of that year were wonderful, but it was always the first thought when they would win another game: "Accept that your team will never win it all."

I truly believe this advice was even the base for my ability to switch off my fan-mode for a few years, when I joined the NHL media and covered the team for various radio stations, TV outlets and websites. I kept my eye on the job at hand and checked emotions at the media gate (despite a rival colleague claiming I was a "fan boy," simply because I met with listeners/viewers of my work at intermissions on the concourse level to talk hockey).

That's why this year is so difficult.

When this season began, I truly believed this team had as good a shot as any past Blues team to win the Stanley Cup.

Zero.

I believed this team could go far, but I never let myself believe they would win it all. That thought was validated when they opened the year as one of the weakest teams in the NHL, dropping as far as last place on Jan. 4 (you've all heard this story).

Even during the 11-game winning streak, which was likely the biggest factor in solidifying a playoff spot for the once downtrodden Blues, I refused to let myself believe in this team.
It wasn't until March 6 of this year I started to feel a change brewing inside of me. This was the Blues' unbelievable 5-4 win in Anaheim, when they scored two goals in the final 1:04 (12 seconds apart) to defeat the Ducks and earn two points in the process. Yes, the Ducks were a falling team, but that night, when Alex Pietrangelo tallied the game winner, something awoke inside of me that was dormant since that fateful night in 2001.

Something is different. Something about this team ... I just can't put my finger on it.

When they were tied in the first round series against the Winnipeg Jets, after they were up 2-0 thanks to two road wins, they went down 2-0 in Game 5. It was apparent to me this was the beginning of the end for this miracle run, and I took to Twitter to let the outrage out a bit, as both the fan and former reporter in me was ready to lay the groundwork for a narrative that was sure to be written. I'd seen this story before, and it was time to mentally and emotionally get myself (and others) ready for the inevitable.

Boy, did I look stupid.

The Blues amazed the masses, scoring three goals in the third period, including Jaden Schwartz's game-winning goal with 15 seconds remaining in regulation. In a miraculous season with miracle wins seeming to pile up nightly, the Blues had done the unthinkable and defeated the Jets in their home arena for the third straight game.

The Blues continued this feat in Game 6 at Enterprise Center in St. Louis two nights later, eliminating the Jets after what was likely their best performance of the 2019 playoffs.

I take a look around the league and see seven other teams remaining. Although the Blues have been here before, it's surreal to think that the Blues can hang with every one of these teams. Every top seed has been eliminated (Nashville, Calgary, Tampa Bay and Washington). The stars continue to align for the Blues and it just doesn't seem real.

In no way am I saying this team will blow by any of these teams. Colorado, Dallas and San Jose are superb opponents who could very easily knock out St. Louis, while the East contenders have already proven to be quality adversaries. It just seems like a path that the Blues could journey through to get to hockey's holy grail.

So why do I feel like I'm not ready for this?

All I have known with my favorite team is failure. All I've known is to accept mediocrity and wait for next season. I've accepted that my team will never win it all.

It was rare you would see me in high school without a jersey on.

IF (and that's a big if) this team goes the distance, where do I go from there? How do I prepare for the next season of hockey? I know there is a multitude of people feeling the same way as me (and not just Blues fans; Sharks fans, Blue Jackets fans and even fans of teams like the Cincinnati Bengals, Cleveland Browns, Colorado Rockies, Indiana Pacers and L.A. Clippers).

It's a position I never thought I would be in. I thought this feeling died the day that Joe Sakic scored the overtime winner in Game 5 of the 2001 Western Conference Final.

It's why we love sports: you take the highs with the lows. Up until this season, I've ridden the lows and enjoyed the highs without any real hope to protect myself from facing that feeling again.

Despite this strange inner turmoil, I'm certainly enjoying the ride. I hope it lasts for some time, so I can see if I am ready for life after a championship.

I hope that after this season, I can look at my son in the car one day and tell him the opposite advice my dad gave me:

"Always believe your team is going to win, because it's a great feeling to be a champion."