I love the Blackhawks and I know I always will. The Blackhawks have been a part of my existence since my old man took me to the old Chicago Stadium at the end of its run so I could see what the NHL game was all about. It was a love affair that began with three hundred level seat in the old barn and then nervous nights in front of the radio listening to Pat Foley call Blackhawks playoff and regular season hockey. Chicago Stadium came and went and then, as I became a more mature hockey fan, it was the United Center that I called home. The seasons changed and the team got progressively worse as the nineties wore on and I, as a fan, couldn’t watch the reality of what the team I loved had become; an inept and out of touch mess both on the ice and off of it. Those were the days, being treated to past their prime vets like Matthew Barnaby and imports from across the globe that were both lazy and entitled or simply couldn’t skate. And then Dollar Bill Wirtz died and young Rocky took over and before our eyes was the thing that old time Blackhawks fans had only dreamed of seeing; the cup of Lord Stanley. It was ours in 2010 and the demons had been exercised. So many years of reaching the summit, only to fall off the cliff time and again. So many Blackhawk playoff teams struggling to stay in the playoff fight but gallantly losing to teams with better talent and or firepower. Never did I have so much fun then in 1994, when that Hawks team, which didn’t know they weren’t good enough, took the eventually champions, the Colorado Avalanche, to the limit. And now it’s 2013 and I’m 35 and the Blackhawks, the team I grew up with, are on the cusp of their second title this decade. I’ll say it again; the Blackhawks have a chance to win their second title this decade. Did you ever think that this was possible when Edmonton pummeled them into submission in the playoffs way back when? Or when Lemieux and the Penguins skated around the Stadium ice with Lord Stanley’s Cup in 92? It seemed like a sight we’d never get to enjoy, the sight of a Hawks player in the modern era hoisting that precious grail. But now championships are a distinct reality on Madison Street and I can feel things changing. Prices are obscene over there on Madison Street and I’ve been priced out of tickets. Next year will be the affirmation of this new hockey identity I don’t recognize when Rocky Wirtz boosts ticket prices even further to try and get his squad into the black. I get it; no team can function without profit. But admit it, Hawks nation; it’s not the same. The barn is adorned with corporate signage and sponsorship tie ins and the cast is now primarily a bunch of alcohol spewing singletons on their cell phones who chant for offense when the Hawks are protecting a lead. I love the Hawks and I always will, but I can’t pretend that things haven’t changed. I can’t pretend that I still recognize the team I grew up with. The age of Hawks hockey that I grew up with is gone. The purity of a bunch of die hards enjoying a niche game with every ounce of their fandom is gone. The days of 20,000 true and knowledgeable hockey fans in the joint every night is now a myth. Oh, there are a few of us die hards in the house. Except, we’ll be watching at home or from afar. And if the Cup is raised tonight in Boston and we’ll cheer. And then, like poets, we’ll drink to what was. We’ll drink to our era, long since passed. Go Hawks!!!
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