My eldest daughter, born in Vancouver but raised (so far) in Calgary, is a Flames fan. This revelation came a couple of years ago and caused quite a family rift. I almost turned the little urchin out into the street. Cooler heads prevailed, however, and I realized that it was partially my fault. I had sent her to school that day in a Canucks jersey. There, the poor kid was taunted mercilessly by her classmates – slack-jawed, snot-nosed offspring of Flames fans. At home later, she declared she would never again wear Canucks colours. Eventually, she took to standing in front of the TV and booing whenever I would watch a Canucks game.
At least she cares about hockey, I tell myself whenever she breaks into another “Go Flames Go!” chant. (Unlike my girlfriend, who, during the Canucks-Blackhawks tilt last night, asked “what does ‘CHI’ stand for?” She pronounced this “chee”. Sigh.)
As a result of her unfortunate allegiance, my daughter and I have developed a pretty intense rivalry. Flames-Canucks games are eagerly anticipated, especially since these are the only times she gets to watch her team. I’m a tyrant, and I rule the TV remote with an iron fist. Canucks games only. It’s the privilege of a parent.
Last night, as the Vancouver-Chicago game began, she went into her usual spiel: “I’m rooting for the Blackhawks.”
“You’re going to cheer for the team that knocked the Flames out of the playoffs?”
“They knocked the Canucks out, too.”
This is the dark, twisted logic that is at the root of the Flames fan’s psyche: cheering for the team that ended your playoff hopes, simply because they’re playing the Canucks. I guess it’s understandable. Calgary had to watch in envious shame as the hated Edmonton Oilers won one Stanley Cup after another in the 80s. This now manifests itself in the schadenfreude that is, aside from bandwagoneering, the major driving force of Flames fans. They take more pleasure in the failure of other teams than they do in the success of their own.
So, channeling Royal Tenenbaum, I decided it was time for a life lesson. “How about we make it interesting? Let’s bet on the game.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that if the Canucks win, you have to wash my car. If the Blackhawks win, I’ll wash it.” She had written in the dirt on the side of my car. “I love my Dad.” Yeah. That’s really cute, sweetie, but the paint . . .
“No. If the Blackhawks win, you have to buy me five chocolate bars.”
“That’s too many. I’ll buy you one.”
“Deal.”
She spit in her hand, Al Swearengen-style, and we shook on it.
And that’s how I introduced my eight-year-old to sports betting, thanks to the Canucks. But all is not lost. I’m also introducing her to child labour this afternoon, again courtesy the Canucks.
- The Sieve
