An Attempt at Comforting Our Cousins to the North
This morning there are tens of thousands of Hershey Bears' fans in agony, and they don't need any reminder from me about how successful the past two seasons have been. I thought this morning would be a poignant time to share with you a cumulative portrait of my immersion among them from my visits to Giant Center the past two seasons and the odd roadtrip alongside them.
Bears' fans are what make Hershey a hockey town. Take in the season opener at Giant Center in October and the first period won't have ended before the new face in the section is alerted to the fanclub's convoy for a New England weekend of hockey in March. And what a convoy it is. It fills six or seven buses -- an interstate of moving maroon -- and is joined by dozens of additional SUVs delivering drivers and passengers of in-kind road arena delerium. Once arrived, these diehards drown out their hosts numbering in the thousands, in Manchester, Portland, and Bridgeport. It happens every year. And the size of the traveling army is growing.
Back in Hershey, the environment is markedly more intimidating. Mike Vogel, in his blog file "Super Fans," chronicles the Roman Coliseum-like atmosphere of Giant Center, and it seems to mirror a hockey player's elevated focus and intensity in the postseason. Early in the Calder Cup finals a referee named Koharski authored an evening of judgement atrocities befitting his surname, and it's likely he'll never again be on the receiving of the vocal outrage he was last weekend in Hershey.
In the common hockey venue one often associates an official's wretched work with sporadic bursts of salty-tongued rebuke from the well-beer-ed in the stands. In Giant Center, the offenses are taken personally, by seemingly every patron, male and female, young and older, hockey sweatered and neck-tied, seated low and high. Thrice, en masse, last Saturday night, just moments after the freshest Koharski cr*p, the rink thundered down onto the ice its iconic renditions of spelled-out and shouted bovine excrement judgement. I emailed Vogel at the end of the weekend and told him I judged these moments as ranking in the top five of my experiences at live sporting events. Their effectiveness was derived entirely from the fullness of participation. And I knew it couldn't have happened here (too many Blackberries at Verizon Center).
Outside of Giant Center, hordes -- hundreds -- of Bears' supporters congeal around the players' entrance immediately following every game, no matter the weather. Some seek autographs, but many more request players to pose alongside them for photos, and still others seek only conversation with their hockey heroes. It was this latter quality that stood out to me last weekend as I stood in the post-game sea of support after the Bears' lone victory in the finals. There was no brush-off of fans by a single Bears' player. They happily and patiently engaged their passionate inquisitors. Eric Fehr, limping noticeably from his mystery ailment, was dressed in a business suit and stiff shoes in the early June mugginess and held court time and time again, offering every fan a full summary of his latest medical assessment. At last he made a move toward his car, this fully 60 minutes after the game, when again he was summoned for an update. He obliged, again, and spared no detail. Then Hersheypark's end-of-evening summer fireworks started up, and Fehr stood there, encircled again by the faithful, and took it all in.
Bears' fans accord the team a home (and road)-ice advantage that is unrivaled in the American Hockey League, and it ranks among the most formidable in all of hockey. They also bring honor and heritage to the organization's affiliation with the Washington Capitals. Owner Leonsis has publicly stated his hope to see forged a vibrant synergy between the hockey lovers in Washington and Hershey. With good reason.
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