Читать книгу Hope and Heartbreak in Toronto. Life as a Maple Leafs Fan онлайн

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It’s a vexing question — why do we need to support anyone? Is it a primal need, a longing to belong to a group? Whatever the answer to that question, many professional sports teams in leagues around the world have stepped into that void created as our lives have evolved for the better. But beyond that, there is still something different when it comes to the Leafs. They have crept into, if not their collective fans’ soul, at least into that grey area that lurks between it and our DNA.

They are there and they’re not leaving.

Given everything Leafs fans have been through — the Harold Ballard years, the inexorable, corporately funded march toward and obsession about fattening the bottom line that started soon after, and now the post-lockout drought — if they were going to take their leave, they would have done it long ago. These otherwise intelligent people, who, frankly, ought to know better, wouldn’t even consider switching their allegiance. The bond is so strong, it’s almost scary.

A few years ago, a particular man in his fifties died from cancer. In every way, he was an average Toronto-area man except that he died too young. A passionate Leafs fan, he had been a solid hockey player in his youth and a quality recreational player right up until soon before he passed away. Not a religious man, he was seen off from this world in a secular tribute; anyone who wanted to speak was invited to say a few words. One man stepped forward. Clearly shaken, he swallowed hard, pulled out a beer and cracked it open, and raised it in a toast to his friend: “You were the best fucking defenceman I ever seen,” he said. He then took a drink over his friend’s Maple-Leafs-flag-draped casket and sat back down.