"What a game," I said, and chucked a brick through the window.
"Nice throw," she said. "Any reason you did that?"
"Rioting," I replied. "Stanley Cup finals. It's what we do."
She poked at the shattered glass with the toe of her shoe. "You know you're
not supposed to break your own windows, right?"
I shrugged apologetically. This is new, or at least newish, territory for
Canucks fans. When someone warns a Vancouver supporter to "keep your head
down" in June, it's usually on the golf course. Toronto-By-The-Sea hasn't
tasted tear gas since losing to the Rangers in 1994.
Other cities with more storied Stanley Cup pasts riot with regularity.
Montreal started it all with the Richard Riot in 1955 after the Rocket was
suspended for punching out a linesman.
Montrealers also did millions of dollars of damage after the Canadiens'
victory in 1993, the last time a Canadian team won the Stanley Cup. I have a
minister friend who got belted by a cop during that melee. The cop was quite
distressed when my friend explained that he was a clergyman, though the
officer's discomfort quickly changed to relief when my friend explained that
he was a Protestant priest, not a real one.
Fans also rioted in Edmonton -- Deadmonton, of all places -- in 2006, the last
year the Oilers reached the finals, though they took to the streets
prematurely, trashing Whyte Avenue during the semi-finals, which is when
people run amok if they're not sure their team is going to go all the way.
Calgary broke the Canadian finals-riot trend in 2007, failing to stampede
when the Flames lost the Stanley Cup to the Tampa Bay Lightning, or Macon
Whoopie or whoever they were, but that only cemented the notion that Cowtown
is more of an American city than a Canadian one. (When Americans riot, it's
over something inconsequential like war, racial inequality or poverty, not
hockey.)
Montrealers made up for Calgary's lassitude in 2008, burning police cars
when the Habs beat the Bruins in the first round of the playoffs. They
staged another first round mini-riot last spring, looting Ste-Catherine
Street stores. Frankly, erupting that early shows how far Montreal fans'
expectations have fallen. They used to be aloof, barely cheering when
winning a championship they considered theirs by divine right. Now they
torch transit buses after the 50-50 draw.
Which brings us to us.
When exactly are we expected to begin rioting? After we win? After we lose?
What does one wear? A black wool balaclava might be fine for midnight in
Montreal in March, but it's damned itchy when the early summer sun is
hanging over English Bay.
That brings up another problem: with every game starting at 5 p.m. in B.C.
(for those reading this back east, that's 8 p.m. Bettman Standard Time) it's
still light out when the game is over. Rioting before supper just feels
wrong, like one of those awkward sidewalk encounters with your mother after
an afternoon pounding back beer in the peeler bar (she still hasn't
explained what she was doing in there). It's hard to howl at the moon when
the game ends in time to watch Jeopardy (or, as they call it in Victoria,
the Late, Late Show). Perhaps we should stagger out of the bar, mow the
lawn, then riot.
Or maybe, if hazy about the actual reason for busting up our own back yard,
we should just give it a miss. Other sports riots were sparked by genuine
anger: the Lima riot that killed 318 soccer fans in 1964 began with a
disallowed goal at a Peru-Argentina game; Czechoslovakian hockey fans were
protesting Soviet oppression when they took to the streets in 1969;
Toronto's Christie Pits softball riot of 1933 was basically a fight between
mostly Jewish kids and a gang of swastika-waving Nazi sympathizers. (The
Cleveland Indians, on the other hand, could only blame their own 10 Cent
Beer Night promotion for the ugliness that forced then to forfeit a game in
1974.)
Our Stanley Cup riots, by contrast, have been about destruction for
destruction's sake. Which means the rioters aren't fans, just fools
