Mississippi Blues: exorcising demons, to hell with history

My city boasts local secrets and national treasures – toasted ravioli and Nelly, provel cheese and Budweiser. It’s beautiful in nature, and in architecture, and I’m not just talking about the Gateway Arch. Two of my favorite things about St. Louis, though, are the only two sports that matter: baseball and hockey.

The Cardinals have provided my town with an embarrassment of riches since their inaugural season in 1892. They’ve won 11 World Championships, second among all Major League Baseball teams, and have been a model franchise (for the most part) that many other clubs have tried to emulate. (A little fun fact: The Cardinals namesake did not originate from the native red bird, but from a newspaper columnist for the St. Louis Republic who reportedly heard a woman refer to the team’s red stockings as a “lovely shade of Cardinal.”)

My St. Louis Blues, on the other hand, have showcased an exercise in futility, year in and year out. Even while reaching the postseason in 25 consecutive seasons from 1980 through 2004, they have come up empty-handed in every appearance. Even the one season, in 1996, they paired HOF legends Brett Hull and Wayne Gretzky on the top line, they still got bounced by the Detroit Red Wings.

(Another fun fact: The Blues were named after “Father of the Blues” musician W.C. Handy’s song, appropriately titled, “St. Louis Blues,” when the expansion team was born in 1967.)

There wasn’t a team more disliked in St. Louis than the Chicago Blackhawks, save for maybe the Detroit Red Wings of the 90s and 2000s; we even added a joke holiday to the mix, calling it “Punch a Red Wings Fan in the Face Day” whenever Detroit came to town. Since then, the Wings left the Central Division and Western Conference altogether when the NHL realigned the league, so that rivalry is all but squashed – leaving the Hawks as public enemy No. 1.

This being their 49th year in the NHL, the only professional hockey team in the “Show Me State” has shown their fans a glimmer of hope. Right out of the script of the original Mighty Ducks movie, the first round of this year’s playoff bracket pitted the Blues against their bitter rival and neighbor, those same Chicago Blackhawks.

In an epic showdown between the Midwest foes, the Blues were given the No. 2 seed in the West, securing home ice advantage in the first round (somehow, they had a better record on the road this season than at home). They had played the Hawks tough all year, edging them in head-to-head match-ups, three games to two, but the defending Stanley Cup Champions had title repeat aspirations.

After the seven-game series shifted to Chicago, tied at one game apiece, St. Louis swept the two road games to gain a daunting 3-1 series lead and stirring up some excitement within the fan base. The Blackhawks, of course, rallied back the next two games to tie the series at 3-3, forcing a deciding Game 7 back in St. Louis on Monday night.

I was finishing up class when the puck dropped, so I raced over to Skyland Pub to root them on, hoping my Blues could finally put it all together under pressure. It just so happened to be on during the Blazers-Clippers NBA playoff game, so I was the lone weirdo watching hockey amongst a bar full of Portland fans.

At any rate, St. Louis jumped out to a 2-1 lead in the first period and things were looking up… until they fell flat in the second, giving up the tying tally to Andrew fucking Shaw. Blues netminder Brian Elliott, affectionately nicknamed “Moose” in St. Louis, still looked solid, but come the third period, I was a nervous wreck.

In the offseason, the Blues had traded fan favorite T.J. Oshie to Washington for Troy Brouwer, specifically for his playoff expertise, and especially his do-or-die game experience: He’s played in seven Game 7s, accounting for half of the entire teams’ (personal) total of 14, and a far cry from Chicago’s 62 career Game 7s. This move turned to gold for St. Louis at 8:31 into the third, as Hawk goalie Corey fucking Crawford (who’s batshit crazy by the way, straight up attacking Blues’ rookie Robby Fabbri earlier in the season… but I digress) slid across the crease only to leave Brouwer open to slam home the go-ahead goal, albeit after a few flailing attempts.

The home crowd went nuts, then I went nuts and proceeded to hyperventilate over the remaining 11 plus minutes. Every time the puck entered the St. Louis zone, I screamed at the TV, willing the stellar defense to clear it. Time whittled down, Moose stood on his head, but then, in skated Brent fucking Seabrook with a wrister past Elliott. However, the hockey gods were St. Louis fans that night, and the puck clanked off both posts before being cleared out of harm’s way.

Again with the Mighty Ducks’ movie theme, “I go in, I triple deke – fake the goalie right out of his pads. The puck’s headed in, and then, Clang! Hits the post. A quarter of an inch this way and it would have gone in.”

Chicago eventually pulled their psycho goalie in favor of an extra attacker with just over a minute remaining, but it was for naught as the Blues hung on and clinched the game and series victory.

I could finally breathe again. The Blues take on top-seeded Dallas in round two, starting tonight.

I love my sports, I love my town, and I can relate to T.S. Elliot, who said, “It is self-evident that St. Louis affected me more deeply than any other environment has ever done. I consider myself fortunate to have been born here, rather than in Boston, or New York, or London.”