There's a special anxiety that comes from being improperly attired. Who among us didn't fret about his clothes on the first day back to school? Who hasn't had that nightmare about showing up naked for school or work? Man, I remember even worrying that I rented the wrong type of tuxedo for my high school prom, a far-fetched scenario, given the narrow range of available styles. Anyone who's been overdressed for a party, or underdressed for dinner, can attest that it's a unique and acute embarrassment for all but the most rugged individualists.
It's easy for sports fans to find themselves in violation of local dress codes just by following their team on the road, or by living near a border between opposing fan populations: think of the uneasy peace that gets renegotiated every year between St. Louis Cardinals and Chicago Cubs fans in southern Illinois, or between University of Michigan alumni and their neighbors who went to Ohio State. (Any kid with the audacity to wear Buckeye red and grey to my elementary school in southeastern Michigan was going to endure a mild hazing for it.)
But a fan doesn't attend his team's games out of uniform, so when I moved away from my native Michigan, it was immediately apparent that, however self-conscious I felt about it, I was going to start standing out at Red Wings games. And not just anywhere -- in my new hometown of St. Louis! In (what was then) the Kiel Center, the home arena of our old Norris Division rivals, the St. Louis Blues.
I got my first taste of the Gateway City's anti-Wings hostility when some pals and I went out to the batting cages one weekend day, and I wore my winged wheel sweater. (And why not? A Detroit jersey is the classiest item in anyone's closet, appropriate for all seasons, and flattering to every complexion and body type.)
In the parking lot, I caught some guff from a Blues fan -- he eyed my jersey and muttered, loudly enough that I could hear: "I
thought I smelled something." I took it as masculine persiflage and gave him a friendly (albeit nervous) chuckle. I seem to remember one of my friends asking me if the sports fan code obligated me to fight the guy, but I think he was just hoping to see me get whupped for comic value.
So when I finally lucked into a ticket to a Red Wings game in St. Louis, I don't mind admitting that I was a little apprehensive, imagining the worst possible arena reaction to my Red Wings colors. Unless I remember incorrectly, one of my friends even advised me to go to the game undercover, but I never entertained the idea.
And anyway, at the Kiel Center, I quickly realized that dressing in mufti wouldn't have made a difference for long. In the first period, when the Wings scored their first goal, I leapt out of my seat and yelled and applauded like anyone would --
Well, as it turned out, not like anyone else in my section would.
This is the essence of the visiting fan's experience. You don't realize how loudly you scream at big plays until you get to hear your individual reaction isolated from that of the crowd, the way you can only hear it in enemy territory. Here, you're not part of the roaring crowd anymore. You're just one guy, standing up when everyone else is seated, wildly cheering while everyone else is glumly silent. This experience is a crucible, and one to which every sports fan should be subjected, if only to discover the limits of his allegiance.
Rooting for the Red Wings has been a special case over the past few years. Their recent success has won them fans across the Americas, so the pro-Wings minority bloc in almost any NHL arena is significant and vocal. On the other hand, that success has come at the expense of other teams, and therefore spawned plenty of hatas nursing plenty of grudges. And boy, do St. Louis fans have grudges to nurse.
From 1995 through 1998, every Blues season ended with a playoff loss to Detroit. With this streak in the making, I was understandably nervous about wearing red to a '98 Wings/Blues playoff game.
I didn't have plans to attend the game; somebody's friend cancelled at the last minute, and I got to use the extra ticket. The stands were already full, and I had to walk up stairs to the nosebleed section past hundreds of inimical Blues backers, then climb over a few more to my seat in the middle of the row. I had visions of being pulled off my feet, bounced down to the ice like a beach ball, and tossed into the penalty box. My disquiet turned out to be almost completely unfounded, largely because Detroit went ahead early and stayed there. The home crowd had the better part of all three periods to get used to the idea of losing, and it had a sedative effect. There might have been less dejection and more anger had the game been, say, a double-overtime St. Louis loss.
When I moved to New York, I got to relive visitor's anxiety again in two new venues. Madison Square Garden was once a notoriously hostile place to visiting teams, but years of underperforming teams seem to have all but squelched the fans' fury. The only person to even acknowledge my red sweater was a disconsolate Rangers fan on the escalator up to my section. He told me "it must be nice to know your team's going to the playoffs, year after year." I almost felt sympathy for the poor jerk. Detroit won
5-3.
The Nassau Coliseum was a little more contentious: some Long Islander threw a shoulder at me as he passed me in the crowded corridor by the concessions, and I was even (genially?) mauled by
Sparky the Dragon. (The game ended in a
2-2 tie.)
I'm sure my fair treatment at the hands of opposition fans in their home stadia has been partly thanks to my own good behavior. Apart from expressive reactions to big plays and bad calls, I'm not a very obnoxious fan, and you have to figure most confrontations at hockey games -- on and off the ice -- happen to people who are asking for 'em. Still, every so often, a story will surface about a visiting fan who gets badly used by the home crowd, in spite of (reportedly) minding his own business. It goes without saying that people shouldn't be roughed-up for wearing the wrong jersey (not even Avalanche fans), but I'm comfortable knowing I'll get razzed a little for wearing Red Wings gear in 29 NHL arenas. That's what home advantage should mean. And what's competition without some controlled animosity, after all?