Mere Fans

Part of being a hockey fan in Canada involves learning to accept the fact that every news item, be it large or small, has the potential to be blown out of proportion.

The way PK Subban celebrates a goal; the way Roberto Luongo comments on the performance of his teammates. Should a team have gone fishing? There is seemingly always a controversy stirring around a Canadian hockey franchise, and Vancouver is no different. Its fans are undoubtedly passionate and care deeply about the prospects of their team. Ultimately, they all wish to see the team succeed.

Sometimes, that passion manifests in a positive manner. Other times, less so. But the debate that raged earlier in the week on TSN 1040 demonstrated this passion in a particularly fascinating light. On radio and in social media, a heated discussion ensued regarding the prevalence of “real fans,” and by what description, if any, the concept could be defined. TSN 1040 morning show producer and regular Canucks Army contributor Satiar Shah tweeted his opinion on the matter.

Some fans had taken to Twitter asserting that “real fans” were the ones who wished to see the Canucks plummet in the standings for better draft lottery odds, while others argued that true fans would never wish for their team to lose. There were indeed merits to both sides of the argument. Each side debated fiercely and passionately in its defence. But what resonated most with me, ultimately, was that the debate transpired at all.

If there are truly real fans and mere pretenders, then there must logically be some value ascribed to the former title. Why else, then, would it even matter? Fans would have no cause to take to the airwaves and social media to proclaim their allegiance was of greater value than that of others, yet that is exactly what many of them did. So if we agree on the premise that there is value in certain types of fans, and that it increases proportionately with one’s commitment, how then do we define it? And what by what metric do we judge that value?

There is little argument over whether casual or “die-hard” fans exist –  this is undeniably true. Some fans would not know Joseph Cramarossa from a type of fish, while others would try to understand what he adds to the Canucks’ offensive depth. The level of investment – both emotionally and financially – of certain fans is obviously greater than that of others. It took me weeks to recover from seeing the Canucks lose Game 7 in 2011. Other fans simply changed the channel to see what else was on television. One can reasonably assume that the loss meant more to me than the channel-surfers, as it did for many other Canuck fans. For us, the defeat hurt. We paid an emotional toll, the result of our years of investment.

What united Canuck fans then, as it still does now, was in their concern for the team’s ultimate success. The shared experience and identity of being a fan was motivated by a shared yearning for winning a Stanley Cup. It was not about beating the Minnesota Wild on a weekday night in November – although that was certainly part of it. It was about embracing being part of a larger end goal. On that point, winning a championship, no fan would (or could) disagree.

Where we do disagree, however, is in our opinions of how the club should operate to accomplish that goal. Here, the draftists believe that winning a Cup can best be achieved by acquiring the elite talent that comes with the highest draft picks. To obtain a higher draft pick requires a lot of losing (and a little luck). Therefore, the thinking goes, cheering for the Canucks to lose is perfectly acceptable, even preferable. If one believes the route to the Stanley Cup first involves losing, then it makes sense to hope for it.

The counterargument is nevertheless a strong one. It states that to be a fan of a team is to cheer for its success, night in and night out. To sit down and watch a game on television, or attend a game in person, actively hoping for a losing outcome, is tantamount to cheering for the other team. The act of hoping for adverse outcomes corrupts and devalues the act of being a fan itself. Insofar as there is meaning and value in being fan, cheering against even short-term success implicitly cheapens the experience.

Even as a draftist, I see clearly both sides of that argument. But the debate that fired up social media was one of a subtly different nature. It was not about which side was correct – which side you support depends mainly upon your philosophical views of fandom – but rather which side defined being a “real fan.” I think both sides, however, missed the point. In the course of their debate, they ironically defined the point over which they were arguing. You see, there are “real fans,” and they happen to occupy both ends of the spectrum.

Without exception, “real” Canuck fans care about winning a Stanley Cup. They may disagree about the best possible way to do it, but they do not disagree about that fundamental tenet. That is the only definition that counts. While there may be discernible differences between casual and die-hard fans, delineating between “real” and “false” fans is a spurious practice, at best. Simply put, real fans care about winning a championship.