Anniversary

Eighteen years ago today, I had my heart broken for the first time. The culprit? One Mr. Wayne Gretzky. I remember crouching in front of the TV as a tiny fangirl when the news broke, watching in awe as one of my hockey heroes broke down in tears at the press conference. "If he's so sad," I remember thinking, "Why is he leaving?" I was too small to comprehend that Gretz had been traded for a pile of cash, and I couldn't understand why he would want to quit on my beloved Oilers. Then I heard my dad mention Pocklington and his debts, and I lost a little bit of my innocence.

Over the following season I lashed out at the man who had sold Gretzky, but I also (more irrationally) lashed out at the team that had bought him. Every time the Great One scored on the Oil, my hatred toward the LA Kings grew -- Eventually, I was so consumed with ire toward the team with the shiny silver and black jerseys that the sight of Hrudey's ugly do-rag hanging out of the back of his helmet would make me need to punch something. Usually my brother.

Gradually, my anger waned (aided by the Oilers' cup win in '90), but I still actively cheer against the Kings if I happen to catch one of their games. Silly, I know. A year or two following the trade, I came face-to-face with Gretzky after a Kings-Oilers game at the Northlands. He signed my brother's hockey card and I peered up at him, wondering what my Oilers would be like if he were still a part of them. It doesn't matter; I still love them, I concluded, achieving closure.

If the Gretzky trade were a person, he'd be all growed up and legally able to smoke, drink and vote today. It amazes me that I am still so in love with this team after all this time. Not only that, but I think I'm more excited this year than I have ever been for the start of the hockey season. Goilers, indeed.