Raised On Oil

Since the day-to-day news on the Oilers hasn't been that much fun lately, I've taken some time to reflect on what it means to be an Oiler fan and even what it means to be a hockey fan in general.
This will be a first part of a few recollections. Better to retreat into memory than sit through this.

Growing up in Edmonton it really is part of the landscape to cheer on the Oilers. My parents were also sports fans and active in sports (Dad played baseball - my mother played sports growing up and was even a baseball umpire for awhile) but not sports "fanatics". Hell, they even met for the first time at a work curling bonspiel - how much more Western Canadian can you get?
We had Grey Cup parties and would watch the odd game on TV and most playoff games.
Back then, you could see a few games on TV on HNIC or a handful of games on ITV or whatever local carrier would carry the games.

Anyway.....
I liked hockey (played for about half a year, had a bad leg and had to quit) and cheered the Oilers. I remember Gretz's 50th goal in 39 games and wishing I joined the throngs downtown during the 80's dynasty Cup wins. I remember where I was when I heard on the radio that Gretzky was sold/traded (back shop of the warehouse I worked at on the west end) and got to break the story to the salesmen out front. I liked Linseman, Tikkanen and Grant Fuhr the best (two shit disturbers and a goalie from Spruce Grove - my hometown) and I think I had an Oilers shirt or two. I saw only about half a dozen games live in the 80s and was awed by the speed of the game and the crowds.
As fans go, I was about a five out of ten. A casual observer and impressed by what was obviously the best show on ice right here in our little town.

Then I went to college (Broadcasting - it seemed like fun) in Lethbridge in 1990. Suddenly, as one of few Northern Albertan/Edmontonian/Oiler fans in a hotbed of Flames fans, I had to re-discover the home team.
Because of my competitive nature, the casual observer became the die-hard Oilers fan. I had to keep up. Most of the guys in class were sports nerds and wanted to be the next Darren Dutchyshen (or whatever knucklehead Calgary had in his place). Because of competitiveness, I went from quietly listening to the stats and info fly across the bar tables to studying hard, subscribing to Hockey News and getting to the point that I could not only keep up with the banter, but lead it. Screw you, sports nerds.
The 1991 playoff series between Edmonton and Calgary was probably the best playoff series that I can recall. It should have been the Stanley Cup Final, not the first round of the playoffs. It had some of the hardest hitting, best scoring and highest intensity of hockey that I remember.
The series went to Game Seven and Overtime.
In a basement in Lethbridge surrounded by the dirty Flames die-hard fans it was hard to suppress my joy when Tikk scored in OT.
Then, shortly after, hardcore Flames fan Neil Fraser (we were at his folks' place) turned up with his autographed Esa Tikkanen hockey stick and threw it at my feet. He said he'd rather I had it as he couldn't keep it in his home without wanting to burn it. And he couldn't burn any piece of hockey memorabilia without feeling guilty.

Then I went home. About a half hour after I retired to bed, the phone rang. Neil called. He said he felt guilty. Not about giving me the autographed stick, but about egging and soaping my car.
It was getting cold and he offered to help clean my rusty old Celica off as he was worried about the eggs and soap freezing to the car overnight.
Good times.