St. Louis Blues Fan Soliloquy: I Can’t Go On, I’ll Go On

This will be one of the hardest things I have ever written. Not because it is hard in and of itself, but because of the public nature of it. I chose the title not only because I think Samuel Beckett is awesome, but because it totally describes how I feel right now, and feel almost every year about this time, give or take a week. I hope by the end it will have been worth it for you to read along with me.

When I was an eight-year-old kid growing up in suburban Chicago, my favorite sports team was the St. Louis Cardinals football team. Why? Because I loved the beautiful, brilliant red birds with the crests that twittered in our back yard, so I took to the football team with their bright red uniforms and the cardinals on their helmets. It was a silly reason, the way little boys are at that age.

Every year the Cleveland Browns (and later, when the Cardinals were moved to a new division, the Dallas Cowboys, and after they moved to Arizona, the Forty-Niners and Seahawks) ruined my dreams of a glorious postseason, but I went on being a fan year in and year out, regardless, and still am.

1967-70: Birth Of The Blues And The Cup Finals Years

So, in 1967, when CBS returned to broadcasting NHL games regularly following the league’s expansion , I naturally cottoned to the expansion team, the St. Louis Blues. After all, they were from St. Louis, and they had a kind of wing on their jerseys.

I saw Glenn Hall play so well in the first Final in 1968 that he won the Conn Smythe even without his team winning a single game.

And, starting in the 1968-69 season, who was the broadcaster for those CBS games? None other than Dan Kelly, who used to make the goosebumps rise on the back of my neck with his ecstatic “HE SCOOOOOOOOOORRRRRES!!!”

I quickly discovered that this sport called hockey was far, far more exciting than football or anything else I had ever seen on television before. The loudness of the crowds, the fast pace, the extraordinary power, grace, and fine motor skills, balance, speed, and coordination needed to play the game hypnotized me.

And the Blues fans SANG when their team scored!

Lo and behold, the Blues, for reasons I neither understood nor appreciated but was delighted over, made the Stanley Cup Finals their first three years in existence. The Stanley Cup Final, for Blues fans who refuse to follow the playoffs after the Blues are eliminated, is where the team that wins is awarded that big, shiny metal thing and the Commish comes out and says stuff and is booed a lot.

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I saw Glenn Hall play so well in the first Final in 1968 that he won the Conn Smythe even without his team winning a single game. His acrobatics in goal against the storied Canadiens franchise left me in cardiac arrest. A player on a losing team in the Final has won the Conn Smythe only five times in NHL history, and only thrice since Hall. To my great heartbreak and disappointment, they lost all four games by only one goal each.

Then, in 1969, the Blues brought in the immortal Jacques Plante—inventor of the goalie mask—from where I sit at this vast remove, something akin to the Sandy Koufax of hockey, to play in tandem with Hall, and Plante won his Seventh Vezina that year.

And then the Blues lost all four games of the next Final to the Canadiens yet again.

These were in the days before VCRs, and the memories of three consecutive Mother’s Day lunch outings where I ran downstairs to the family room after getting home and switched on the television to see the Blues in the late stages of yet another crushing defeat in the Stanley Cup Finals will be burned into my brain long after faculties governing things like my ability to tell others my name and proper voiding procedures have flown the coop.

After two years of seeing the likes of J.C. Tremblay, Bobby Rousseau, Maurice Richard, Serge Savard, Henri Richard, Jean Beliveau, Guy Lapointe, Jacques Lemaire, and Yvan Cournoyer beat my beloved Blues, the third year was even worse, watching a team that looked like giant bumblebees tear the Blues apart. I hated the Canadiens but there was always a hush of awe that accompanied my anger and disappointment. And the games were at least close.

With the Boston Bruins, it was just pure hatred. I was still only twelve. Phil Esposito was a big, lumbering Number Seven who had mastered the art of the “garbage goal,” which is what tip-ins and knock-ins on rebounds at the net were called in those days. Derek Sanderson looked like some frightening strung-out zombie from Hell. Then there were the fearful wingers, Johnny Bucyk, John McKenzie, and Kenny Hodge, followed up by Ed Westfall, Fred Stanfield and Wayne Cashman. They seemed to have unlimited scoring power and weaponry.

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But of course the Bruin I hated the most was Bobby Orr, who won the Art Ross with 120 points that year. If I could meet any hockey player today it would be Orr, and my reverence and fondness for him, not only for his revolutionary vision and brilliance but for how he has lived a life of grace and generosity since retirement, would leave me tongue-tied.

But back then I just hated him. For God’s sake, he was a defenseman! It wasn’t legal, wasn’t right, wasn’t anything that reasonable men committed to the noble aims of a free and stable society would permit, for any defenseman to play that way. And certainly not in the Stanley Cup Finals against my Blues.

After stomping the Blues 6-1, 6-2, and 4-1 in the first three games, the Bruins won Game Four only 43 seconds into overtime on Bobby Orr’s goal, and the sight of his body flying across the screen in front of Glenn Hall, arms extended outward in jubilation, made me fall a couple thousand feet through the family room floor. Here it is, courtesy of Nicholas Goss:

The Following Decades.

With that three-year introduction to hockey and to the St. Louis Blues, my fate as a fan of the team was set in stone. Everything since then has been in pursuit of righting those wrongs, and not only have they not been righted, the Blues have never even come close to the Stanley Cup Finals since.

Pronger, who finished the regular season with 62 points and a +55, became the first defenseman since Bobby Orr to win both the Norris and the Hart trophies.

I have seen Frank St. Marseille when no other player in the NHL wore a helmet, and Craig McTavish when he was the last player in the league not to wear one. I watched the Plager Brothers and Noel Picard physically terrorize and decimate the Philadelphia Flyers in the playoffs, leading Flyers owner Ed Snider to assemble the Broad Street Bullies. I saw Red Berenson, Garry Unger, Bernie Federko, and the inimitable Bob Gassoff, the Wayne Gretzky of PIMs.

I have seen Chris Pronger prone on the ice in the Joe after a shot stopped his heart in the Detroit semifinal series. I watched Grant Fuhr slap and throw his stick in the tunnel after being machine-gunned in goal and chased by the Russian Five Detroit dynasty.

And, of course, I witnessed that soul-crushing 1996 seminfinals goal from the blueline by Steve Yzerman after The Great One mishandled a pass in the neutral zone that got past Grant Fuhr backup Jon Casey in Game Seven in a scoreless double-overtime, putting an end to what would have been one of the greatest upsets in the history of sports over the team I hated more than any sports team that ever existed. If you dare, you can see it here, courtesy of XtremeHockey.

When the Blues won the President’s Trophy in 1999-2000 with 114 points, they seemed a team of destiny, spearheaded by Pavol Demitra, who led the team in scoring, and the twin towers of Al MacInnis and captain Chris Pronger. Pronger, who finished the regular season with 62 points and a +55, became the first defenseman since Bobby Orr to win both the Norris and the Hart trophies.

The “Slovak Pack” line of Pavol Demitra-Lubos Bartecko-Michael Handzus were like the STL line of this past season, with a line chemistry that seemed invincible. Then, on March 24, 2000, in a game against the Tampa Bay Lightning, Brian Holzinger’s cheap head shot to Demitra concussed him and he missed the rest of the season and the playoffs.

In Game Two of their first-round series against the eighth-seed San Jose Sharks, with the Blues leading 1-0, I watched in utter disbelief and horror as defenseman Marc Bergevin closed his hand around the puck and, facing forward, literally threw it into his own net less than two feet away behind Roman Turek with arguably the worst own-goal of all time, tying the game at 1-1. The Blues went on to lose the game 4-2, and never seemed to recover. Without Demitra they were ousted by the Sharks in one of the biggest upsets in recent memory, four games to three.

The Impossible Non-peat

And then, of course, there is the “Groundhog Day” landmark fail of their consecutive first-round losses in 2012-13 and 2013-14, first to the Los Angeles Kings and then to the Chicago Blackhawks. The carbon-copy exactitude of the Blues’ collapse in successive seasons is the stuff of legend. It is the Homeric Iliad-Odyssey cycle of Choke Hockey, ranking right alongside the Steve Bartman Chicago Cubs fiasco in the sports pantheon as the emblem of a franchise’s frustration for the ages.

In 2013, with home ice, the Blues took a 2-0 lead over the Kings in their quarterfinal series, with Alexander Steen scoring the winning overtime goal in Game One and Barret Jackman scoring the game-winner in Game Two. The Blues won Game One 2-1 and won Game Two 2-1.

Apr 9, 2015; Calgary, Alberta, CAN; Los Angeles Kings goalie Jonathan Quick (32) during the third period against the Calgary Flames at Scotiabank Saddledome. Calgary Flames won 3-1. Mandatory Credit: Sergei Belski-USA TODAY Sports

In 2014, also with home ice, the Blues took a 2-0 lead over the Blackhawks in their quarterfinal series, with Alexander Steen scoring the triple-OT winner in Game One and, yup, you guessed it, Barret Jackman scoring the OT game-winner in Game Two. The Blues won Game One 4-3 and won Game Two 4-3.

In 2013, the Blues were unable to score in Game Three at Staples and lost to the Kings 1-0.

In 2014, the Blues were unable to score in Game Three at United Center and lost to the Blackhawks 2-0. (Actually, the score was 1-0 in Chicago as well but the ’Hawks scored an empty-netter with 20 seconds left to make it 2-0.)

As frustrating as it has been to be a Blues fan, I love the team, I love its fans, and every year presents new opportunities to finally right the wrongs.

In 2013, the Blues dropped Game Four at Staples 4-3.

In 2014, the Blues dropped Game Four at Chicago 4-3.

In 2013, the Blues dropped Game Five at St. Louis to the Kings in overtime 3-2.

In 2014, the Blues lost Game Five in St. Louis to the Blackhawks in overtime 3-2.

In 2013, the Blues lost the series with their fourth consecutive loss to the Kings, 2-1.

In 2014, the Blues lost the series with their fourth consecutive loss to the Blackhawks, 5-1.

Apr 23, 2015; Nashville, TN, USA; Chicago Blackhawks center Jonathan Toews (19) prior to the game against the Nashville Predators in game five of the first round of the 2015 Stanley Cup Playoffs at Bridgestone Arena. Mandatory Credit: Christopher Hanewinckel-USA TODAY Sports

After that final loss to the Blackhawks, the notion that divine, infernal, or global geoclimatic forces were not at work in the Blues’ collective fate was, at least for me, irrefutably dispelled forever.

My first gut reaction to the Blues’ Game One loss to the Wild this year was: well, at least we know now they are not going to win the first two games and then blow four in a row for the third consecutive season. I almost saw the loss as a plus.

Alas, the result was exactly the same, just with the deck reshuffled a bit: elimination of the Blues in six games.

Where Do We Go From Here?

The answer to that question is in the title: I Can’t Go On, I’ll Go On.

I tell myself that every year, because as frustrating as it has been to be a Blues fan, I love the team, I love its fans, and every year presents new opportunities to finally right the wrongs.

The Blues have the most exciting emerging superstar in the NHL in Vladimir Tarasenko. The lad has scored 10 goals in 12 playoff games over the past two seasons: four last year and six this year. I believe we are still in the early stages of witnessing the havoc this kid will wreak on the NHL two or three years from now.

Apr 18, 2015; St. Louis, MO, USA; (EDITORS NOTE: OBSCENE GESTURE IN BACKGROUND) Vladimir Tarasenko (91) celebrates his third goal of the game on an empty net against the Minnesota Wild during the second period in game two of the first round of the the 2015 Stanley Cup Playoffs at Scottrade Center. Mandatory Credit: Jasen Vinlove-USA TODAY Sports

Kevin Shattenkirk led the NHL in total assists and points before the Blues were eliminated. And Jake Allen was the hottest hand in the NHL in his last eight games of the regular season and the first four games of this series, giving up 2 goals or less in 12 straight games.

Alex Pietrangelo reestablished himself as a premier blueliner in the Wild series, and the Blues also have young players like Jaden Schwartz (who will hopefully show up in next year’s playoffs) and Jori Lehtera, along with exciting prospects Robby Fabbri and Ivan Barbashev, who are nearly NHL-ready now.

Despite his lack of productivity in this year’s playoffs, Alexander Steen is a keeper with considerable talent and an even better work ethic to make himself as potent a player as possible. He just needs to practice shooting the puck on net more, especially in the playoffs.

The grinder line of Patrik Berglund-Ryan-Reaves-Chris Porter established itself as well late this season, and deserves to return.This is an exciting core around which to build, and signing Tarasenko is obviously critical to the team’s success going forward. I do think Ken Hitchcock has had his chance, and the Blues need to clean house and retool this roster under a new, more aggressive system than the one Hitchcock employs.

I expect the Blues to compete for Lord Stanley next season, and with the right coaching, could find themselves on the red carpet yet. I have to believe they are on the cusp of a championship season, but what choice do I have? In my heart I know only one thing for sure: the only thing more frustrating than life with the Blues would be life without them.

Share your own experiences and thoughts about being a Blues fan!

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