All New York Rangers fans have a story on how they came to love the team and the boys in blue.
During these difficult times, I take comfort in this community. I appreciate this passionate group of fans because we are all here for the same reason – We all love the New York Rangers. I appreciate my fellow writers, and you, the loyal fans and readers. I look forward to our passionate discourses. I look forward to reading your comments and your points of view. So, I thought it would be nice if we could go around the circle and share how we became a Rangers fan.
I’ll start.
How I became a Rangers fan
My name is Daniel Blanda and I am a devout hockey fan. More specifically, I am a New York Rangers zealot.
“Hi, Daniel,” echoes the understanding room.
It’s been two years, nine months, and 13 days since I last stepped foot in Madison Square Garden. And if I’m being honest, I’m going through withdrawals.
*the crowd murmurs in understanding*
Had I known what was to come, that the doors to MSG would be shut on all of us, I would have done all I could to see a game live again. But, I didn’t know what would happen… I didn’t know…
“Stay strong, brother,” murmurs a friendly soul from the back. Another kindly offers me a tissue.
I dab my eyes with the Kleenex and proceed to share my story…
Fireman Dan
See, my grandfather, Dan Decher, was a New Jersey and New York City fireman. He started in New Jersey, got “the call up” as he called it from Jersey to Manhattan – Engine 6 down on Beekman Street – and then was forced to return to New Jersey to do what was best for his family. But, that’s another story that has nothing to do with hockey.
All throughout the early 1960s and early 1970s, he had season-tickets to the Garden. He’d take the train into Penn Station from Maplewood, NJ with his young daughter, my mother, at his side. Together they’d take their seats in the last row of the green seats right on the red line, and they’d watch from there for the first two periods. Apparently, they were a rather vocal section, but my grandfather says they kept it relatively PG for my mother’s sake.
During the second intermission, the father-daughter duo would walk down to the glass, where a friend of my grandfather’s had his season-tickets. The friend typically left early, for whatever reason, and my mother and grandfather would watch from his seats. My mother, Kathryn Decher, at eight years old, would sit rink side, bang on the glass, and watch her favorite player, number two, Brad Park, skate up and down the ice.
My mother and grandfather would continue to do this until 1975 when my grandfather, dealt a heavy blow, had enough of the Rangers. One man ruined it for both of them – Emile Francis. On November 7th, 1975, General Manager Emile Francis traded away my mother’s favorite player Park, and my grandfather’s favorite player, Jean Ratelle, for the player my grandfather hated most in the entire league, Phil Esposito.
My grandfather couldn’t fathom pulling for Esposito and Carol Vadnais, rest in peace, who he fervently detested and booed for years. Even more, he certainly couldn’t bring himself to root against Park and Ratelle. Finally, after a season or two, and then this –
My grandfather gave up his tickets and never went to another Rangers game again. Emile Francis broke his heart. It has been 45 years since that trade, but my grandfather still hates Emile Francis for making that trade. He reminded me of his outrage for the man just this last Thanksgiving; which was only further proof that time doesn’t heal all wounds.
“There’s no reason for that man to be in the Hockey Hall of Fame!”
Whether you agree or disagree with my grandfather, the man has his reasons.
A fan from afar
In the early 90s, my mother had me. She birthed me in Atlanta, which was cruel, but she still made sure that I grew up a New York Rangers fan. It was the least she could do. The first time I ever saw the Rangers play live was against the Thrashers in Atlanta circa 2000. I was eight and I saw a Rangers player get cut in the neck with a skate. I have found nothing online to validate my memory, but I swear it happened. If anyone can find anything online to confirm this, you’d be my hero, because that moment made a heck of an impression on my eight-year-old psyche.
Regardless of the trauma, that was the night that I fell in love with the Rangers. It was that night that I discovered my all-time favorite player, Brian Leetch. I didn’t intend for it to happen, but both my mother’s favorite player and mine wore number two. So, of course, we had to get matching jerseys.
I’d remain a loyal fan from afar. I’d read every issue of The Hockey News and hit the refresh button on NHL.com multiple times a day. I wasn’t just a fan – I was a student. I studied the team. Every stat, every game, I knew everything about the team.
I still remember where I was when I learned that the Rangers traded Leetch to the Leafs.
Dan number two takes Manhattan
In May of 2014, during the Stanley Cup playoffs, I hightailed it out of the southern states and moved into the dumpiest of dumps that Manhattan could offer, a piece of work down on Gold St. in the Financial District. It didn’t matter that my room was literally the size of a full-size bed. Or that I had five roommates, one bathroom, a rat issue, and a shower with exposed wiring… I was in New York and the apartment I was “living in” was only five minutes from my grandfather’s old fire station.
I was walking the streets he walked. I was pulling for the team he pulled for. For the first time in my entire life, I was where I was supposed to be. And that’s because my mother instilled that love; instilled that passion for that city and that team. Despite being 800 miles away, in Atlanta, in a state that I couldn’t be in more confrontation with, my mother’s shared love for the Rangers pulled me. Calling out to me that New York is where I was supposed to be! And when I got there, despite how broke I was, despite how crummy my living conditions were, I was happy. The happiest I’d ever been.
The playoffs went how they went, but I was 23 years old and I was finally home.
February 25th, 2018
Fast forward. I’m a skate sharpener at Westside Skate & Stick – shout out to David Healy and the boys at Westside, except for Brett. Take a shower, Brett…
I’m sharpening skates and I’m coaching Peewee hockey at Lasker Rink in Central Park. One of the parents of one of my players gifts me his tickets to that night’s game against Detroit! Little did I know, but that would be the last time I stepped foot into MSG… February 25, 2018.
Now, I consider myself a true, diehard Rangers fan. I’ll take that Pepsi challenge all day, every day. However, for some reason, I had no idea what was about to happen. I should have known, as a true fan, I should have, but I honestly didn’t. I don’t know if I was too caught up with life at the time or what have you, but I was not emotionally prepared for what was about to happen. Because tonight’s game against Detroit wasn’t like every other night at MSG.
As my wife and I took our seats, THIRD ROW, it quickly became clear that we were in for far more than we expected. Tonight, prior to puck drop, the Rangers were going to retire Jean Ratelle’s jersey; my grandfather’s favorite player. I call Fireman Dan right away!
“HELLO”, he laughs into the phone, followed by a “Hey, buddy, what’s cookin’?”
You can hear the joy in his voice as I tell him what’s happening. You can hear his smile. I tell him they’re all here! All of the greats. His greats, my greats! Here! In the same room!
Sam Rosen stands center ice at the podium, announcing them all: Rod Gilbert, Eddie Giacomin, Mike Richter, Mark Messier, Adam Graves, and my guy, Leetch.
Then Rosen brings out Ratelle’s former teammates: Rod Seiling, Gilles Villemure, Ted Irvine, Pete Stemkowski, Bob Plager, Steve Vickers, Bob Nevin, Vic Hadfield, and, to my surprise, Brad Park.
The goosebumps, the chills – Ratelle, Park, and Leetch. I never could have imagined being in this room.
“Emile Francis.” Sam Rosen says the name and I fall silent on the phone. Emile Francis is driven out in a golf cart; which is something I thought I’d never see, a golf cart on ice. As Francis takes the podium –
“What’s happening now?” asks my grandfather. I don’t dare tell him.
Share your story
We all come here for a reason. We love this team and if it weren’t for someone or some reason we wouldn’t be here right now. I know I wouldn’t be here writing about the Rangers if it weren’t for my grandpa or my mother, so you can blame them.
Every time I watch the team, I think of my mother and my grandfather. I imagine them walking up from Penn Station. I imagine my mother cheering on Park and I imagine my grandfather booing Esposito. I imagine them taking me to the Hockey Hall of Fame when I was in the sixth grade. My love for hockey comes from them.
And what I’ve never told my grandfather is that after one night after a dozen half-pints or so at McSorley’s… I decided to get my first tattoo… My buddy and fellow-Ranger, Trent tried to talk me out of it, but I was persistent. And after signing a waiver stating that I was sober as a bird, I got the number 94 tattooed on my ribs… Sorry, grandpa… but it’s technically your fault…
If you’ve made it this far in the story, what’s your story? Do everyone a favor here and share how you either became a Rangers fan or share a memorable Rangers memory. The best part of writing for Blue Line is hearing from all of you. You all have strong opinions, you keep me honest and I appreciate you all.
You can either share your story in the comments below or you can email them to bluelinestation4ever@gmail.com as part of a future story.
Thanks for reading. Stay healthy and stay safe and be sure to tell someone you love them.
