The first hockey team I fell in love with was the Florida Panthers. And they broke my heart.
Growing up in Miami and Atlanta in the ’80s, hockey wasn’t on the radar. Kids never played it. It was never on TV. And it never seemed to catch on (See: Atlanta Flames and Atlanta Thrashers). It wasn’t until middle school that I even saw a hockey game. That was in 1990 when Miami hosted an exhibition game between the Kings and the Rangers, attempting to convince the NHL to bring an expansion team to South Florida. That game included ice maintenance delays because the ice kept melting at the old Miami Arena.
Despite those ice hiccups, Miami eventually landed the Panthers in 1993 and my dad and I went to a few games during their first couple seasons. The team was not great by any measure, but it was new and fun, even if neither of us understood fundamental rules like icing and offsides.
Then something wonderful happened.
The Panthers unexpectedly made it all the way to the Stanley Cup finals — in just their third year as a team. Remember, this was back when an expansion team in almost any sport toiled in the doldrums for years before finding success (See: Miami Heat). You could not build explosive expansion teams from scratch like you can today (See: Golden Knights and Seattle Kraken). Yet, during that ’96 season, the Panthers rode a rocket ship through the post-season. Along the way, my dad and I were glued to every game in the playoffs, as that team somehow dethroned perennial powerhouse opponents in each round. It was exciting and addictive.
Of course, that excitement was swiftly extinguished when the Panthers were swept in the NHL Finals by a team I still refuse to name and will never root for.
For much of the next quarter of a century, the Panthers took up almost seasonal residency at the bottom of the NHL standings. I stopped paying attention to them — and to hockey for that matter. I’d left Florida to go to college, I started working and other priorities took over. Eventually, I moved to Montana, where I’ve lived for the past 15 years.
Then something wonderful happened — again.
When he was 4, my son Wyatt fell in love with hockey. He saw a game on TV and declared: “I want to do that.” For the 11 years since then, my wife and I have spent more hours at an ice rink than we can count. We’ve traveled to watch Wyatt play in tournaments all over the country, eagerly giving up weekends and holidays to be at a rink with him, while sitting through way too many sub-freezing outdoor practices. Along the way, I fell in love with hockey again, too.
I’ll admit, over the years I’ve rooted for others NHL teams and celebrated their wins. But they say you never forget your first love, even after heartbreak and losing touch. And they’re right. I first fell in love with hockey and the Florida Panthers 27 years ago as the team tried to raise the Cup in an improbable post-season run.
They didn’t go all the way, but I’ll always remember watching those games with my dad. This year, it’s my son and I watching each game as the Panthers attempt to raise the Cup — in the only real run they’ve had since 1996, a run that’s been just as improbable, if not more.
Wyatt and I may be the only Florida Panthers’ fans out here in Montana, but it feels great to be hooked again after almost 30 years. Luckily, I understand the rules this time, thanks to my son. Now, hopefully he can avoid the same heartbreak this go-round.
Fingers crossed.
Harper Lawson lives in Helena, Montana.