hockey history

I have been thinking about this post for several days now.. not wanting to write it until it "felt right" and I could say the words that have been tumbling around in head and get them across in the way that means what I want them to mean. I don't know if now is the time, but I'm going to try.

I've been pondering the term "hockey history" and what that means to different people. With the sudden passing of Rick Martin, hockey fans in Buffalo (and elsewhere I'm sure) seemed to be not only saddened, but wounded by his death. I say "wounded" because the feelings and emotions being talked about were very personal- not just public recognition of his worth as a hockey player, but personal attachment of his value as a human being and a member of society. You don't always find that personal attachment when it comes to a "public figure". But Rick Martin must have been different. Buffalo is different.

For a lot of people (I might even venture to say a majority of people), they are born, grow up, and then move out of their parents' house-- but often not too far from "home". They get a job in a neighboring town, or a few hours away in the same state and keep up familial relations with parents, grandparents, siblings, cousins, etc. They have large, local family gatherings and everyone knows what's going on with everyone else and people regularly visit their cousins. I would say this is reasonably regular behavior.

But for some people it's different. You move around a few times before settling 2,000 miles from any extended family. It's okay because the nuclear family is a big one so there's no shortage of companionship. But there is something missing- a bigger picture of grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins. Sure, those people exist, but they are seen in 3-to-5 year intervals and not known well at all. There is no resentment for this, it's normal. But then you realize it's actually not the "norm" and that many people do have personal relationships with family outside of parents and siblings. It's a little depressing but life goes on. Then you move away even further-- 400 miles from the place that YOU grew up and the cycle continues.

You wonder sometimes about your parents- when they die (hopefully MANY MANY years from now), will they be buried in Ohio, the place where they spent their adult lives, or in Louisiana- the place they came from and where the family still lives? You wonder about yourself- will you stay in Western NY or go back to Ohio- where you "came from" or somewhere else entirely? There's a sense of missing "history" and you wonder what kind of attachment your children (if you ever have any) will feel to a place. You don't really feel any attachment to one place so you sometimes find it hard to see how people can.

Then you meet Buffalo. You meet the folks who were born and raised in Buffalo and Western NY. They are proud of where they come from (most people are) and they stayed here and worked hard, just like their parents did. And they grew up watching the Buffalo Sabres and sharing the heartbreak of being a Sabres fan. They remember games at the Aud and the "French Connection" Line and all of the good ole days. They feel a love for their city and their TEAM and a sense of belonging to both of those entities- for they are tied together very strongly. Hockey is a part of Buffalo's history and if they were lucky enough to grow up in a household that cared about hockey (which is quite a few folks around these parts) then hockey is a part of their history as well.

But hockey was not a part of your history. It's not a part of your family's history. You had to come to it on your own. As a result, you don't have a history of attachment to any particular team. You move in and out of teams and players based on geography and favorites. You create your own hockey history, and as circumstances would have it, this history only goes back to 1994. That's when it all began. And you were never lucky enough to live in the same town as your favorites- not in Vancouver to see Trevor Linden or Pavel Bure, not in Detroit for Steve Yzerman and Brendan Shanahan or Newark for Marty Brodeur. You've never met any of these men, and likely never will. But they are a part of your hockey history- you remember seeing them play and the emotion of that will stay with you forever. They made an impact on your life and you will never be quite the same as you were before your hockey odyssey.

And that is what I think that Rick Martin meant to the people of Buffalo. He came here to play hockey-- and he did that very well, from all accounts (I wasn't around to see it but the tape and the numbers don't lie.) He stayed around to make a life, but never forgot his hockey roots. Everyone spoke of him as very friendly and funny and a good person to have in Buffalo. A great ambassador for the city and the sport. A true part of Buffalo's hockey history. A shared history for anyone who was around to see it and know it and live it. And that shared history made the shared sorrow so profound. It was like losing a member of the family. Someone they all knew and loved and they will never be the same having known him (even if only on the ice) and lost him.

Rest in Peace, Rick Martin. You are not a part of my hockey history, but you are a part of where I live, and what I love about Buffalo. You will always be a part of Buffalo.

Thank you for being a part of Buffalo's Hockey History.