Fandom of Sam Jam
I attended my first Avalanche game at the age of nine during the Avs' inaugural season in Denver. I was more interested in my pog collection than sports and found my souvenir cup more impressive than our Stanley Cup team. Over the next couple of seasons, I became less captivated by the stadium snacks and more by the play on the ice; when the Avs lost to Dallas in the Western Conference Finals in 1999, I was hooked. I realize how fortunate I was to come of age in Colorado during the era of Sakic, Roy, and Forsberg and to whiteness the hoisting of two Stanley Cups. Most teams never get so far (*ahem Minnesota*), and I credit the caliber of those teams, and my mom’s foresight to hold onto our season tickets even though the sad Sacco Era to who I am today: an Avaholic.
To be clear, an Avaholic is not a regular fan but a specimen of elite fandom. A normal fan can brush off a loss and utter, “at least it was a good game.” To an Avaholic, a loss is never “a good game.” Win or lose,it is always personal. We won because I ran to get pizza during the first period (a tradition that I’ve carried on for nearly 30 years), or we lost because I sat in a different seat. Rational thought is not for the maniacal fan.
I might be small and soft-spoken, but I don't hold back when it comes to my Avs, and I always hold grudges. I saw Patrick Roy’s final game the night before I had to take the ACTs. I don’t remember my score (it wasn’t good), but I do know that Andrew Brunette scored the overtime goal on Roy, ending his career in 2003.
If we lose, it is best to leave me alone for a while and remove all breakable/spill-able objects from the vicinity (sorry public trash can in Vancouver). And, if you see a short blonde in an Avs jersey streaking up the stairs at the Ball Arena during the TV time out around 10 minutes into the first period, please move out of my way. I'm on a pizza mission, and I need to be back in my seat before the action starts.