Homers' Corner: Hope in the Abyss
Illustration by Jennifer Universe.
When they won their first game of the season, I thought, OK, good, not going to get shut out this year.
The second, hey, a sweep!
By the third and fourth win, I had started to think dangerous thoughts, like, maybe we won’t be too bad this year? No, no, the rational side of my brain assured these pointless wisps of positivity. I’ve been around too long. I know where hope leads. Straight to The Abyss.
My preferred hockey team, the University of Minnesota Golden Gophers, is celebrating its 100th season this year. And considering the last decade or so of the team’s history hasn’t quite lived up to its perennial championship standard, sometimes in quite heartbreaking fashion, I have certainly learned not to get my hopes up.
But by the fifth win and the sixth and seventh and eighth and the perfect first half schedule and the—no, don’t do this to yourself.
But of course I did. Of course I continue to.
One of the last normal things I did last spring, in the Before Times, was prepare The Abyss for the potential—inevitable in recent years—hockey playoff loss. That is, I made sure my trusted playlist of chill trip-hop and French electronic music was just right. For when the last loss of the season comes, whenever it comes, I take some time to lie down in darkness with my music playing as a form of self-care. The Abyss is a fun rebrand of depression. It sounds so much more mysterious and exciting than “my team lost, and I am sad.”
Of course, that loss never came last spring because the season was cancelled after we won our first round conference playoff series. And this year…
When I refreshed my phone one mid-December Monday at 11am to discover the college hockey polls had us as the #1 team in the country for the first time in six years, I was overcome with emotion. Could we really be good again? I tried to look at things logically, consider the evidence. It wasn’t just the 8-0 first half, or even that in those eight games, they hadn’t trailed even once. More than that, they seemed to be playing as a team for the first time in a long time, even having fun.
Slivers of light began to beam through The Abyss.
From November to early January, the Gopher hockey team won their first ten games. 10-0. Not since 1939-40 have they had such a good start, and in that season, they went undefeated and won a national championship.
The Abyss began to crackle and shake. What’s that rumbling noise— it can’t be—
Choo choo! Is that the Hope Train pulling into the station, in gleaming maroon and gold with Goldy Gopher as the adorable engineer, wearing his five championship rings, getting that sixth finger ready for another? Somehow winking at me with his normally unblinking mascot eye?
Oh no oh no we know what happens when we begin to believe—
After that start, they went 1-3. The Hope Train chugged away. I returned to The Abyss. After one particularly lackluster loss, I listened to Portishead’s “Numb” on repeat, wondering why I keep doing this to myself, why I keep watching when I know that no matter how it looks, I’ll always end up back here eventually. Hockey and I have never made sense. I’m an awkward nerdy art kid. I did music in school, not sports. This is the one aberration of my personality, that I love this sport, this team, so much.
But the Gophers have been there for me. There are always games, this year, a little late, often at weird times, but they’re there. It’s the one constant thing in this time of nightmarish upheaval in every facet of life.
And when I went to the U and had student season tickets to their games for three years, those Friday nights at the rink, screaming with thousands of others, always washed away whatever drama had occurred the week before.
And before that, in my teen years deep in the heart of a rival land, depressed and feeling like I’d never fit in anywhere, they were there on television each weekend, showing me a way out. Whenever I look out my apartment window to see the downtown Minneapolis skyline, I know they are one of the reasons I’m here.
They have always been there for me, no matter how good or bad they are, no matter how easy or difficult to watch. So I will always be there for them. I will always love them. Thick, thin, better, worse. The unrequited marriage of sports fandom.
Last night, I again sat down in front of the TV to watch the Gophers at the appointed hour, unsure what would happen, if they’d turn it around, if the losing streak would continue. And in truth, no outcome would have caused me to turn away, to abandon them. I, too, will continue to be there.
They won 10-0.
Not a typo. Double digits. A football score. Four goals in the first, three more in the second, three more in the third. Two players with hat tricks! It was an absolute joy to watch from start to finish. It’s been so long since they had games like this, since it was so consistently fun to watch them. Though I’ll never be an optimist, I have been trying more and more to be grateful for everything I have and everyone I love. So last night, I tried to savor every last moment of their incredible performance. I even smiled and laughed during the game a few times!
No matter how this season ends, back in The Abyss or onboard the Hope Train, at least I have had these moments of joy, these reminders of why I love Gopher hockey in the first place. For that, I am very grateful.
Choo choo.
Sarah Howard is a writer and editor whose work has appeared in the NaNoWriMo Blog, Midwestern Gothic and MN Artists. She received her MFA in Creative Writing from Hamline University, where she was assistant editor for Water~Stone Review. She lives in Minneapolis with her television. Visit her website at sarahhowardwrites.com.