Hate Is A Strong Word
by Todd Smith / Minnesota WildSure, it's the holiday season and a time to be thankful, but that doesn't mean we have to like everybody. In fact, as a hockey fan, you are required to disdain at least a few teams. In that spirit, Wild.com contributor Todd Smith gives thanks for the teams he hates.
In a remarkable sign of marital solidarity, my wife sat down on the couch with me to watch a recent Minnesota Wild game.
“Who is the Wild playing?” Sarah asked.
“Vancouver,” I replied.
“I love Vancouver! It’s so beautiful there,” Sarah gushed.
“No,” I retorted. “You hate Vancouver.”

“Right here, right now, Vancouver is the worst place on earth,” I said.
“Ok then. Why do you hate Vancouver… the team?” Sarah asked.
“Canucks forward Alex Burrows gives my soul swine flu,” I quipped. “And by the way, Vancouver is just the start of my Wild hockey hate-a-thon.”
“You hate more teams than Vancouver?” Sarah asked innocently.
“Oh, yeah,” I said. “There’s more. Believe me. There is more.”
I paused for a moment to digest the situation. How could I properly explain the Minnesota Wild’s hockey rivalries to a non-believer? Sometimes we hate a hockey team because of certain players (Ladies and Gentleman, meet Darcy Tucker). Other times, we hate teams because of an on ice event (The Mattias Ohlund “Chopper” incident). As a native Minnesotan, sometimes I just flat out hate a team because of where they are from (Greetings from Dallas!). And there are times I hate a team solely because of their jersey (The mallard foot on Anaheim’s jerseys makes my eyeballs vomit). Between periods, I broke out a dry erase board and gave Sarah a power point presentation on who the Wild hates and why:
Team: Vancouver Canucks

Team: Anaheim Ducks

Team: Calgary Flames

Team: Dallas Stars
Why We Hate Them: Because there is only one “Stars” team and that is the “North Stars”. Norm Green still sucks.
Team: New York Rangers

The game came back on and right in the middle of my Wild hockey rivalry synopsis, Minnesota scored on the Canucks. I bolted off the couch, shook my fists, and pumped my crotch. Then I gave the Vancouver goalie on my TV the finger.
“In! Your! FACE!” I yelled.
Sarah shook her head in exasperation and said, “You men are just odd. It’s only a game.”
“No. That’s where you are wrong,” I said. “It’s not just a game. It’s hockey.”