We are getting ever closer to the highly-anticipated Edmonton Oilers season.
I can’t even fathom what most Oilers fans would be feeling going in to this farewell-to-Rexall season had the numbers not lined up for the team on April 18 of this year. The day everything changed for the organization because it would be drafting Connor McDavid.
The rest of the NHL hates the Edmonton Oilers for it. But for those on the inside, it’s a saving grace for what was a sinking ship.
As the daughter of play-by-play voice Rod Phillips, I grew up in this organization. I went to every Oilers Christmas party for two decades. My favourite players when I was younger were based on who was nicest to me or who made me laugh. That included Jarri Kurri, whose ritual was to wink at me every time he walked by me on the way on to the ice for practice. That also included Steve Smith because to me, the own goal didn’t mean anything compared to him holding my hand while we twirled around Northlands ice. In my teen years, it was the cutest player *cough* Eric Brewer.
To this day, Glen Sather and I keep in touch via email. He always looked after me and still does. Growing up a swimmer, I had bad shoulders. If I was struggling, he had me in to see the Oilers trainers to get me back to staring at a black line on the bottom of the pool. Not sure if I should thank him for that or not.
I’ve been a part of some incredible things; I was in a Stanley Cup Parade. I was so young that all I can remember is the thrill of sitting on the back of a convertible riding through Commonwealth Stadium.
These are things that fill my memory banks – not the Smurfs or My Little Pony. I drive my friends crazy never knowing what children’s show they’re referring to in a joke or story. I didn’t need those things; I had real life heroes entertaining me. I got to watch my brother play net in street hockey outside the Oilers dressing room and face slap shots from Kelly Buchberger, as he and I laughed hysterically at my brother’s crippling fear.
When I was in communications I got to be the fan cheering for a losing team.
But now, as an (impartial) reporter, it was eating me alive watching what was happening to the organization.
“The old boys club,” as the management was dubbed – the men who brought so much joy and success to this city – were slowly destroying a once storied National Hockey League club. The same club that helped pay my family’s bills and fund my livelihood was drowning and getting worse year-by-year.
I was trying to find ways to detach from it all. Telling myself I didn’t care. But you can’t let go of something so deeply rooted in you.
I often wondered how far it would go. And then April 18, 2015 happened.
I was at work and couldn’t help but share the joy felt across the city when the Oilers won the draft lottery.
That changed everything. And what I didn’t realize is that when Craig MacTavish and Kevin Lowe were removed from their thrones, my job got a lot harder.
I was able to chat about family and friends with MacTavish while other reporters watched as I got my one-on-one time with the GM. Sometimes I felt like he was proud of where I had gotten in my career.
Kevin Lowe has known me since I was born. If I ever really needed anything, I knew I could ask (not that I ever would).
Now, I’m trying to figure out how to leave an impression on Peter Chiarelli so that I could say hello to him on the street, or feel comfortable asking him a question.
I’ve already introduced myself twice.
And Bob Nicholson, forget about it. That guy wouldn’t know me if I was in his soup (that’s a line of my dad’s).
Good thing I can leave my pride at the door and I will introduce myself over and over again if needed.
As much as this shift was needed, it hasn’t exactly made my life easier. A funny place to be, there’s no doubt about that.
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