Thank you, Team USA, for giving all of us disenfranchised hockey fans a reason to love the sport again. by Megan Seling Men ruin everything, so I wasn’t surprised when they finally ruined hockey. It was death by a thousand disappo intments—a sexist comment from Don Cherry here, a years-long cover-up of systemic sexual abuse there. Seeing the USA’s men’s hockey team party in the locker room with Kash Patel and laughing at President Trump’s quip about the women’s team—their peers, their fellow gold medal-winning teammates—well, it was hardly the first time my joy was extinguished by men behaving badly. Especially as a long-time hockey fan. When I started following the Nashville Predators nearly 20 years ago, it was love at first shootout. I knew the league wasn't perfect. The NHL’s history is loaded with unchecked toxic masculinity and blatant abuse of power, just like so many other sports (and industries and communities and organized religions) in America. But I still loved it, as a fan and a journalist, and focused on the storylines and the players whose politics, or at least ethics, seemed more aligned with my own. Like how goalies always look a little sad while their teammates are on the other end of the ice. And some players resemble surprised red pandas when doing a jump screen in front of the net. I found my own fun. Which isn’t to say I kept my disappointment to myself. I wrote several pieces about my complicated relationship with the sport for Nashville’s alt-weekly, Nashville Scene, and was very vocal on social media and the Scene’s weekly hockey podcast about the team and the league’s missteps. But it got exhausting. I was constantly berated by readers and listeners—“KeEp poLiTiCs OuT oF hOcKeY”—and lectured by the Predators’ media relations department more than once. I was denied press access after writing about a player’s domestic assault charge—and the team’s lack of accountability—that, ironically, came months after the franchise launched an “Unsilence the Violence” campaign. In one especially frustrating meeting, one player told me, on behalf of the whole team, that I am essentially unwelcome. As a fan, I was bummed. But as a journalist, I was pissed. The nail in the coffin was seeing NHL Commissioner Gary Bettman, hockey legend Wayne Gretzky, and current NHL player Matthew Tkachuk join Donald Trump’s Council on Sports, Fitness, and Nutrition last year. I was done. But then the Professional Women’s Hockey League (PWHL) expanded into Seattle. My hockey spark reignited. I started to follow the team a bit, and excitedly, but with a healthy amount of hesitation, began to dip my toe back into sports reporting. Sure, the Torrent are currently last in the standings, but a) I’m a Preds fan, I’m used to that, and b) there are some legit world champions on the team—with the medals to prove it!—who are fun as fuck to watch no matter the final score. Last Thursday, it felt unreal to sit among fellow hockey fans at Rough Tumble to watch Team USA—featuring five Torrent players—beat Canada in overtime for the gold. Torrent Captain Hilary Knight with that tying (and Olympic record-breaking!) goal with two minutes left in the game! Megan Keller with that filthy dangler for the win! There was hugging and crying and free champagne, and not once during those celebrations did I have to feel conflicted about rooting for an accused rapist. It was incredible.  On Sunday, the men’s team won their gold medal game against Canada in a similar dramatic fashion. I watched, I cheered, and I cried when the players brought Johnny Gaudreau’s jersey out on the ice for a victory lap. But then they ruined it. As they do. Within minutes of the men getting their medals, the internet was flooded with videos of FBI Director Kash Patel slamming a beer while one of the Tkachuk brothers put his gold medal around Patel’s neck as if to chant “one of us! one of us!” In another video, the team is huddled around a phone, with stars in their eyes, as they take a call from President Trump. When Trump makes a shitty joke about how he guesses he’ll have to invite the women to the White House, too, all the men laugh. No one defends their Team USA teammates, no one speaks up for the incredible athletes who have had to work harder with far fewer resources to accomplish what they accomplished. It was gut-punching. And it was what I’d come to expect from the sport.  But over the past 48 hours, something else has happened. A new feeling. As those videos continued to circulate, people started to hold the men accountable. Thousands have pointed out the hypocrisy, the disrespect. When the NHL posted a video of the men’s team deplaning after landing in the US, the comments quickly filled with support for the women’s team. Keith Olbermann demanded that the men publicly apologize, calling them “stupid, self-absorbed, and misogynistic.” Someone started a petition for the men to turn down Trump’s invite, and another posted USA Hockey’s contact information on Reddit, urging fans to call and email to complain. Hundreds of commenters claimed they did. When the women’s team declined Trump’s half-hearted invitation to watch Tuesday’s State of the Union, Flavor Flav invited them all to a giant bash in Las Vegas. The women’s gold game broke viewership records on Thursday—more than 7.7 million people watched Keller crush Canada’s dreams, and I have no doubt a large swath of those viewers fell in love with the sport just as I did 20 years ago. The men’s actions on Sunday left their mark on fans, too, but probably not the way they hoped they would when they won the gold medal for the first time since the Miracle on Ice in 1980. Instead, their crappy, predictable behavior just underscored that hockey fans deserve better. Which isn’t to say the PWHL is perfect. Minnesota Frost player Britta Curl, for example, recently partnered with a transphobic organization, FIERCE Athlete. But she’s the exception in the league, not the standard. (And her league-mates let her know that.) Thank you, Team USA, for giving all of us disenfranchised hockey fans a reason to love the sport again. ...read more read less