Home Ice

On the paradox of being a diehard Indigenous fan of the Toronto Maple Leafs — or any hockey team

- WAUBGESHIG RICE

ON SATURDAY nights, as 7 p.m. nears, I pour popcorn into a bowl and a cold beverage into a glass, and I seat myself in my preferred spot on the couch, closest to the television. I change the channel to watch the Toronto Maple Leafs play hockey. Streak or slump, I tune in as I’ve done since I was a child growing up on the reserve. This expression of fandom is more than just a ritual and more complex than just supporting a professional hockey team that is both beloved and reviled. Like those of so many other sports fans, the roots of my devotion are intergenerational.

I grew up in Wasauksing First Nation, an island community on Georgian Bay near Parry Sound, Ontario. I’m of mixed Anishinaabe and Canadian heritage: my dad is from the rez, and my mom is from town. I don’t remember when and how, exactly, I became a Leafs fan as a kid in the 1980s; the team has always been a part of my life and a part of my father’s. We didn’t have hydro in our home until I was about eight years old, so I was introduced to my favourite sports team off the grid. My earliest memories include my dad connecting a small black-and-white TV to a car battery in order to tune in to CBC on the rabbit ears and watch Hockey Night in Canada. We eventually got electricity and a colour TV, and antenna reception improved enough to watch games more regularly. The late ’80s were hardly a glorious era for the Buds, but the period was defined by Wendel Clark, a mustachioed forward whose physicality, grit, and scoring prowess still made the game fun to watch.