In this article, Adam Reddish muses on a significant change in his attitude and perspective towards the Nottingham Panthers players, staff and hockey in general.
It might’ve seemed a fairly trivial thing to say, especially a few drinks into a celebratory night after our recent victory over the Belfast Giants. But a very good friend of mine, and fellow long-term (and dare I say, fairly well known?) Panthers fan who shall remain nameless, accused me, in a very light-hearted and jokey sort of way, of turning into a happy clapper. Ha, the sheer cheek of it!
Now, as is normally the case on nights of moderately heavy socialising, those vast parts of fast-moving conversation and rapid-fire dialogue exchanged between friends can end up largely forgotten about; alcohol does generally cause that! However, this particular comment had managed to slip through the Guinness filter and remained stuck in my head for a fair few days. I’m not saying it totally preoccupied my mind, but whilst cracking on with some of the more mundane domestic chores, I did find myself wondering on a few occasions whether there was any basis to the friendly accusation that had been aimed in my direction.
It’s funny, because whilst the term ‘happy clapper’ frequently comes with visions of newer fans cheering wildly and appreciatively for their team regardless of score or performance, those who’ve known me for any reasonable length of time will absolutely know that is not me. I can, and often have been, extremely critical of numerous aspects of how the Panthers organisation has over the years been, and in some instances (albeit happily far fewer in recent times), continues to be run. I won’t lie, and this is meant with no disrespect whatsoever to those who might fit the generic profile of such a supporter, but to now be considered as part of an element of the club’s fanbase who are frequently accused by some of giving the club an unconditional free pass to underperform, particularly in light of some of the battles I’ve had on social media with old adversaries, did raise a chuckle or two.
However, after the initial humour caused by that surreal exchange at the bar had faded away, a more serious contemplation of my whole outlook as a supporter of the club started to whirl around and formulate in my head. I started to query what might have been the root cause for such a transformational shift in my DNA as a fan? What had even given my friend the idea that I’d become a somewhat less critical, eminently more glass half-full supporter? Was he even right in his assessment? Crikey, so many questions to now mull over. Alas, I was intrigued to see where this process of self-evaluation might take me. So, unsure, and if I’m honest, slightly fearful of what it might uncover, I figured it was worth exploring a little deeper because something I’d now elevated to what felt like a near-existential issue had well and truly consumed me.
I guess an obvious and logical place to start involves the recent tragic events that have come as such a cruel, emotional hammer blow to our wonderful sport. Since news broke of Alex Graham’s passing in June last year, we’ve been cruelly exposed to an unprecedented, almost merciless succession of crushing losses. Mike Hammond’s most untimely death shortly after only helped bring yet more grief right to our very doorstep here in Nottingham. In general, it felt like the natural outpouring of sadness had cast a pretty long and dark cloud over UK hockey in the run-up to a new season. Even the euphoria of Great Britain’s brilliant return to the top tier of World Hockey, something Mike had played such an instrumental role in, to round off the 2022-23 season, already began to feel like a rather distant and fading memory considering the circumstances.
As a result, my normal enthusiasm for a new season had all but vanished. I suspect this was largely because my mind was already racing ahead to the very public tributes and memorials that would rightfully be paid to both players. We were all going to be immersing ourselves in some serious collective sadness, and the beginning of the 2023-24 season was going to be the most sombre I could ever recall in my near thirty years of being a fan. I’ll be honest, I was already privately dreading the return of hockey.
When tragedy enters the sport you so enthusiastically follow, you’d have to have a cold heart not to be impacted in some manner. It was evident with Alex and Mike’s deaths just how many fans across such a wide number of teams were so deeply affected. The countless eulogies posted on social media were most poignant and moving, forcing me to begin reflecting on the more humanistic side of the sport – something I’d never really had cause to do before. And here, I think most of us are guilty sometimes of forgetting the players who wear our club’s jersey also have a life and family away from hockey – just as most of us do away from our own jobs. I’m as guilty as anyone in having been quite vocal in my criticisms of many past Panthers players over the years, but never really caring or stopping to think about the consequences such words might carry. Yet faced with two young sportsmen having suddenly and tragically been taken from us way too soon, that willingness to be quite as critical, abrasive and harsh, sometimes just to make a point and feel a bit better about myself, really didn’t seem to feel all that necessary anymore. There were much bigger things now in play for our sport and far more serious emotions to consider than those associated with your average game of hockey.
And if my perspective was already shifting to one of a kinder, more sympathetic supporter, it really did take a seismic leap after Adam Johnson’s still almost incomprehensible death.
Suddenly, that safe place where we go and choose to spend time in the company of our hockey friends, had become the epicentre of raw, widespread grief and sorrow previously unseen in UK hockey. It was, and continues to be, a desperately hard battle for me to reconcile that a building where so many happy memories had been made across Panthers recent past, had instead been temporarily transformed, and certainly not through choice, into a place where fans from around the UK were visiting to mourn and pay their respects. The grief which proves to be such an unwelcome companion periodically throughout our own lives, now had ruthlessly gate crashed a venue where those standard binary, black and white feelings of happiness in response to a win or disappointment over a loss, just didn’t quite seem to cut it anymore. Fans now needed more resilience than ever before to cope with simply summoning up the emotional energy of visiting somewhere that’s pretty much a second home. I know that’s exactly how I felt every time I ventured out from my house prior to each game in those first few weeks after we’d resumed our season, I couldn’t help but think of the unfairness that hockey shouldn’t really elicit those sorts of deep emotions from just an average fan. So as I sat alone in my normal seat during the service for AJ watching hundreds of people slowly and solemnly file past the beautiful memorial table with an occasional tear rolling down my cheek, it dawned on me that my relationship with the sport, and more specifically with the Nottingham Panthers, had at that point probably changed forever.
Almost imperceptibly, I began to see almost everything associated with my hockey team through what felt like a whole new pair of eyes. And it wasn’t a shift of mindset I had forced myself into either. Everything was beginning to feel very strange and alien.
In attempting to put my finger on why my view of the hockey bubble I exist within has altered so radically, I was drawn to the relationship we have with the players and to a lesser extent, the staff employed by our club. Yes, each of us have our own favourite Panthers players based on a number of different reasons, some value the on-ice abilities, others attach more weight to those who might make a positive and lasting impression in the many social and community-orientated activities organised by the club, for me, it’s always been strictly down to on-ice performance. But this year, all these club employees who have been through and experienced their own personal hell across the last several months have taken a rapid short-cut past my own ways and means of establishing who deserves the mantle of a legend. Put simply, each and every member of staff connected with the Panthers organisation during this season, in my eyes at least, are heroes for carrying themselves with so much dignity and humility throughout a period of their lives they will never easily be able to forget. The journeys each have been on this season can have been nothing short of mentally and physically exhausting, and observing how they have collectively coped with the sudden and most unexpected loss of a friend, a work colleague and an amazing human being, all while existing amongst a goldfish bowl-like exposure from the outside world, has been a truly humbling experience to witness. It has made me unbelievably proud to be a fan of the Nottingham Panthers.
This new-found sense of pride and willingness to offer unconditional support has, despite the overriding sense of sadness which will endure for some while yet, been a genuinely uplifting experience for me. Whilst the games continue to be difficult with so many reminders of AJ around the Arena, I’ve never felt closer to this organisation. Naturally, the unifying nature across the fanbase to come together in support of this group of players and staff has aided such a feeling, but for me, there’s a burning sense of just wanting to be there for the team. Now I get that this set of players do not know me personally, nor would I really want or expect them to, but for me, making the time and effort to follow these guys around the country as they continue to provide us supporters with a source of entertainment in our own lives, despite the tragic circumstances which have overshadowed this season, has almost become something of a duty (but most definitely NEVER a chore). Never have I wanted more to be on the road with the Panthers to be just one extra face in the away block, helping to provide my own small form of emotional support for a team who have been through so, so much and this new-found sense of near-devotion, whilst quite costly, has and continues to be so worth it because these guys have gone to the absolute wall for us during this season. Making those long treks to Kirkcaldy and Glasgow, or being there in Belfast feels like my own little thank you to this team for the dedication and mental resilience they continue to bravely display. The recent win in Coventry to snap a luckless run of defeats where nothing seemed to go right, and the sheer outpouring of love and goodwill from the Panthers fans I was stood amongst will remain a very special memory. The bond between players and supporters in those few precious seconds as the guys skated around in front of us was something incredibly emotional to experience.
Being the somewhat long in the tooth fan that I am, I’d always queried the idea of how any sporting organisation could transcend what feels like an ever-widening separation between fans and players in professional sport. So whilst it might have taken a catastrophically dreadful tragedy which has rocked each of us so hard to alter this view, I find myself now feeling very much part of a wider, extended Black and Gold family who want to come together and show strength in the interests of providing a kind and supportive environment to help reach the end of a torrid season. Of course, I’d trade my transformation as a supporter from a rather cynical fan of the Panthers to one who feels massive kinship and connection with this group of players to have Adam back. Who wouldn’t? But if we’re looking for positives to take within a period of such darkness, then my new-found closeness to the club might just be one very small chink of daylight that I can always thank our forever #47 for.
I very much doubt my journey of change and rediscovery ends here, I certainly hope not. No doubt my newly found positivity will be put to the test next year when things might feel a little more normal with a refreshed, altered roster and a new set of expectations. But yes, in finally answering some of those questions I posed to myself right back at the start of this article, maybe I have become a happy clapper wanting to dwell on the more positive aspects of following this hockey club and, quite frankly, I’m quite satisfied to live with such a title and suck up all the ridicule, even if it’s light-hearted, that it brings.
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