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Lone
Wolf
Howl:
FLAMES
&
LIGHTNING
(Originally
published
in
Calgary
Country: June 2004)
The greatest stories ever told are usually ones of mythic proportion, involving mythic themes like hubris and redemption, death and resurrection, victory and defeat. Flames and Lightning. The story being played out right now is not just a game anymore, or even a series of games. It's a full-blown festival of high drama, and it's the closest thing to true catharsis that this - perhaps any - city has experienced in 2500 years. And it's not over yet. At least not for me. It is for you (I should tell you that I write this on the 4th of June. Game six is 36 hours away… game seven I can't even think about). (I should also tell you that I was never much of a hockey fan before this, and to be honest I doubt I'll be much of one afterwards). You already know how the story ends. I don't. Whether Lord Stanley's Holiest of Grails is calling Alberta or Florida home, the phenomenon that has swept (and continues to sweep) through Calgary Country is a marvelous novelty. But it's nothing new. The Athenians of ancient Greece were likewise caught up in a springtime competition. Theirs was a friendly little bout between two writers -- each with a team of actors -- duking it out for the top prize at the Dionysian Drama Competition. Songs were sung at the beginning to set the right tone. In between the playing of the acts, there would be short satirical commentaries by wildly dressed buffoons, which no one ever took seriously. The Athenian's competition drew crowds (17 - 30 000 per day), and the excitement spilled out of the arena and into the city. Banners were waved, business transactions ceased, and prisoners were temporarily released so that they too could participate in the collective renewal that was brought on by the offering of the tragedy. Their contest grew out of the Dionysian cult and its ritualistic celebrations (which included -- but was not limited to -- intoxication, bearing of breasts, and hysterical rampages in the streets and forests); our contest results in it. Certain writers and their teams won, others lost. But it was never about winning or losing, you see. It wasn't even about how the play was played. It was all about the cathartic and rejuvenating effect the playing had on the entire community. I've sometimes wondered what it must have felt like to be a part of that environment. You can read (or attend or perform) the plays of Euripides all you like, but you'll never experience being caught up in that frenzied, festival spirit… a spirit potent enough to grip the psyches of an entire city and knit them together anew for days and days and days. It stopped happening, of course. Somewhere along the line, an art form that was meant to be more than entertaining became mere entertainment. What was once an adjective (one of many) turned into the cold stone of a singular noun and lost its very life. I don't really know what's happening here right now, but it's unlike anything I - indeed most of us - have ever experienced. Sport is aping its grandfather, Art, and the result is more entertaining than anything imaginable (yet so much more than mere entertainment). This hockey night in Canada is lasting 10 weeks long and it's a night filled with magnificent dreams from which I haven't woken up yet. You have. Whether the festival ends tomorrow night or Monday -- and regardless of how it ends - as far as I can see it's the Greatest Story Being Told. And we're all a part of the telling. Back to Resources Page |