"We Believe"
©1996-2008, Eric A. Seiden. All Rights Reserved.
The author may be e-mailed here

A brief introduction: I wrote this for the Florida Panthers Mailing List where it first appeared on 14 June 1996. LCS Guide to Hockey picked it up the following week. I have written many articles over the years, but this is the first time I got letters thanking me for writing something, and telling me that I made them cry. I sent the article to Doug MacLean, then coach of the Panthers. He called me and thanked me for the article too.

The Panthers would lose the Stanley Cup series to Colorado in four games, not winning a single one. But we, the fans, Believed. The final game of the Stanley Cup attracted what was the highest cable audience in South Florida history with a 28.6 rating. Keep in mind that less than one-third of all South Florida homes had cable at that time making this an amazing feat.

It was an amazing game four. With under five minutes left in the third overtime, at 01:16 in the morning. Over six hours after the game started, the Panthers' dreams were shattered as Uwe Krupp slammed one past Beezer ending the 0-0 tie. At the beginning of the game 14,703 were there. At the end of the game 14,703 were there. And thirty minutes after the game 14,703 were still there.

"And in the end, the love that you take is equal to the love you make." -- The Beatles

South Florida has gone Cup Crazy. But we don't call it that here. It's just The Fever. If you have it, or say you have it, everyone knows what you mean. They have it too. There is no cure for The Fever. Even now, after the Cup run is over, many people still have The Fever. Nobody wants to be cured of The Fever.

Stanley Cup Fever snuck up on the Panthers and their fans. Sure, we were going to the playoffs and it was really cool. But, this is South Florida. We have the Marlins who may never see the playoffs. [Bad call, eh? -- 1998] We have the Heat who gets to the playoffs and gets blown right back out. We have the Dolphins who just can't quite hold it together. Even the Hurricanes (U of M) are on the downswing. So, South Florida is used to sports disappointments. We just don't get excited much anymore. Why bother? We're just going to be let down.

The last time we, as South Floridians, came together as a community for any reason excluding natural disaster was in 1972 for the Miami Dolphins' perfect season. But that was 24 years ago. Since then we have endured riots, bitter politics, and the community has been torn apart many times. We put on a great show for the tourists who come down, but we are not Together.

And then came the Florida Panthers. The Real Fans who've stuck with the team through victory and defeat for all three of the years we've had a team, were of course pleased. We all got Cup Crazy with The Fever early on. Then came the media. And during the Boston series, people began to act a little funny. Flags with the Panthers logo began to fly from car windows and radio antennae. Then we beat Boston.

The Fever began to spread. A Ticket was a valuable thing. And then came "We Believe." Yes. We Believe. And the Fever swept through town. Buildings lit themselves up in Panther colours. Signs were hung from buildings, warehouses, and trees. Everywhere there were Panthers clothes, hats, flags, towels, banners, and merchandise.

And of course there were Rats. Over the course of the season, the team estimates it swept $55,000 worth of rats off the ice. During the season, the intrepid fan had to go to a Magic shop or a hockey supply store to get rats. But now Rats were everywhere. Big rats. Small rats. A $3800 diamond encrusted rat. Then suddenly, a shortage. Rats were nowhere to be found. They were being flown in from around the country. Friends called friends in other cities. "I HAVE TO HAVE RATS! FED-EX SOME RATS!" And the Fever spread like the Plague. And then we beat Philadelphia.

And the community became One. The politicians stopped arguing and gave funds for putting up banners on the highways. The Arena was draped in a giant banner. A giant bronze statue of a real Florida Panther was put outside the Arena. Sports bars were packed. Many ran out of liquor for the first time ever. Lines to get into a Panthers TV viewing party were blocks long.

In a town where less than a third of the population has cable, an invitation to a viewing party for a Panthers Playoff game was the ultimate status symbol. People who never before saw hockey tried it. And they were hooked. They too got the Fever, for it was contagious. All over South Florida, people all wore one thing: Panthers clothes. Companies waived their dress codes. Spontaneous cheers erupted. And the town was One. And We Believed. And then we beat Pittsburgh. And through every Colorado game, we still Believed.

It's now a few days after what I consider to be one of the greatest moments in Florida Panthers history, that being game four of the Stanley Cup Finals. In fact, I'm not sure I can name any game in team history that was greater. Sure, the scoreboard said we lost the game in six periods. That is the merest of technicalities. Nobody who watched the game would dare say the Panthers lost. No, we didn't lose anything.

After a game, a fan leaves feeling either happy or sad depending on how the game turned out. Despite the fact the scoreboard showed we lost, and despite the fact Colorado was taking home the Stanley Cup, I left the game feeling like I usually do, coming off a huge win. I felt better after this game than after game seven of the Pittsburgh series, which was a huge moment for the team. I don't have the words to describe what I and my fellow fans felt, but I will try.

This game was a definitive Panthers game, perhaps the definitive Panthers game. The Panthers played with grit, determination, and Heart and Soul™. It was a perfect Panthers game and the perfect way to show what this team was made of. The game, for the Panthers, was played for pride. When any team is down in a series 3-0, there isn't much else to play for. History bears this out with statistical brutality.

No team was going to lose this game. It might have gone on forever, and that's why it did go to six periods. Patrick Roy and John Vanbiesbrouck were going to save the game for their team. And they both did. And the funny thing was, both teams left last night's game victorious. The Avalanche won the Stanley Cup, but the Panthers won something more important: pride, honour, respect, and loyalty. I personally would not trade the outcome of that game for a Stanley Cup, and most fans here wouldn't either. The Cup just isn't as important as what the Panthers earned last night. A few days later, the fans would return the favour to the team for their gift to us.

The initial shock of the Avalanche goal in the early hours of Tuesday morning was met with total silence for about 30 seconds, though it seemed like an hour. There were no boos. A deluge of rats piled up at John Vanbiesbrouck's feet as the Panther fans chanted "Beezer." Even at that moment, we knew who really won.

As each Panther skated off the ice, after shaking the hands of the opposing team, that Panther was given a cheer: a heartfelt meaningful cheer. How then to describe the cheer given to John Vanbiesbrouck? No words. Absolutely, no words will ever describe what the fans gave to John Vanbiesbrouck as he left the ice. We Believe. We still do. To the 14,703 fans like myself that were there, you know what it felt like, but damned if you can describe it.

Then the Panthers were gone, and the fans applauded the Avalanche. Every Avalanche player except Claude Lemieux was cheered in turn as he held Lord Stanley's Cup. Why not cheer? They have the Cup and we won the game.

All season long, I've always joked with my friend Jan that every Panthers game he watches, we lose. In the few seconds after the Avalanche scored that final goal, I was ready to call Jan and tell him another Panthers loss was his fault. But, no, I didn't call him to berate him for cursing the team because the Panthers did not lose that game. So Jan, you may mark this down as a game you watched that the Panthers won and there's nobody who'd even try to argue.

The Panther season has come to a close, and it is with the joy of victory I say this and not the sadness of defeat: THE CATS WILL NOT DIE. We were declared dead before Boston. The Cats Will Not Die. We were declared dead before Philadelphia. The Cats Will Not Die. And we were declared very dead before the onslaught of the Penguins, but The Cats Will Not Die. The Panthers will live forever because We Believe. How do you explain "We Believe" to someone who isn't a Panthers fan? It's not something described with words, but emotions from deep within your heart and your soul. "We Believe" is something you have, but keep secret from the world, only to be shared with those you really love. It's something you feel in your heart and in your mind because it's the Cats, and you know The Cats Will Not Die. And the Cats did not die. WE BELIEVE.

So how about those Panthers? Who would have believed we would go to the Stanley Cup Finals? And win.

And now, the fans got their turn to give back to the team that gave so much to this community. "Nobody remembers losers," said Ed Jovanovski early in the Colorado versus Florida series.

Eddie, I hate to correct you, but you are wrong. You're right when you say nobody remembers losers. But the Panthers aren't losers. The team on the ice for game four wasn't composed of anyone who was a loser. Nor was anyone defeated in that game. "Defeat" and "loser" are two words that don't apply to the Florida Panthers. The Panthers are winners. The scoreboard did indeed read 1-0. That was Panthers 1 -- All-Other-NHL-Teams 0.

On, Wednesday, June 12th, the Florida Panthers and their fans came together one more time at the Miami Arena for what was called a "pep rally." That's a very bad term for what took place. It was a love-fest. The fans love for their team. Planners usually think of everything. The event was scheduled for one hour. Gates were to open a half hour early. The first 14,000 were to be admitted. About 10,000 were expected. Not all plans work as written. The planners did not understand "We Believe."

Miami Arena has two main entrances each consisting of banks of 16 doors. One is on the east side and one is on the west side. Both entrances are reached by walking up thirty steep sets of stairs.

Two hours before the event was scheduled, all of the doors were blocked by people lined up six deep. Ninety minutes before the event, the stairs to the Arena were wall-to-wall people half way down on both sides. I don't mean normal crowd sparsity where people clump in groups and talk with friends while waiting. I mean SOLID people: can't move an inch solid with people.

One hour before the event, the crowd at the Arena was so deep and dense, people were lined up in the surrounding streets blocking traffic. Alone, this was enough people to fill the Arena. And still they came: by car, bus, train, taxi, and on foot. Fifty-five minutes before the event, and twenty-fine minutes ahead of schedule, the doors opened by order of the police to allow the crowd in and off the street that was now congested by traffic unable to bypass the sea of people.

Fifteen minutes before the event, the Arena was full and still the area outside was swamped. As the event started, the people still poured in. Nobody wanted to shut the door on the Panther fans who came. Finally, 15,550 Panther Fans later they were forced to shut the doors because there just was no more room, leaving thousands more stranded out in the rain. Did those left in the rain leave? No. Of course not. They cheered, they chanted, and they offered support from outside. Because they know what "We Believe" means.

Inside, before the event started, the fans watched videos, chanted, cheered, shouted, and vied for the best seats. Yes, I too "Believe" and I love my team; that's why I went -- ditching work early to do so. That's why everyone went. These same feelings showed the same way on every face. Everyone shared a special kinship. And together, We Believed.

Then, the lights went out and the first speakers came to the podium to speak. There were the disc jockeys with songs they made earlier in the season. "It's Raining Rats Hallelujah" which was the most popular tune of all, was played as the crowd sang along. Six disc jockeys later, the media's turn was done.

The Prince of Wales Trophy arrived carried by a butler in white gloves. It was tenderly placed stage left on a special podium. It was followed by Wayne Huizenga who came out to some cheers and some boos. He was introduced as "the man who will keep your team here." Hypocrite. After that brief bit of unpleasantness, the coaches and assistants were introduced and came out one by one, tossing rats to the crowd. Who got the biggest cheer? Doug MacLean of course. One of many standing ovations.

Next, the players were introduced in alphabetical order (excluding some guy named John Vanbiesbrouck). Then there was a cheer that would have sent the Avalanche home without the Cup in fear for their lives had it been heard at the game. It was, without any doubt, the loudest "Beezer" chant that will ever be heard. He had tears in his eyes as he walked up the aisle tossing rats to the fans. I had tears too and I'm not ashamed.

There were speeches by the staff and coaches. To the delight of everyone, Doug MacLean was drenched with a Gatorade cooler full of ice water by Ed Jovanovski and Rhett Warrener. Then, they played the Panther TV commercials [each Panther starred in his own TV commercial in the early part of the season] and called each player who stared in them to the podium while they played his commercial. Some had brief words for the fans, others were too choked up to talk.

Then, it was time for the Beezer's speech. It took some time for the crowd to be silenced, but then it got so quiet you could hear the rats crawling away from Scott Mellanby. Beezer thanked the fans and the team. Don't thank us, John, thank YOU. We Believe. And you were the one who made us Believe.

And then it was over. But it's ok, because we won. And We Still Believe.