Fandom is personal.

It connects us to a core part of our evolution. Tribal instincts have dominated human behavior throughout our history, and being a fan of a sports team is no different. We wear the colors, we band together, we look out for each other, we create community, we bump heads with rival tribes.

The sudden removal of the source of that community bond is a betrayal that touches the depths of fundamental human emotion.

I keep wondering how we could all be so blindsided by an event that has been coming for 15 years. False promises, lies and misdirection are the likely culprits. 

Heartbreak, anger and grief prevail as the overwhelming sentiments. It’s a deep, emotional pain because losing a fandom, a team, a community, is a loss of identity. 

I became a Coyotes fan when I moved to Arizona in 2005. Compared to my birthplace of Toronto, Phoenix couldn’t be more drastically different. Mountains replaced skyscrapers, expanses of cacti replaced expanses of trees.

As I struggled to cling to any sort of familiarity as a 9-year-old in a new country, Coyotes games rooted me. I quickly identified with a team trying to find its way in an untraditional market. 

I adopted the Coyotes as my favorite team. Hockey became my passion in a way that it might not have had I stayed in Canada, where loving hockey is not unique. I embraced following the Coyotes and I loved sharing that passion with people. I marveled, watching the impact of the team on the Valley, and I found great joy in watching others fall in love with the game. 

The Coyotes became my North Star. The team was something to hold onto. No matter what was going on in my life, I would always have my fandom. Loving the Coyotes guided me to a career in journalism with the intention of eventually covering hockey. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine I would get to cover the team I grew up watching.

Through the Coyotes, I met new friends. I discovered a community of people who love the team as much as I do. I watched the passion for the sport grow around the Valley and even the state. For 19 years living here, I witnessed the impact of an NHL team in Arizona.

I went to Coyotes games with my dad when he would come to visit from Toronto. Talking about hockey connected us while we lived 2,000 miles apart. It was our thing to talk about until the day he died suddenly, six years ago.

When people ridicule, taunt, make fun of, and jest at the expense of a fanbase, it hurts. It hurts because fandom isn’t something you turn on at puck drop and turn off the moment that game ends. It’s something you live and breathe, something that shapes identity, friendships, families, communities, career paths. 

Coyotes fandom has never been an easy ride. The selfishness, greed, ignorance, lack of caring and egregious mistakes by various ownership groups have led to where things are today. 

But none of that should reflect on a fan base that has invested up to 28 years of time and energy and emotion and money. “Hockey the Hard Way” and “Scratchin’ and Clawin’” are all rallying cries rooted in a fundamental truth to the NHL experience here. 

If the Coyotes leave, it’s at the expense of a lot of people who have supported this team through years of turmoil and bullshit just for the hope of it one day working out. It’s at the expense of the growth of the game, of youth hockey, and for a lot of people, an escape from the turmoil of everyday life.

Fandom is personal. And the sudden dissolution of that fandom is personal, too.

Will we be OK in the end? Probably. But we may not ever forgive, and we certainly won’t ever forget.