Why I Will Not Renew My St. Louis Blues Season Tickets

The NHL does not deserve its fans

Readers know that hockey is a major part of my life.

The St. Louis Blues were born in October, 1967, the month I turned four. My mom let me go to bed with a transistor radio on the nightstand tuned to KMOX each night. My bed time coincided with the start time of Blues games in those days, 8:00, and usually fall asleep shortly after hearing Dan Kelly’s recorded voice announce, “The St. Louis Blues are on the air!” followed by the opening of Glenn Miller’s “St. Louis Blues March,” and Dan Kelly reading a list of sponsors, including “STP—it’s the racer’s edge,” and “Falstaff—the choicest product of the brewer’s art.”

Like many kids my age, I collected the coupons on Colonial Bread wrappers that, along with six dollars, were redeemed for two tickets in the “yellow seats” of the old Arena. In my later grade school years (Catholic schools are typically K-8), my friends would fill the last pew at Epiphany of Our Lord Church on Smiley Avenue for the 5:00 p.m. Saturday Mass, then walk the two or so miles from Epiphany to 6800 Oakland Avenue to watch the Blues: Garry Unger, Bernie Federko, Brian Sutter, Wayne Babych, Joe Michelletti. This tradition continued into the 1980s when Mike Liut showed up and gave the Blues a chance with his magnificence in goal.

Hockey was also the first organized sport I played—beginning with Learn to Play Hockey at Steinberg in Forest Park in 1973. And, to this day, my hockey bag is always ready to toss in the car for a drop-in game. My late father and sister Mary lived to see the Blues hoist the Cup in 2019, and that gives me more satisfaction than just about anything.

But the NHL has left its fan base to join the woke world of transsexualism and child mutilation. Even as far back as that 2018-2019 season, the Blues and the NHL humiliated me by celebrating a 9-year-old child who was currently undergoing sexual transition treatment at Barnes-Jewish Hospital. I’d invited a fellow conservative to the game, not realizing it was “Pride Night.” We remained seated and silent as our fellow fans nervously and politely applauded the boy-girl whose image appeared on the giant screens around the arena.

From there, the problems have only gotten worse. The NHL recently updated the terms of service for its mobile app, allowing the league to disable the accounts of fans who violate their woke policies anywhere on the internet.

Big Brother is watching us.

I deleted the app from my phone and emailed my season ticket account manager to let him know I will not be renewing and why.

I’m grateful, in a sense, that I don’t have to explain to my dad why I cancelled my tickets. Were he still alive, I’d probably lie—tell him I can’t afford them or I live too far away, or that downtown St. Louis is too dangerous, which is probably not a lie.

I almost got into an incident while walking to my car after a game last week, when a group of “youths” stood between my car and the one next to mine and refused make way for me to reach the driver’s door. I honestly face a moral conflict when asking friends to join me at Blues games because of the dangers of being downtown after dark. I would feel responsible if anything happened to my guests.

I wish the Blues players and coaches well. I pray other fans will let the league and their team know they will not economically support the league or their franchise until the NHL stops with the politics and focuses exclusively on the game. While I grew up wishing hockey would displace baseball as America’s pastime, I now cheer for its downfall until the owners come to the defense of their beleaguered fans.

Until then, adios, Blues.