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for the Red Wings, because they’re actually the closest NHL team to Faireville. They play just across the Detroit River, which is only a forty-five -minute drive across the county from Faireville. Not everyone is so patriotic that they feel they have to get behind a Canadian team; hell, a few guys around here even cheer for the Flyers and the Bruins. My dad thinks that these fans are traitors to their country, and he doesn’t mind telling them so when he’s watching a game on the big screens at one of the local bars.
    Just about everyone else in the arena roots for Montreal, because back a couple hundred years ago, the Brits kicked a bunch of the French out of what’s now Quebec, and they settled just up the road from Faireville in Rivière Lévesque, a village that isn’t big enough to have its own hockey team. I guess the Leveckers (that’s what we call them here in Faireville) still feel some connection to their former countrymen who stayed in Montreal; most of the Leveckers still speak French at home. Of all of the barroom fistfights that my dad has had over the years, most of them were with Hab-fan Leveckers.
    Me? Well, I secretly root for the Ottawa Senators, who are pretty much despised by Red Wings, Canadiens, and Leafs fans alike. Why the Senators? Because once, when I was just a little kid, my dad drove me to Ottawa in his truck to go see a Senators game, and it’s still one of the best memories I’ve got.
    When the Senators started back up as an NHL team, they played at the tiny Ottawa Civic Centre, because I guess they hadn’t earned enough money to build an NHL-size arena yet. Dad was running up to Ottawa to bring some supplies back to the factory anyway, and last-minute game tickets at the Civic Centre were pretty cheap, so he figured, “Why not take the kid to see a game?”
    Even though the Senators were beaten four-two by the Bruins that night, my dad and I had fun together. It was the last time I can remember him smiling at me, actually. It was the last time that he punched me just for sport; you know, on the shoulder, just for fun.
    Sometime during the third period, one of the Senators players challenged one of the Bruins to a fight for chopping one of his teammates on the ankle with his stick. The Senator lost the fight and skated off with a bloody nose, but my father stood up and cheered for the guy as he left the ice with a towel over his face.
    â€œThat’s the stuff, Aaron,” Dad said to me. “That’s the Code. You gotta stand up for your teammates when someone does them wrong. You gotta stand up for yourself, too. Even if you lose the battle, you win the war. Understand?”
    I told him that I did.
    Then Dad got all teary-eyed, like he sometimes does when he’s drunk, and he reached into the inside pocket of his parka and plucked out a simple silver ring.
    â€œThis is for you, kiddo. I won it fair and square in a poker game, so it’s a winner’s ring. It’s a lucky ring. I want you to have it.”
    The ring was engraved on the inside with the words Forever More . Even on my thickest finger the ring was loose, but I wore it anyway.
    We turned right around after the game and drove the eight hours back to Faireville, because Dad couldn’t afford for us to stay the night in a hotel room. We ran out of gas on the way home, though; in the middle of the night, in the dead of winter, in the middle of nowhere. That part was less fun. It did not put Dad in a very good mood.
    The Ottawa Senators set three NHL records during that inaugural season, by the way: the longest home losing streak (eleven games), the longest road losing streak (thirty-eight!), and the fewest road wins in a season (one). Still, I started rooting for them back then. My dad says that I’m a sucker for the underdog, and I guess that’s true. And the Senators did eventually get better.
    T he team that I play for, the Faireville Blue Flames, has a