This was written by Gabe, one of our summer interns. The opinions expressed herein do not reflect those of Civitas other than respect for the value of open dialogue.
It is far simpler for something to have always been a legend, than it is to pinpoint the exact moment when a story transcends reality to become legendary. I’m not quite sure if I believe the “Gloria” story: that, at an Eagles/Bears NFC Wild Card watch party in a bar in Philly, Alexander Steen, Joel Edmundson, Robert Bortuzzo, Jaden Schwartz, and Robby Fabbri witnessed something a bit of a legend itself. Supposedly, at a commercial break, the DJ played “Gloria” and a faceless, nameless, Philadelphian hero called for the song to be repeated and repeated and repeated, and the DJ, who himself must have been a bit of hero, obliged the man and the song echoed and echoed and echoed. And, even though I’m not sure if I believe that story, I love that story, because I love music and know what it can do for people. Apparently, the Blues do too, even if they aren’t aware of it.
The following day the Blues were set to play the Philadelphia Flyers. The five who were at the bar played “Gloria” for the rest of the team before the game, no doubt sharing the story of the unknown Philadelphian rousing a bar around a pop song from 1982 by Laura Branigan. Then, the Blues smoked the Flyers, and then they kept winning, all the way to the Stanley Cup.
St. Louis hockey this year was the stuff of legend. Every detail seeming more absurd and yet completely natural: the head coach was fired and replaced by a man who had little experience coaching anything; they were bottom of the league and turned the entire season around; they beat a sharp, fast team from Boston in seven games, winning three of their games on the road; they brought up a new goalie from the minor leagues who was frighteningly stoic and talented; and they even befriended a child with a rare illness, bringing her onto the ice to kiss the cup with the rest of them.
And at the center of that legend was a pop song from 1982 that was played everywhere.
I never really cared for hockey growing up. Soccer was far more interesting to me, because I could see the ball in motion and tell what was going on when I watched those games. The first hockey game I watched was the SLUH-DeSmet high school state hockey finals in 2018, where SLUH handedly took the state title. I only vaguely followed the NHL season this year. I had heard the Blues were poised for a Stanley Cup run, which was cool off hand, but I didn’t think it would go anywhere. I’d heard the Blues consigned to mediocrity, the Cubs of hockey. The Cubs had broken their 100-year drought less than five years ago though.
During what seemed like a particularly difficult series against the Dallas Stars, my friends who were embroiled in hockey, and the little radio I consumed, seemed satisfied though saddened by how the season appeared. So, the Blues wouldn’t make it to the Stanley Cup again – the season was already an impressive feat – no one saw them going this far anyway.
And then y98 made a promise, that if the Blues win game 7 against the Stars, they would only play one song: “Gloria” for 24 hours. In double overtime, the Blues upheld their end of the bargain, and y98 returned in tune.
With any legend, it is easy to be passive, to watch from the sidelines and say “Wow, look at them go!” In fact, I would go so far as to call this the default. To fully emboss yourself into a team (or anything, really) takes a certain dedication that does not come easily and for many does not come naturally. That’s not to say it can’t happen, even to those who struggle to achieve it. Perhaps the best example is the 2017 World Series, where the Houston Astros found themselves in game 7 against the Dodgers, two months after Hurricane Harvey. The Astros won, and I’ll never forget the picture of a man and his wife sitting in lawn chairs in the gutted interior of their home, watching a tv with the game running. That picture displays the best of sports, and more importantly, what it means to belong.
St. Louis did not have a hurricane to rally us behind the Blues. St. Louis had “Gloria.” What “Gloria” did was put a legend into our hands. It gave us the possibility to hold something specific and run alongside everyone else involved. After game seven, the entire Enterprise Center belted “Gloria” together, Y98 once again played 24 (26 really, they started at 10:00pm) hours of “Gloria.” I listened to it on my way to the office, and so did the car next to me at a stoplight, and the car I passed on Lindbergh, and the car that let me merge onto Olive. The song was everywhere really, and by extension, so were the Blues.
“Gloria” was the best part of the Stanley Cup because it let everyone in. It was the catalyst for celebration. If you didn’t know squat about hockey, that was fine, you could sing along with the rest and cheer with the same energy. If you knew the intricacies of the game, cool, you still sang “Gloria.” If you were bafflingly drunk and found yourself at the microphone at the rally downtown, you attempted to sing “Gloria” and slurred the chorus and belted off-key, but it was okay because everyone knew what you meant and cheered along.
So play “Gloria,” and play whatever it is you need to so that you can walk in tandem with the city and people you love.
