Entering the gate with his ticket proudly pushed forward, he heard the words, “You’ve got to be kidding me,” from the ticket agent, folding his arms across his massive chest. He stared down at the boy in the blue zip-up jacket and shook his shaved head. “You can’t bring that thing in here.
The lad stood stock-still in the unfriendly shadow. In a state of disbelief, with the throng of anxious fans pressing in on him, he stared sorrowfully, then ever so slowly, he lowered his head and turned away, back into the darkness. Suddenly, the crestfallen child stopped, sharply turning and petitioning one more time, “Please sir, I can’t leave my dog Billy, he is my….” Before the boy could finish, the bald usher barked, “No mutts allowed! Beat it kid.”
It was at that very moment, as the street light exposed his miserable face to the gloomy, cold, fateful night (which was Wednesday, October 11th 1967 when the St. Louis Blues would play their first NHL game against the Minnesota North Stars), that the curse of the Billy dog was born. For it was at that precise tick in time that the boy was heard in a hail of tears and chatter, as he and his faithful dog ran from the crowded gate, “Them Blues ain’t ever gonna win the Stanley Cup, ever!”
And so it continues, forty-seven years later, the curse of the Billy dog still hangs from the rafters at every Blues playoff game, as a warning sign to Lord Stanley to stay away from this team.
All of this futility because of one act of cold-heartedness towards a young Blues fan and his dog Billy.
“Skeptical,” you say. “Who would enforce such a spell?” The enforcer of the whammy is none other than… the infamous Hockey Gods themselves.
Eternally stationed in front of the net, where the Blues shoot twice. Wielding two flaming sticks spinning like propellers, deflecting any potential game winning playoff goals into the stands.
Of course there have been a few exceptions to this ban, none bigger than the May 12, 1986, Monday Night Miracle…which fortuitously coincided with the 1986 Hockey Gods lockout.
But either way, the Curse is in full force and has shown no other signs of wavering until, of course, an equal and opposite – benevolent act – would be carried out by the new St. Louis Blues ownership group. Then, perchance, the Hockey Gods would convene and vote in favor of removing the curse and allowing one of the most formidable teams ever amassed by the St. Louis Blues franchise to throw their hat into the rink and truly contend, for the first time in their history, and be allowed to capture the glorious Lord Stanley’s Cup.
Exactly how can this be accomplished?
As fate would have it, our protagonist is none other than Ron Baechle, A.K.A. “The Towel Guy”, who forty-seven years ago was spurned at the Pearly Gates of the St. Louis Arena.
It needs to be mentioned that the Towel Guy is in no way holding a grudge and has long ago let go of his disappointment.
He now serves as a sterling example for all loyal Blues fans.
And yet the curse he set into motion by his anguished cry still looms large over the franchise.
To balance the scales of justice we here at the Toast Dispatch suggest the St. Louis Blues right the wrong bequeathing to Ron Baechle – The Towel Guy and his wife tickets for the entire playoffs.
Tweet @StLouisBlues Buy tickets for the Towel Guy #liftthecurse
May the Hockey Gods have mercy on our souls.
– Amen Brother
P.S. To Guarantee a Blues Dynasty we recommend that annually on October 11th the Captain, David Backes, lay a wreath of Mr. Barky’s Organic Dog Biscuits on the grave of Billy the dog.