Sometime during the 1960s I became a New York Ranger’s fan.

            What was I thinking?

            Throughout high school, I suffered various indignities at the hands of Canadian’s and Bruin’s fans, and later when the NHL expanded, Islander’s and Flyer’s fans. In most years, during the months of April through June, I simply went into hiding, covering my face when going out in public. I hid my Ranger’s memorabilia. I didn’t dare wear one of their jerseys, even as a pajama top around the house.

            This masochism continued through the 70s, the 80s and the early 90s. At one point I went out and bought a San Jose Shark’s jersey to wear in protest when they were the worst team in the NHL.

            But then in 1994, 57 years after winning their previous Stanley Cup, the Rangers managed to put it all together. Who can forget Mark Messier’s gutsy prediction in the Devil’s series that year: “We will win Game 6.”

            It was wonderful. I had finally been vindicated.

            The feeling didn’t last long. Over the ensuing years, the Rangers hardly made the playoffs. And if they did, it only served to prolong the agony for a few more weeks.

            1994 had been an aberration; a once in a lifetime event never to be repeated.

            The Rangers have not made the playoffs since 1997. They are beset with an unshakable schneid—like the “Curse of the Bambino” on ice. 

            I had hoped for better this year. The team was young, they had Jaromir Jagr, a superstar who, despite possibly having his best years behind him, could still put the puck in the net.

            But as usual, the Ranger’s fate was seemingly sealed. And this year’s performance was especially cruel.

            After having taken over sole possession of first place for almost the entire season and Jagr leading the league in goals, the Rangers underwent a choke so catastrophic even a hockey size Heimlich maneuver could not save them from ultimate collapse.   

            They put together a losing streak during the last weeks of the regular season and like a wounded Fokker with an engine fire, they spiraled downward from first to third place in their division. For this, they drew their rivals, the New Jersey Devils, in the first round of the playoffs.

            ESPN’s Barry Melrose said before the start of the Rangers-Devils series that this match-up was the series to watch.

            If you were a Ranger’s fan, it was the series to miss.

            In Game 1, the Ranger’s game plan was to play a man short the entire game—or so it seemed. They took one stupid penalty after another. The final score, 6-1 included a record-setting five power play goals for the Devils. But the epitome of stupidity was when Jagr, who for the entire season had sat out penalty killing situations, found himself on the ice. In an incomprehensible cheap shot that I still cannot erase from my mind despite numerous sessions with my hypnotist, he stiff-armed Scott Gomez only serving to injure himself in the process. That sidelined him for Game 2 and obliterated his effectiveness for the rest of the series.

            Nonetheless, hope springs eternal for Ranger’s fans. But just when you thought it couldn’t get worse, it did. In Game 2, the Rangers allowed the Devils a pair of short-handed goals, losing 4-1.

            The Rangers limped back across the river to Madison Square Garden. At least they would have the home crowd behind them. I was banking on Barry Merlrose’s prediction. He earns a lot of money commenting about the NHL. Certainly he must have known something I didn’t.

            Jagr returned for Game 3, pumped full of pain killers and wearing a brace. He was totally ineffective as the Blueshirts suffered the ultimate indignity, getting shutout 3-0 in front of a stunned Garden crowd.

            Saturday, 3:00 p.m., Game 4. What to do? Endure further indignity or hope for a miracle? I turned on the T.V. I’m a Ranger’s fan.

            Less than a minute into the game Jagr was checked into the boards. He crumpled into a heap and was helped off the ice. Not a good sign, I thought. But then the Rangers scored first to take a 1-0 lead, their first in the playoffs. Was it possible? Could they pull off a miracle on ice and win four straight?

            I had already gone on record with one editor last Friday, when, in the spirit of Mark Messier, I made this dramatic statement: “We will lose Game 4.” I felt a pang of guilt. How could I have spoken so rashly?

            But then the Devils tied the game, and then they went ahead. And then they went further ahead. And then they put it out of reach.

            They had beaten the Rangers in four straight games, outscoring them 17-3.

            I have gone back into hiding from public view. My Messier jersey is stuffed in my pajama drawer, one step closer to becoming a dust rag. Don’t bother e-mailing me. I am too busy watching the Yankees. n