The Coliseum, Cancer, and Cockroaches: The Islanders are My Model of Persistence
*Written by Jim O’Brien, @jobnotjob on Instagram*
On Friday, June 25th, 2021, New York Islanders fans officially said goodbye to Nassau Coliseum. It’s gone by many names; “Fort Neverlose,” “The Old Barn,” “The Coli,” “A Dump But It’s Our Dump,” the list goes on. Like a cockroach refusing to die, this fabled arena that a vile, sentient power tried to shutter time and time again has finally closed its doors. Just when you think you’ve rid yourself of cockroaches, they come back. We all have our own cockroaches: some we love, some we hate, but all cockroaches share the trait of persistence.
It’s only fitting that during the last two seasons at the Old Barn, a place full of its own cockroaches, those pesky Islanders embraced a cockroach identity. They’ve demonstrated a high amount of resilience and haven’t keeled over when things got tough.
Unfortunately, I’ve had my own personal cockroach to deal with, except this one is lethal. On September 28, 2019, I was diagnosed with Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia. Because my disease and treatment rendered me immunocompromised, I couldn’t go to the Coli — I had to watch all Islanders games on TV. Brendan Burke, Butch Goring, Shannon Hogan, AJ Mleczko, and an emerging Islanders team were the only consistent things in my life during a time of wild uncertainty. I achieved remission in January 2020 and received a 10/10 unrelated match bone marrow stem cell transplant on February 28, 2020. I was transplanted in the midst of Covid-19 breaking out in New York where I was treated.
When Covid broke out a week into my month-long hospital stay for the transplant, hockey stopped. I was completely lost. The most consistent thing I had during treatment was taken away from me, albeit for good reason.
Fast forward 5 months to July 2020. Islanders hockey comes back with a healthy Adam Pelech and newly acquired JG Pageau in tow. I’m recovered well from transplant, still in remission, and excited to safely have a few friends over to watch some of the games in my backyard. I cherish those memories of seeing my friends after so long, having some ice cold beers, and watching my favorite team compete for a shot at the Stanley Cup. Long Island summer nights are full of their own idiosyncrasies. Salty breezes, cooler air, and aimlessly staring into a starless sky beer in hand. Sprinkle in some Islanders playoff magic and you have yourself an intoxicating atmosphere incapable of being replicated anywhere else in the world.
Those nights of watching the Isles in my backyard made me feel normal for the first time since I was diagnosed. I had yearned for normalcy. I yearned for something to give me some hope. I yearned for a pleasant distraction from my mutinous bone marrow. And goddammit did those boys in the blue and orange sweaters deliver.
My expectations were on the floor due to the massive losing skid the Isles had put together at the end of that season. However, that band of cockroaches made quick work of both a rising Panthers team and a star-studded Capitals team. Philly gave them trouble, coming back down 3–1 in the series and pushing the Isles to the brink. But, the Islanders smothered them in Game 7 like an infestation and advanced. Unfortunately, the Isles ran into the eventual Cup champs in Tampa Bay, but despite being down 3–1 in the series, Eberle potted that memorable 2OT goal off a gorgeous rush from our skip Anders Lee in Game 5. Game 6 didn’t go the Isles way, but it left a lot of fans with hope, including myself who really needed some of it.
Cancer treatment is brutal for everyone involved, both patients and caregivers. Just when things look good, you might get blindsided by something new. “Cured” for leukemia patients is considered being in remission for 5 years with no relapses. That time frame is marked with constant paranoia and stressfully making contingency plans for if things go south. My leukemia had relapsed in late November 2020 and typically prognoses for relapsed leukemia are not very good. But in the midst of darkness, I remember that Isles 2020 squad. Not many expected anything out of them, yet they made the conference finals and gave the eventual Stanley Cup champs a good run for their money. They didn’t quit, believed in each other, listened to Barry Trotz, and came back the next season stronger.
I’m extremely lucky to have a huge support system and amazing medical care. I’ve been in active treatment since I relapsed with another transplant most likely on the horizon. I’m grateful to be back in remission as of January 2021, but as we now know, leukemia likes to come back. I moved to Houston in March for further treatment under the care of a world-class oncologist who believes that we have a good shot at curing my disease. Distance truly makes the heart grow fonder, as I was cheering for the Isles some 1,700 miles away from Nassau Coliseum. I watched every game with either my brother or two of my best friends (shoutout Shaun, Schurm, and Mike) who all flew down to Houston to act as my caregivers. I wore the same outfit for every game and ate an unfortunate amount of bratwurst out of pure superstition.
Islanders Fever also worked its way through my network of people like wildfire. My oncologist, friends, and coworkers all bought into the Isles. In a conceited roundabout way, I took it so that supporting the Islanders was a way to support me through treatment. Watching the Boston series from the hospital was a fantastic way to distract myself from the chemotherapy getting infused into my bloodstream. Knowing that I had a bunch of new hockey fans pulling for my favorite team felt like a warm group hug.
The memories made during the 2021 playoff run will stick with Isles fans and me forever. We’ll never forget the Cizikas OT goal in Boston or Pulock’s save at the end of Game 4 in the Semifinals in front of a sold-out Coliseum. Most importantly, we’ll cherish Semifinals Game 6 and all of its drama that not even Shakespeare could write: a come-from-behind win thanks to a nasty backhand from Eberle, a top-shelf snipe from the most hated man in Tampa, and a steal and score from Beauvillier in OT. As the beer cans and footwear rained down on the Coliseum ice and the Isles faithful belted “Right Back Where We Started From” by Maxine Nightingale—an anthem that reminds us that we’re back to our winning ways of yesteryear—I tuned out the ranting Eddie Olczyk and teared up a bit from my Houston apartment in the embrace of my friends. I believed. Unfortunately, Game 7 didn’t go the Isles way, and dreams of a parade down Hempstead Turnpike this year went up in smoke.
“It’s a lot of pain for this group. This group has a lot of character,” said Barry Trotz after the Isles lost Game 7 of the Semifinals to Tampa. But as we’ve come to know, Barry is (almost) always right and always poignant. The Islanders are obviously hurting. Pageau was injured against Tampa, and couldn’t finish checks or play like the spark plug we’ve all come to adore. Barzal was choking back tears thinking of guys like Josh Bailey and Andy Greene, who are late in their careers. Bailey, a surefire retired number, bluntly said it best himself; “It hurts.”
It’s natural for cancer patients to think of their own mortality on a daily basis. We loathe the “toxic positivity” mindset of “everything will work out fine” or “just think positive!” messages from non-patients. There’s a real possibility things don’t work out and it’s inconsiderate to completely ignore that. That’s why losing to the same team twice in a row in practically the same spot stings so much. For fans like me, we can’t help but think this was the one shot to maybe see a Stanley Cup in a potentially abbreviated lifetime.
However, the 2021 Islanders gave me a ton of hope. Hope is something that is not always innate. Sometimes you fail to make it for yourself. When you’ve made all the right moves and things go south — as I did going through my transplant—hope is scarce. When I relapsed, I thought, “this is it” and drafted a will my first night back in the hospital. The Islanders organization this past season made all the right moves, played the right way, and things still didn’t work out. As Captain Picard from Star Trek said, “That is not weakness. That is life.”
The Islanders still believe in themselves. The players may change, but the mission is still the same; bring a Stanley Cup to a fan base that lives and dies with them in every breath. Redemption is coming. Redemption for the John Spano fiasco, the Milbury transactions, Tavares leaving in free agency after leading us on, and the many other blunders that have marred this once esteemed franchise. I will always believe in this team with Barry Trotz at the helm. They’re a band of lovable cockroaches. Nasty, persistent, and never down for the count. They’re my role models to keep fighting through treatment and recovery. No matter how grim it gets, I look at the Islanders as a model to keep up the fight against my leukemia no matter what. I wanted nothing more than to be at the Coliseum, screaming my lungs out with my friends, sculling beers on top of the Yes Men ambulance, and singing “Piano Man” during intermission. The beautiful people of Isles Nation carried that torch for me in my absence.
I doubt this will get to the eyes of personnel in the Isles organization, but I am so incredibly grateful to have them. Thank you to the Islanders players. No matter where the road may take you after your time with this team, I will root for you. You played your hearts out and emptied the tanks in pursuit of your dreams and the dreams of Islanders fans across the globe. Thank you to Lou Lamoriello for building this team and being the tone at the top. Thank you to Barry Trotz, our fearless leader behind the bench. I will follow you into the lungs of Hell. Thank you to Jon Ledecky and Scott Malkin for buying this team and ushering in this new era of high expectations. Thank you to Isles Twitter, I cherish the ability to banter, celebrate, and commiserate with you guys. Thank you to Gotham Sports and James Duffy for this opportunity to dip my digital quill and air out these thoughts languishing in my mind. Thank you to all the other Isles fans who packed the Coli for a hell of a final ride and made it the loudest arena in hockey.
All of these people probably don’t realize how much they have lifted my spirits. They have instilled the hope in me I have been desperately searching for. Whenever I feel like things are bleak, I’ll look to this organization and remember: be a cockroach. Come back stronger than ever, don’t give up the fight, and make the things that break you rue the day they crossed you. This playoff run has instilled the hope in me that I’m going to pull through, rid myself of leukemia for good, and live to see this team hoist the Stanley Cup. I’ll see everyone next year at UBS Arena. Shake the Stable and let’s go Islanders.
With Love,
Jim O’Brien
