The top ten NHL fanbases have something the standings cannot measure: a way of making strangers act like they have known each other for years. An arm goes around a shoulder. Someone starts singing. Three rows join in before the next faceoff.
Getting soaked outside an arena will not change the score in Boston. Toronto fans have done it anyway. Throwing an octopus cannot help a Detroit defenseman clear the crease. Try explaining that to someone who grew up hearing about eight arms and eight playoff wins.
These customs give supporters something to do with all that nervous energy. They also give children a reason to ask their parents what happened here before they arrived.
We ranked these fanbases by the distinctiveness of their rituals, their staying power, and the part supporters play in keeping them alive. Stanley Cup rings and sellout streaks matter. For this list, though, the strongest traditions put the crowd at the center of the story.
10 Toronto Maple Leafs and the gathering at Maple Leaf Square
The game might be in Massachusetts. The misery, hope, and arguments about the last penalty remain very much in Toronto.
Maple Leaf Square, just west of Scotiabank Arena, gives Leafs supporters a place to experience playoff hockey together outside the building. This is the same space widely known as Jurassic Park during Raptors games, a distinction documented by Sports Business Journal.
One gathering captures the appeal. NHL.com’s 2023 playoff arena guide recalled roughly 3,000 supporters watching Game 5 against Boston in the rain in 2013.
That is a considerable commitment to watching a screen. Staying home would offer a dry seat, a shorter bathroom line and control of the remote.
The square offers something else: witnesses. When a shot hits the post, everyone recoils together. After a goal, nobody needs an introduction before celebrating. Toronto’s outdoor gathering turns a distant road game into a local event, complete with thousands of people who understand exactly why your hands are shaking.
9 New York Rangers and the goal song that needs no introduction
First comes the horn. Then Madison Square Garden stretches out the “whoa” before punching through the familiar five-part response: “Hey … hey … hey, hey, hey!”
“Slapshot” debuted in 1995, when the Rangers raised their Stanley Cup banner. In ESPN’s reporting on the song, published by ABC7, composer Ray Castoldi explained how he built space between the initial celebration and the crowd’s entrance. People needed time to finish screaming before they could sing.
That small musical decision understands hockey crowds perfectly. A goal produces several seconds of happy disorder. The song gives everyone somewhere to land.
Castoldi also acknowledged that it took years to catch on. Familiarity did the work.
By December 2016, supporters could carry it themselves. NHL.com documented a game against Chicago when an interrupted celebration left fans finishing the song without accompaniment.
The speakers stopped. The Garden did not. That is the point at which arena entertainment becomes a crowd’s property.
8 Chicago Blackhawks and the noise before the opening faceoff
Chicago does not wait for a scoring chance to make its first contribution. Fans stand, clap and roar through the national anthem, surrounding the singer’s voice with a sound that keeps building.
The Chicago Sun-Times traces the custom to 1985. Its reporting also captured players describing the anthem as part of their preparation for the game. Forward Drake Caggiula explained how the crowd’s early involvement helped energize the team.
The ritual reached a huge television audience at the 1991 All-Star Game. As WBUR recounted, Wayne Messmer sang at Chicago Stadium shortly after the Gulf War began, with supporters delivering an extraordinary accompaniment.
Its durability matters as much as that famous performance. The anthem gives a routine home game a recognizable opening, regardless of the opponent.
Before a puck slides across the ice, the crowd has already established where the game is taking place. Close your eyes and listen. Chicago identifies itself.
7 Nashville Predators and the people in Cellblock 303
An opposing goaltender concedes, then hears his surname dragged out by people sitting high above the ice. The chant builds toward an accusation: the goal, apparently, was entirely his fault.
Nashville’s crowd found its voice partly through Cellblock 303. NewsChannel 5’s reporting dates the section’s organized cheering to the Predators’ first home game in October 1998.
Mark Hollingsworth and his friends chose seats with an angle they liked. During that first game, he stood and told nearby supporters that his group intended to cheer, make noise, and enjoy themselves. Others could join them.
Someone had to make that invitation. Before a chant sounds inevitable, it sounds like a few people trying something.
The section gave newcomers a place to look and listen. Miss the words once, catch them the next time, then join the accusation.
Nashville earns this position because its supporters helped write the building’s script from the beginning. Their tradition has an address, an origin story, and people willing to teach the next arrival.
6 Vancouver Canucks and the white towel that meant defiance
Roger Neilson’s 1982 protest amounted to a white towel on a hockey stick. Vancouver supporters turned it into an emblem they could whirl above their heads.
The coach raised the towel in mock surrender during Game 2 against Chicago, angry with the officiating. UPI’s contemporary account described what followed: thousands of towel-waving fans greeted the Canucks for Game 3 at the Pacific Coliseum.
The joke changed meaning as it traveled from the bench to the seats. Neilson had signaled frustration. Supporters answered with solidarity.
There is no mystery to joining in. Grip one corner, raise your arm, and follow the people beside you. From across the rink, individual towels become a moving white surface.
The story also survives through an unusually concrete memorial. Vancouver’s oral history of Towel Power describes the statue outside Rogers Arena depicting Neilson with his towel raised.
Fans can see the original gesture before taking their seats. Once inside, they get to repeat it.
5 Boston Bruins and the anthem the crowd carried
On April 17, 2013, Rene Rancourt began the national anthem at TD Garden. Then he lowered his microphone and let the crowd finish.
Two days had passed since the Boston Marathon bombings. The Bruins’ game against Buffalo became the city’s first major sporting event after the attack.
Boston.com’s account of the evening documented a blue-and-yellow memorial ribbon projected onto the ice. Supporters sang from the stands. Afterward, both teams gave the crowd a stick salute.
This was not an ordinary pregame performance, and treating it as another example of crowd intimidation would miss its meaning.
The familiar ceremony gave people a way to stand together while the city grieved. Singing required no explanation and offered no solution. It simply gave everyone the same next line.
Boston’s place here rests on what that night revealed about its relationship with the Bruins. An arena built for cheering could also hold sorrow. The people in the seats understood what the occasion required.
4 Edmonton Oilers and Paul Lorieau’s raised microphone
Paul Lorieau knew the song. He also knew when to let someone else sing it.
During Game 3 of the 2006 Western Conference final, Edmonton’s longtime anthem singer opened “O Canada,” then pointed his microphone toward the crowd. Sportsnet’s account recalled supporters taking over the remaining lines.
The gesture was direct enough for everyone to understand. Lorieau raised his arm. Fans supplied the volume.
That exchange gives the Edmonton anthem its particular appeal. A singer who could command the room instead invited the room to carry him.
Another familiar song connects celebration with remembrance. In its 2024 playoff reporting, NHL.com explained that the Oilers play “La Bamba” in memory of Joey Moss, their beloved longtime attendant.
One song belongs before the contest; the other follows victory. Both keep particular people close to the crowd.
That matters in a sport so often told through scorers and captains. Edmonton’s soundtrack also remembers the people who helped make the team feel like home.
3 Winnipeg Jets and the Whiteout
Look across a Winnipeg playoff crowd and the color does the talking. White jerseys fill the rows. Matching sleeves rise when the home team threatens.
The Winnipeg Whiteout dates to 1987. The NHL’s 2023 Jets playoff guide explains its origin: supporters of the original Jets wore white in response to Calgary’s red-clad crowds.
An opponent’s display gave Winnipeg something to answer. Fans answered together.
The custom asks for preparation before anyone reaches the arena. Choosing a shirt becomes part of getting ready for the game, alongside checking the starting goaltender or arguing about the lines.
Sportsnet’s account of the 2018 playoffs captured the spectacle inside and the gathering outside. The Whiteout had become bigger than the seated audience.
Its strength comes from how little separates the spectator from the show. Nobody needs permission to contribute. Each person adds one more patch of white until the whole place changes.
A camera can capture the result. Supporters have to create it.
2 Detroit Red Wings and the octopus from the fish market
A dead octopus lands on immaculate ice. Among hockey’s stranger sights, Detroit’s favorite good-luck symbol remains difficult to beat.
The origin belongs to Pete and Jerry Cusimano, brothers who ran a fish market. As LiveAbout’s historical account explains, their 1952 celebration connected the animal’s eight arms with the eight playoff victories then required to win the Stanley Cup.
The math explains the beginning. It cannot explain why the custom survived a playoff format that now demands twice as many wins.
For that, consider the object itself. This was something handled at work, carried from a market into a hockey arena and given an entirely different purpose.
Detroit’s industrial identity makes that origin feel particularly fitting. The ritual came from working people bringing something of their daily lives into the game. Its awkwardness helped it endure.
A sleek promotional campaign could never improve the basic image: eight arms against white ice. Generations of Red Wings supporters have needed no caption.
1 Montreal Canadiens and the torch passed through generations
On March 11, 1996, the Canadiens played their final game at the Montreal Forum. The ceremony afterward made leaving the building feel like a responsibility.
Former captains passed a torch toward Pierre Turgeon, the man who would lead the team into its new arena. The Hockey Hall of Fame’s account identifies Maurice Richard and Jean Béliveau among those who carried it. The Hockey Writers’ history also names Henri Richard, Yvan Cournoyer, Serge Savard, Bob Gainey and Guy Carbonneau in the relay.
Those names supplied the weight. The torch gave everyone something to watch move from one generation to another.
Richard’s reception provided the evening’s emotional center. Contemporary wire reporting described him standing with tears in his eyes as supporters applauded.
Montreal takes first because its ceremonies make the past a participant in the game. Former players return, supporters recognize them, and children hear the names again.
The danger of history is that it can become background decoration. At its best, Montreal makes people stop talking and look.
The crowd keeps the tradition alive
A child sees an adult raise a towel and copies the movement. Somewhere in the next few minutes comes the question: why do we do this?
The answer keeps a tradition alive. Someone explains Neilson’s frustration, the Cusimano brothers’ arithmetic, or the night Lorieau handed his song to the crowd. An old clip can help. So can a relative who remembers where they were standing.
These top ten NHL fanbases offer different ways into the same experience. Nashville lets a newcomer learn the chants by listening upstairs. Winnipeg asks for a white shirt. Toronto provides a gathering place for people watching a game hundreds of miles away.
Their futures depend partly on whether people can still reach those places. Traditions need affordable seats, public gatherings and regular supporters who return often enough to recognize one another. A recording can preserve a chant. It takes people to start it again after a bad period.
Players retire, buildings close and championship teams scatter. The crowd carries the familiar sounds into the next season, then teaches somebody new when to join in.
That is what makes these traditions worth ranking. They give supporters a lasting part in the game, whether their team wins the Cup or misses the playoffs. The next roster will wear the sweater. The people in the seats will give it a home.
READ MORE: Ranking the most dedicated NHL fanbases using attendance and engagement data
FAQs
Which NHL fanbase ranks first for its traditions?
Montreal ranks first in this article. Its torch ceremonies connect former captains, current players, and supporters across generations.
Why do Detroit Red Wings fans throw octopuses?
The tradition began in 1952 with fish-market brothers Pete and Jerry Cusimano. Eight arms represented the eight playoff victories then needed to win the Cup.
When did the Winnipeg Whiteout start?
The Winnipeg Whiteout began in 1987. Supporters of the original Jets wore white to answer Calgary’s red-clad crowds.
Why do Vancouver Canucks fans wave white towels?
Roger Neilson raised a towel in mock surrender during the 1982 playoffs. Fans adopted the gesture to support the Canucks.
What is Cellblock 303 in Nashville?
Cellblock 303 is a Predators supporters’ section that helped establish the arena’s chants. Its organized cheering began at Nashville’s first home game in October 1998.
