For diehard Montreal Canadiens fans, the capriciousness with which people jump on and off the Habs bandwagon must be incredibly frustrating, especially during the playoffs when folks with no prior connection to hockey declare a sudden interest in the team’s fate.

Accordingly, I understand if you don’t wish to hear about yet another person falling in love with this team.

But, for the sake of posterity, I would like to tell my story anyway; the story of how an Englishman with only a tentative grasp of hockey became besotted with Canada’s most fabled sports team, and everything it represents.

It all began in January when, as a professional sportswriter, I was working on a detailed feature article about the mystique and universal allure of the New York Yankees, arguably the most famous sports team in the world. While researching, I began looking at other giants of the sporting world, teams that transcend their game and belong to a more illustrious realm of importance. Naturally, I studied the Dallas Cowboys, Real Madrid and the Los Angeles Lakers, before stumbling across Le Club de Hockey Canadien, a team quite unlike any other in the passion it inspires and the history it creates.

As a passionate baseball fan for more than a decade, I have a pretty good understanding of the sporting landscape in North America, but hockey was never a strong point, by my own admission. I had a vague understanding of the Habs’ unique culture and standing, but required a detailed trawl through the Internet to fill gaps in my rudimentary knowledge. I read about the team’s tradition, and admired pictures of the Bell Centre, as a great sense of desire and excitement built up inside. With no easy way of watching hockey here in Britain, I began listening to Canadiens games through a neat radio app, satisfying my gripping curiosity for the team.

From that first moment listening to that first game, I was completely enthralled by the magic and majesty of Montreal Canadiens hockey. The sense of happening, the sense of deep and rich history, was palpable through the airwaves, as the roaring crowd created a miasma of expectancy. When I first heard the inimitable Michel Lacroix announce the starting lineups on an epochal Saturday night — “Mesdames et messieurs, ladies and gentlemen, accueillons nos Canadiens!” – I was totally and utterly amazed. With each passing name, so magical and beloved, the crowd grew louder, from Max Pacioretty to P.K. Subban and on to an earth-rumbling, goosebump-inducing crescendo: “Numero trente et un … number 31 … CAREY PRICE!”

Awesome. Just absolutely awesome.

I was completely caught up in the moment, which only got better when, for the first time, I heard the Bell Centre denizens rise as one to produce a spine-tingling rendition of O Canada. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, as the emotion of a nation came flooding through the radio speakers. I’ve rarely enjoyed a more compelling moment in a lifetime following sports and, at that moment, you could say I was totally won over for life.

As the weeks and months unfurled, I continued to listen and, through the distinguished play-by-play of Dan Robertson and Sergio Momesso, I became increasingly familiar with the players and their abilities.