New Islanders player affirms the best part of being a fan is the beginning

When Matthew Schaefer scored twice against the Toronto Maple Leafs on Jan. 3, sealing the game with a dramatic overtime winner, it felt like a secret had finally escaped. Islanders fans already knew something was happening. Everyone else was just beginning to notice.

There is a kind of sports joy that arrives long before championships or banners enter the conversation. It comes not with certainty, but with recognition — the quiet moment when you realize you might be watching the start of something rare. You feel it before the story is written, before consensus forms, while possibility still outweighs expectation.

That is the pleasure of watching greatness take its first, uncertain shape.

Schaefer is 18, a rookie, still adjusting to the speed and physical demands of the NHL. And yet there are moments — shifts that feel longer than they should, puck touches that seem chosen rather than improvised — when the game appears to slow for him while accelerating everywhere else. These flashes have little to do with stat lines or projections. They are instinctual, perceptible only if you’re paying attention.

This stage of an athlete’s life is fleeting. Before endorsements arrive. Before contracts dominate conversation. Before the weight of legacy and expectation. For now, Schaefer skates without that. The jersey fits, but it has not yet grown heavy.

For fans, this matters more than we usually admit.

We often describe sports fandom as loyalty — to a team, a crest, a place. At its best, though, fandom is closer to faith. You watch not because the outcome is guaranteed, but because it isn’t. You watch for the rare chance to say someday, I saw this before everyone agreed on what it was.

That kind of hope is fragile — especially for Islanders fans in the post-dynasty era. Seasons end too soon. Promised futures rarely arrive. Which is precisely why moments like this feel almost sacred. They represent a brief alignment of youth, talent and timing — one of the few spaces where belief can exist without irony.

Watching a young player emerge reminds us what first pulled us into sports — back when enthusiasm came easily, excitement didn’t need managing, and caring felt instinctive rather than risky.

There is also a communal element to this moment that’s easy to miss. When a fan base senses a star forming, recognition becomes collective. It shows up in exchanged looks, midgame texts and the shared intake of breath after a play that feels unmistakably different. We don’t yet know how the story ends, but we know we’re reading the opening chapter together.

That sense of shared experience has grown rare — not just in sports, but in modern life. Much of what we consume now is solitary and individualized. The emergence of a young star briefly pulls us back into a common story. It gives strangers permission to feel the same thing at the same time. It unites.

Few promising beginnings lead to a legendary career. Islanders fans know this well. But that uncertainty is not a flaw in the experience; it is the experience. Fanhood isn’t about outcomes alone. It’s about participation. About choosing to care before the ending is written.

Years from now, highlights will be replayed and careers summarized. Debates will form about what was achieved and what might have been. But right now, we get something better.

We get to watch someone in the act of becoming.

And that, more than any trophy, is the rare gift sports occasionally still give us.

This guest essay reflects the views of Scott D. Reich, an author residing in Port Washington.