Yesterday, hockey fans witnessed the remarkable sight of National Hockey League commissioner Gary Bettman and NHL Players Association head Bob Goodenow standing on the edge of their respective precipices -- and jumping. We all saw them go off the edge, we lamented, expressed disgust, and perhaps even peered over. But we didn't leap too. The NHL and NHLPA alone jumped, and Canada's hockey fans, who are alive and well, must now decide what this means to them for the future.

To understand fully what took place yesterday, one needs to look at the historical context, and how the dispute's two parties managed to go so wrong.

As with most conflicts, this one was a long time in the making. Back in the early 1990s, the 21-team league was on relatively solid footing and poised to grow. The way to go was seen as expansion into new, non-traditional hockey markets. The Mason-Dixon line, the United States' historical north/south divide, no longer seemed an obstacle. The NHL eagerly eyed future generations of hockey fans in cities where the only ice folks saw was in the bottoms of their drinking glasses. That the Atlanta Flames had moved to Calgary in the 1980s due to a poor southern market was viewed as irrelevant by the new NHL marketing machine.

It was thought that a national U.S. footprint for the NHL would lead to significant increases in television revenues; there'd be no stopping the NHL and its goal of supplanting basketball as the No. 3 professional sport in the United States. Outside of Toronto, Montreal and Vancouver, Canadian NHL teams were being snapped up by savvy U.S.-based sports entrepreneurs; the Winnipeg Jets moved to Phoenix, and the Quebec Nordiques moved to Colorado.

But the millions of dollars in expansion revenues that were suddenly flowing into teams weren't being used to pay down team debt or make long-term investments. Instead, most teams used the money to spend on ever-higher player salaries. It was as if a rich uncle had left the league a windfall -- but instead of paying off the mortgage, or repairing cracked foundations, the inheritance was squandered on Porsches and Jags. This went on for years, in effect leaving teams with fleets of aging cars -- parked in leaky garages. Unfortunately for the NHL, when teams hit 30 in number, there were no more easy (and unearned) sources of revenue to put toward player salaries.

In order to supplement expansion revenues and maintain the ability to pay for new players, NHL teams also went on an unprecedented arena-building boom. They did this assuming that they could increase the corporate "fan" base by cramming in as many luxury suites and premium seats as possible. Jumbotrons and National Basketball Association-style entertainment became de rigueur; more is more became the mantra.

Meanwhile, traditional hockey fans, shut out by high ticket prices, attended fewer games and started to connect to the game via the television. Players came and went on the local team, rarely staying off-season in the NHL city where they played.

What does this mean for teams and managers now?

The NHL must regain the respect and commitment of hockey fans. As for the fans themselves, when the NHL gets back on track next fall, they should act as if they're from the home state of the St. Louis Blues: Missouri, the "show me" state. Fans should insist that players get more involved in the city where they earn their NHL salary. And they should insist NHL team owners pass on salary savings by lowering ticket prices.

We know that NHL hockey will be back. What it will look like is up to hockey fans. That's because the fans are still on solid ground, not hurtling down with Mr. Bettman and Mr. Goodenow. The fans now have the chance to reclaim our game.

Bob Stellick, who worked in the Toronto Maple Leafs organization from 1985 to 1997, runs a sports marketing consultancy.