my first hockey game: keith olbermann
Long before Keith Olbermann took up as a full-time Donald Trump excoriator, he was a hockey fan and reporter, an analyst and student of the game — a hockey maven, even, as he’s said himself. Like Ken Dryden (and Gary Bettman), he’s a Cornell graduate. Olbermann, who’s 58, was at the 1980 Lake Placid Winter Olympics where he saw Herb Brooks’ young, implausible United States team overthrow Viktor Tikhonov’s heavily favoured squad from the Soviet Union. If you haven’t seen Olbermann in full hockey flight, paying tribute to Jean Béliveau, or decrying the foolishness and bad history perpetrated by those who celebrate the NHL’s Original Six, then go and see that now — we’ll wait.
Olbermann’s broadcast career includes, of course, his years with ESPN’s SportsCenter in the 1990s. Since then, he’s talked baseball and football and everything else on CNN and Fox Sports Net. From 2003 through 2011, he hosted Countdown on MSNBC. In 2016, he launched a new political show, The Closer with Keith Olbermann, on GQ.com. It got a new name (and vehemence) after Donald Trump won the 2016 U.S. election: The Resistance. Olbermann’s books include The Worst Person in the World (2006) and Pitchforks and Torches (2010). His latest, published earlier this fall, is Trump is F*cking Crazy (This is Not a Joke).
Today, as part of Puckstruck’s original ongoing series, Olbermann recalls the first hockey game he saw in the flesh as a 10-year-old fan growing up in New York. It was early in the season, and the Toronto Maple Leafs were in town …
My first game — memory, and Hockey Reference tell me — was October 19, 1969. Vic Hadfield had a phantom goal waved off in the first and then seconds later scored on a power play and despite 43 other Ranger shots, that was it. Eddie Giacomin became my eternal hero, and neither he nor Bruce Gamble wore a mask. It was only the second home game of only the second full season of the Rangers in what us old-timers still call “the new Garden,” and the subway trip there cost 20 cents.
This was part two of quite a dad/kid week for me. Four days earlier my father had gotten two tickets to Game Four of the 1969 World Series and in addition to the thrill each game represented, it occurs to me only now that these may have been the first two sporting events I ever attended in which the buildings were full. There was something just as awe inspiring about the 17,000 packing the Garden as the 57,000 at Shea.
I had been a Rangers’ fan for about a year to this point, but only on TV and radio. It amazes me that my main conduit was Marv Albert and he was in his radio gondola that night, and I visited with him at MSG the last game I saw during the playoffs last spring! I would soon get the whole back story of my mother and her Uncle Willie going to one of the games of the Cup Finals of 1940, and before that, New York Americans games. And I would shortly understand the disappointment built into being a Ranger fan.
My second game was early the next month against the Blues and I couldn’t wait to get there because I knew I was going to be able to say I saw either Glenn Hall or Jacques Plante play for St. Louis. And who did they start in goal? Ernie Wakely.
my first hockey game: dave stubbs
Dave Stubbs tells this story: as a nine-year-old in 1967 in Pointe-Claire, Quebec, he went to bed before the end of the hockey game filling the family TV. Don’t worry, his father told him, we’ll watch the next one. It was Stubbs’ birthday next day, and when he woke up in the morning the news could hardly have been crueller: the Toronto Maple Leafs had beaten his cherished Montreal Canadiens to win the Stanley Cup.
Canadiens recovered, of course. Stubbs bounced back, too, going on to a 40-year career as a sports journalist, much of it spent as a distinguished editor and writer at the Montreal Gazette. Early in 2016, he found himself with a new gig, as columnist and historian for NHL.com, the league’s website. “If there’s such a thing as a dream job,” he said at the time, “I’ve found it.”
For his deep knowledge of hockey history and his skill as a storyteller, for his contacts, his curiosity, and his respect for the people who live their lives in and around the rink, Stubbs has long been a must-read chronicler of the game. If somehow you haven’t found him already, do that at NHL.com and on Twitter @Dave_Stubbs.
Last week, writer Kirstie McLellan Day launched Puckstruck’s ongoing series of recollections of first encounters with NHL hockey — that’s here. Today, Dave Stubbs takes a turn.
In a recent e-mail, Stubbs told this story: last year, at a dinner celebrating the announcement of the NHL’s 100 Greatest Players, he sat with legendary Maple Leafs’ centre Dave Keon. Stubbs:
I said to him, “I’ve had this inside me for 50 years. How does it feel to know that you broke the heart of a 10-year-old kid on his birthday by winning the Stanley Cup in 1967?”
He looked at me almost sympathetically for a moment then grinned and said, “Pretty good, actually.”
It was the perfect answer.
It’s almost 50 years to the day that Stubbs first went to the Montreal Forum with his dad, mere months after that birthday calamity. His account:
It was the brilliant white of the Montreal Forum ice and the clean, bright boards that took this 10-year-old’s breath away. That, and the noise of the crowd and the smell of the hot dogs, whose legendary status — the dogs, I mean — I would learn of in the decades to come.
I had followed my beloved hometown Montreal Canadiens on Hockey Night in Canada and in the stories I read and clipped from the daily Montreal Gazette and Montreal Star, The Hockey News once a week and the monthly magazines on which I invested my allowance.
But until December 20, 1967, when my dad scored a pair of coveted Forum reds between the blue line and the net the Canadiens would attack for two periods, I had never seen the team in person.
As luck, or fate, would have it, the Toronto Maple Leafs were the opponent that school night. The same Maple Leafs who had beaten my Canadiens on the eve of my 10th birthday to win the 1967 Stanley Cup.
I was filled with excitement and dread on our drive to the Forum, overwhelmed by the anticipation of seeing my first live NHL game, terrified that the Leafs might beat my Habs before my eyes.
I remember this:
The Canadiens won 5-0 on Dick Duff’s hat trick. The first NHL goal I saw live came early in the first period, Duff banging a shot past Toronto goaler Johnny Bower;
Three of the Canadiens’ goals were scored in “my” end of the ice, two by Duff, one by Bobby Rousseau;
Bower was replaced for the third period by Bruce Gamble;
Gump Worsley was perfect in the Montreal net, which almost made up for the fact that my first boyhood hockey hero, Rogie Vachon, was his backup that night;
And I had two hot dogs. “Tell your mother you had one,” my father counselled me on the drive home.
I barely slept that night, stirred more by nerves than nitrates, and as I lay restlessly in bed, I remembered that a few months earlier I had said I hoped the Leafs would never win another Stanley Cup for having ruined my 10th birthday.
The Canadiens won the Cup in 1968 and 1969, and eight more times since then. The Maple Leafs? Call it karma.
own no: orr has some explaining to do
Hockey history is full of own goals, James Duthie noted last on TSN in the moments after Edmonton’s Kris Russell sizzled a puck past his teammate Laurent Brossoit to notch Toronto’s winning goal — what’s rare, as Duthie said, is to see such a full-on snipe. The accidental goal Russell scored into his own net in the third period — Toronto’s Patrick Marleau got the score-sheet credit — looked like he really meant it. Won’t matter that Russell scored another goal, one that counted for Edmonton, in the second period. He may, as TSN’s Bob Mackenzie predicted late in the night, laugh about the whole thing one day, but today’s not that day.
Russell won’t be interested, but there’s a story Stephen Cole tells the tale in the boisterous history he published in 2015, Hockey Night Fever: one night in Boston, Bobby Orr shot a puck into his own Bruin net. The shock in the rink was silent, but the silence didn’t last. In a moment a voice rose from up among the Bruin faithful: “That’s OK, Bobby, goalie should have had it.”
It’s a great anecdote. Could even be true. Orr did put a pair of pucks past his own surprised teammate, Gerry Cheevers, one night in Toronto in January of 1970, abetting the Leafs’ 4-3 win: that, we know, did happen. “Orr Has Some Explaining To Do” was the headline in The Toronto Star next day. To the 21-year-old defenceman’s credit, he’d already dutifully tried some elucidating: reporter Red Burnett opened his account of the game with Orr “patiently” telling the press how Bob Pulford’s shot had banked off his skate into the Boston net, and that Rick Ley’s goal — well, that one was a rebound he was trying to clear and ended up backhanding past Cheevers.
Can we at least credit the man with, ah, hmm — can we call it, maybe, a Bobby Orr Hat Trick? Number 4 did, after all, score a third goal that night, going the right way, in his own team’s favour, bamboozling Toronto’s Bruce Gamble. And Orr added two assists that night, which got him to 61 points for the season, most in the NHL. Foster Hewitt approved: he picked him as the game’s third star. The Boston Globe didn’t make too much of Orr’s own-goals — he was “exceedingly embarrassed” — while taking proud note that as the league’s scoring leader midway through the season, he’d just picked up a $500 bonus — the first defenceman in history to do so.
the power is in his wrists
Zander Hollander died in Manhattan on April 11 at the age of 91. If you grew up in the pre-Google age with any appetite for hockey trivia, you’ll recall the name from the covers of the indispensable annual handbooks he filled with a nerd’s cornucopia of quizzes and line-ups, schedules, records, scouting reports, vital statistics. Douglas Martin recalled his legacy in The New York Times earlier this week, here. From Hollander’s 1972 Complete Handbook of Pro Hockey, some selected biographical intel from the season’s crop of NHL talent:
Nicknamed Smiley Bates because of his addiction to country music. (Bruce Gamble)
A rugged type, he once dropped down to block a shot with his mouth and it cost him 40 stitches. (Ed Van Impe)
Call this little Frenchman the Lone Star North Star. (Jude Drouin)
Real first name is Hubert. (Pit Martin)
Allergic to Toronto air, he lives outside of the city and comes into town only for games and practices. (Norm Ullman)
Possesses a fiery temper and often explodes in anger. (Henri Richard)
After each game, he jots down a check list of his own mistakes. (George Armstrong)
Nicknamed Gump after Andy Gump, his childhood comic strip favorite. (Lorne Worsley)
Married daughter of Red Wings’ team dentist. (Bert Marshall)
Known as something of a flake among fellow players. (Eddie Shack)
Not appreciated as much by the fans as he is by his teammates and other hockey players. (Bob Nevin)
Joined Canadian Army, lying about his age, and attained rank of sergeant. (Emile Francis)
Wife, June, is an expert figure skater. (Dean Prentice)
Takes 55 units of insulin every morning and drinks sweetened soda and orange juice to keep up his strength during games. (Bobby Clarke)
Native of Finland pronounces name “You-ha Vee-ding.” (Juha Widing)
The power is in his wrists. (Jacques Lemaire)
FIRST. CBC launched Canada Reads 2012 last week with a raft of five non-fictional books we’re all supposed to read so we can be ready in February to decide, as a country, which is the best of them. With actor Alan Thicke carrying the torch for Ken Dryden’s The Game (1983), it’s time to cue the disembodied voices to remind us that it’s the Best Hockey Book Ever. Not to be quibbling, but is it, really? It’s so sharply thoughful and well-written that it may well be — though is it possible, too, that this is a case of a book reviewerly blurb being having been repeated so often, year after year, that it’s cured into something that looks like a fact? It will be good to hear the discussion. And maybe Thicke and the Canada Readers can get at, too, if they have some time on the radio, what it is about the phrase hockey book that can seem so reductive and dismissive, describing a distinctly lesser literary organism? Or is that just me? Continue reading