It was the end-of-year party for our oldtimers hockey club at a pub in town. After some wings, some beer and a lot of laughs, we got down to the serious stuff of discussing the game we love. And it didn’t take long, before the elephant in the room emerged.
“What’re they going to do about fighting in hockey?” (more…)
For me, Saturday night was one of those “Where were you?” moments. I’d spent the day travelling to and from Brantford and made it home just in time to plunk myself down in front of the TV for part of game six of the Leafs-Lightning first-round Stanley Cup playoff.
I caught the end of regulation time with the score tied 1-1. Finally (because I sometimes watch games on CBC and listen to them on radio simultaneously), I heard Joe Bowen’s call as John Tavares’s shot trickled past Tampa netminder Andrei Vasilevskiy at 4:35 of overtime:
“They scored! They scored! Holy Mackinaw, they scored!” he shouted. “The Leafs are going to the second round!” (more…)
You’ve probably seen it. The now ubiquitous advertisement shows Connor McDavid allegedly focused at practice. The Edmonton Oilers’ star forward is firing pucks at a goaltender. Cut to just off the ice where a coach turns to Wayne Gretzky and says: “Connor’s just finishing up. He’s pumped you’re here.”
“No rush,” Gretzky says as he looks down at his cellphone and shouts at it, “Come on! Drain that three.” He’s clearly encouraging some other athlete for some other purpose. But he’s become a distraction to McDavid.
“Trying to practise here, Wayne,” McDavid admonishes Gretzky.
On Aug. 31, I joined my daughter for an event to remember. Canada’s women’s hockey team faced its arch rival – the Americans – in a three-on-three overtime period in Calgary for the International Ice Hockey Federation world championship. Just over seven minutes into sudden death, team captain Marie-Philip Poulin broke in on the U.S. goal and put a wrist shot off the crossbar down into the net for the victory. The Toronto Star interviewed former Leafs goalie coach Steve McKichan after the game.
“That’s the Hall of Fame bardown shot in women’s hockey,” and he went on to say in the history of greatest Canadian hockey goals, “it was top-five.” (more…)
He took the pass. He moved around the arc on the floor around the basket. There were four seconds left in regulation time. And all spectators in the building were on their feet, leaping and screaming. At the corner of the offensive end, he turned, jumped and launched the ball.
“Is this the dagger?” one commentator shouted into a mike.
Then, with the ball in the air, the final buzzer blared. The ball landed on one side of the rim, then bounced to the other side, bounced a third time, dribbled a fourth, and then dropped through the hoop. “Yesssssss! Game! Series! Toronto Raptors have won!” the announcer screamed finally. (more…)
Monday night I was driving. I was on the edge of the range of the radio station broadcasting the Leafs-Bruins Stanley Cup playoff game. It was late in the third period. The signal faded momentarily just as play-by-play announcer Joe Bowen’s voice rose in intensity describing an up-ice pass from Mitch Marner to Patrick Marleau. And just before the radio signal dropped out completely I heard Bowen shout out his patented exclamation:
“Holy Mackinaw! What an enormous goal!” With that goal, the Leafs won the game, 4-2. (more…)
It was a few weeks after summer had officially begun. I was up in my writing roost – a.k.a. my upstairs office. With the start of summer, I had just started writing a book. I’m not being presumptuous. It’s often what I’ve done over the past 15 or 20 years – I’ve taken the summer to complete a manuscript, I hope for publication soon after the summer is done. Anyway, I heard an SUV pull up next door and a man stepped out and began assembling his survey equipment. I asked him what was going on.
“They’re going to start building here,” he said. “They’re just waiting for this survey.”
I stood in what seemed thunderous chaos. Horses galloped to the right of me, to the left of me. Lances appeared to whisk past my ears. The ground felt as if it were trembling beneath my feet. And I grabbed my dad’s arm, fearing if I didn’t I might topple over. Just audible above the din of the rhythmic panting of the horses and the pounding of their hooves, I could hear singing.
Their faces suddenly lit up. One of the cameras in the arena caught them cheering and dancing all in a row. And there they were jumping up and down in unison to the sound of a Spice Girls pop tune. They were thrilled to be up on the jumbo screen at the Air Canada Centre. But most of all they loved showing off their team jerseys, the North Durham Blades hockey team. And the camera cut to a makeshift placard another young female hockey player was holding.
“Play like a girl!” it proclaimed proudly. (more…)
He wore a baseball cap that had no team emblem and a T-shirt with no sign of his number 81 on it. He smiled for several of the private photographs taken that day; and that was a bit out of the ordinary. Otherwise his visit to Toronto’s Hospital for Sick Children went unnoticed even when he opened up a case and revealed – for the children and staff at the hospital only – the Stanley Cup, the one he and his fellow Pittsburgh Penguins had won last spring. And his visit would have gone unnoticed, but for a hospital staffer who tweeted:
“SickKids was buzzing with #StanleyCup fever today! Thx for visiting our patients & families @PKessel81 #NHL.” (more…)