“Whoever wins, Wins”

I was 8 years old that spring of 1964 when I coined that phrase. It was my second Stanley Cup playoffs, and a memorable one. After the Leafs had rolled to the Cup in just 10 games in ’63 -- have I mentioned I'm old? I can recall the Leafs actually winning -- the next year things were a lot tighter. All three series (TOR-MTL, DET-CHI and then TOR-DET) were rematches, all three had the same result, but this time all three went 7 games. After the Leafs and Habs had split the first six games, my emerging mathematical mind realized that whoever won the next game, won the series. My uncharacteristically concise observation became synonymous with “Game 7” in our household for many years.

It’s particularly true when the Game 7 in question is in the Stanley Cup Finals. One for all the marbles. It’s an exciting time to be a hockey fan; even if you don’t care about the two teams involved, you care about that silver mug and you want to see whose history will be engraved on it.

This is my 46th Stanley Cup final series (an official majority of the 91 that have been played since the NHL was formed in 1917, and yes, I do feel old, thanks for asking). It is just the tenth in my time to reach Game 7. They might seem commonplace to newer, younger fans of Gary Bettman’s House of Parity, but there has been an odd distribution over the years:

1960s - 2
1970s - 1
1980s - 1
1990s - 1
2000s – 5

It’s a rare enough thing, which was especially true during dynastic times as the true powerhouses tend to end things in 6 or less. Sweeps were grossly more common than seven-gamers. The five-in-a-row Habs lost just 5 Finals games over those 5 years with only one series making it to Game 6. The four-in-a-row Habs of the late 70s lost just 3 games, and the four-in-a-row Islanders that directly followed also lost just 3 games, with each team playing (and winning) a single Game 6. The Oilers of 1983-90 got swept in their first series, then won 5 Cups with only a 7-game classic with the Flyers in 1987 requiring more than 5 games to mop up. Those Oilers lost just 3 games total in their other 4 Cup triumphs. Similarly, today’s long-standing dynasty in the Motor City got swept in a first visit to the Finals back in ’95, but have quickly disposed of subsequent opponents, losing just 3 games over their 4 successful Cup Finals. Until this year ... and tonight.

Rarer still is a 7th game overtime, which has occurred only twice, 1950 and 1954, with the Red Wings prevailing both times. The unlikely heroes were Pete Babando and Tony Leswick, both of whom are famous for no other reason. The pestiferous Leswick’s fluke goal off the glove of the great Doug Harvey could only be duplicated if Matt Cooke bounced one in off of Nick Lidstrom in OT tonight. Ugh. That one had to be tough for Habs fans to swallow ... sorry I missed it!

But since I tuned in a decade later, I watch the Stanley Cup Finals intently, every year, whether my team is in or out. In this era of many Games 7, I usually have a mild rooting interest but (2006 aside) don’t really care who wins, but am keen to see how things turn out. The Game is the thing, and by now I’ve watched well over 200 SCF games, 15 of them in person. The funny thing is how after all these years the memories of those games, especially Games 7, remain sharp. The garburetor that passes for my brain retains a torrent of game scores, goal scorers, goal times, situations, stats, factoids, mental replays ... This walk down memory lane doesn’t require hockey-reference.com – but if you find an error, please let me know. :D

1964: Detroit 0 @ Toronto 4

The first Game 7 in 9 years provided a somewhat anticlimactic end to a great series which featured 6 close games, including 2 overtimes and 2 others decided in the last minute of regulation. The coup de grace was delivered by Bob Baun, whose shock overtime goal in Game 6 had silenced an Olympia crowd expecting the Cup. That Baun was playing on a broken leg at the time is now the stuff of legend. Baun, broken leg and all, went on to play Game 7; when asked if he would get an Xray, he replied “no, if it's bad news I don't want to hear it; I have a game to play”. (Bob Baun was Lee Fogolin, Craig Muni, and Jason Smith all rolled into one.) His leg held up, and so did the Leaf defence in smothering the Wings. Andy Bathgate, acquired from the Rangers in a blockbuster trade earlier that season, scored on an early breakaway and Johnny Bower made it stand up against Gordie Howe and Co. The Leafs scored three in the third to finally break it open.

1965: Chicago 0 @ Montreal 4

This was a homer series and an extreme one at that. Montreal outscored Chicago 15-2 in the Forum, with the Hawks failing to score again after a 3-2 loss in Game 1. In Chicago Stadium it was the Habs with popgun offence, scoring just 3 goals to Chicago’s 10. So when Jean Beliveau scored something like 14 seconds into Game 7, it was over early. The Habs built their early advantage to 4-0 by the end of the first and cruised home from there. The only boring Game 7 I’ve ever seen. Gump Worsley got the shutout, and Beliveau was awarded the first Conn Smythe Trophy.

1971: Montreal 3 @ Chicago 2

The homer series that wasn’t. Chicago was the higher seed but blinked in the final game, blowing a 2-0 lead in the process. The turning point came in the second period when Bobby Hull hit the crossbar and soon after Jacques Lemaire beat Tony Esposito on an 80-foot slapper that got the Habs back in the game while draining the confidence right out of the Hawks and their fans. From that moment the outcome seemed inevitable. Henri Richard scored the tying and winning goals, and Ken Dryden made them stand up with some remarkable netminding. The pre-rookie Dryden won the Smythe, the Pocket Rocket got his revenge for being benched earlier in the series, and winning coach Al MacNeil got demoted to the AHL. The only thing the Canadiens did better than infighting, was winning.

1987: Philadelphia 1 @ Edmonton 3
The first SCFG7 in sixteen long years, and my personal favourite, because I got to attend this game live. The ultimate experience for a hockey fan, knowing that the Stanley Cup is not only in the building but is certain to be given out. Whoever wins, Wins. I attended all four home games of that series, and it was the best live hockey I’ve ever seen. Philly had a great, gritty club that pushed the most talented of all Oiler squads right to the wall. In the ultimate game Flyers scored on an early 5-on-3, but the Oil tied it on a dazzling three-way passing play from Glenn Anderson to Kent Nilsson to Mark Messier before Jari Kurri put the Oil ahead to stay late in the second on a pass from Wayne Gretzky. After a series of goalposts, near misses, and great stops by Ron Hextall, Anderson finally put it away late in the third. Oilers outshot Philly 43-20 and were full value for the win. The rookie Hextall was a standout in defeat, receiving first star honours in Game 7 as well as the Smythe. Gretzky received the Cup from John Ziegler and immediately passed it to Steve Smith in an unforgettably classy gesture.

1994 Vancouver 2 @ New York Rangers 3
The Rangers were known as Edmonton East, and it stood them in good stead when the President’s Trophy winners blew two chances to win the Cup in Games 5 and 6, just as had happened to the Oil in ’87. The Rangers still had home ice for Game 7 and weren’t about to let it get away on them. Messier, Anderson, Kevin Lowe, Craig MacTavish, and Esa Tikkanen were teammates in both games; Jeff Beukeboom and Adam Graves had won Cups for Edmonton after ’87, and were key figures on those ’94 Rangers. Messier scored the Cup-winning goal, and Mike Richter and his posts made it stand up against a hard-battling Canucks squad. Brian Leetch scored the critical opening goal and ultimately received the Conn Smythe.

2001 New Jersey 1 @ Colorado 3
For the third year in a row the Finals featured a battle of superstar goalies, but after the previous two were decided in long overtimes in Game 6, this one went the limit. Patrick Roy was the story, shutting down the Devils’ league-leading offence (it’s true! and it wasn’t close), allowing just 11 goals in the 7 games including just 2 in the 4 Colorado victories. The Devils had a chance to clinch at home in Game 6 but laid a 4-0 egg at the Swamp. Back in the Mile High City, the Avalanche jumped out to a 3-0 lead on 2 goals and a helper from Alex Tanguay, then rode Roy and fierce checking to the finish line. Roy was a clear choice for his third Conn Smythe, while an aging Ray Bourque was both inspiration and a major contributor.

2003 Anaheim 0 @ New Jersey 3
Another battle between hot goalies, as Brodeur and the Devils returned for their third SCF in four years to face J.-S. Giguere and the upstart Ducks. This was a homer series similar to 1965, in which neither team could score in the other’s building. The Ducks outscored the Devils 9-4 on the Pond, including 2-0 in overtime, but the Devils dominated at the Swamp by a 15-3 margin, including three 3-0 shutouts. Mike Rupp was the unlikeliest of heroes, subbing in for an injured Joe Nieuwendyk, contributing the Cup-winning goal and setting up both insurance markers. Strong goaltending and defence did the rest. Smythe voters looked past Brodeur’s 7 shutouts and clearly superior performance in the SCF to award Giguere the Smythe, based on his utterly brilliant work in the Western Conference playdowns.

2004 Calgary 1 @ Tampa Bay 2
The upstart Flames had a golden opportunity to wrap this one up at home, but fell 3-2 to ex-Flame Marty St.Louis’ goal in double overtime. Back in Tampa the teams played a very tight game which erupted into electrifying end-to-end action after Calgary cut the lead to 2-1 in the late stages. Lightning rode a pair of goals from Ruslan Fedotenko, fierce checking, and outstanding goaltending from Nikolai Khabibulin to seal the win. Brad Richards was awarded the Conn Smythe for a spectacular playoff run which included 7 game winners among his 12 goals.

2006 Edmonton 1 @ Carolina 3
The Oilers were in the same boat as the ’87 Flyers and ’94 Canucks, coming back from a 3-1 series deficit to force a one-game showdown, unfortunately in the other guys’ rink. The Hurricanes bounced back from a 4-0 drubbing in Game 6 to score the all-important first goal on the game’s first sequence. Frank Kaberle extended the lead with the eventual Cup winning goal on a deflection off Jason Smith's butt before Fernando Pisani made it close early in the third, but the tying goal was not to be. An empty netter by Justin Williams provided the final margin in what was essentially a one-goal game. Cam Ward outdueled a game but rusty Jussi Markkanen over the 7 games, becoming the fourth rookie goalie to win the Smythe after Dryden, Roy and Hextall. The Carolina fans reportedly never sat down for the entire game.

2009 Pittsburgh ? @ Detroit ??
Well, who knows. If past experience means anything it will be a low-scoring affair favouring the home team. In the 9 SCFG7’s over the past half century, the hosts (and, by definition, the pre-series favourites) have outscored the visitors by an aggregate of 27-9, or exactly 3-1. Oiler fans have been on both sides of that exact scoreline. 8 of the 9 times the home team carried the day, 8 times the hosts scored first, 7 times the visitors were held to 0 or 1 goal. It’s a daunting task the Penguins face. Moreover, the series is following the pattern of those previous “homer” series, where each team has had trouble producing on the road. The Pens have handled the Wings 10-5 in the Igloo, but have been blitzed 11-2 in the Joe. 2 goals in 3 games, all too reminiscent of Bobby Hull, Stan Mikita and the high-powered Hawks wimpy production of 2 goals in 4 games at the Forum in ’65, or the Ducks meagre 3 at the Swamp in ’03. Malkin, Crosby, and the high-powered Pens aren’t only battling Osgood, Lidstrom, Zetterberg, Datsyuk and the boys, they’re fighting history.

Ah, history. Let’s go back just a little further. Like 2009, the 1955 Stanley Cup Finals featured a rare rematch of the previous year’s combatants, Montreal and Detroit, with the defending champion Wings again holding the all-important home ice advantage. Gordie Howe and Ted Lindsay, who dropped the ceremonial first pucks before this year's Game 1 in a memorable gathering of hockey greats, were formidable forces leading a powerhouse Red Wings squad the last time a Game 7 was played in the Motor City, 54 long years ago. It was a homer series all the way, with the rising powerhouse Habs scoring 15 goals in 3 games at the Forum, but just 5 in 4 games at the Olympia. (OK, I admit I had to look that one up. Don’t remember it well, having been a foetus at the time ... and my Mum was the only non-hockey fan in the whole famdamily, so I couldn’t even listen in.) Anyway, the Wings successfully defended their title with a convincing two-way effort in the showdown game, with Mister Hockey himself contributing the Stanley Cup-winning goal. The final score?

Montreal 1 @ Detroit 3

Hmmm. I’m not one for predictions, fearless or otherwise, but this is as good as I’ve got:

Pittsburgh 1 @ Detroit 3

Another great one honoured

Although we have been in the same room over 500 times I have never really met Glenn Anderson. He came to my wife's class at Glenrose School Hospital with Ken Linseman and Don Jackson; and we once passed him at Pharos Pizza after a routine Oilers' win in which the conversation consisted of "Great game, Mr. Anderson!" from my wife, a smile and a nod from the man himself, and tongue-tied-ness from me. Around 1986 a thoughtful co-worker ran into him at some function and, knowing I was a huge fan, got him to sign the above poster which has adorned my basement wall ever since. The inset picture of Anderson with the little girl from Cross Cancer Institute sitting in the Stanley Cup was typical of an Oiler team that did great work in the community; that part of his fame Anderson took seriously, even as he danced to his own tune in many other respects. He and the media were never a mutual admiration society, let's put it that way.

I was an Anderson fan from the get-go, having seen him good during two cameo appearances at Varsity Arena during his amateur days. By the time he burst on the NHL scene at the advanced age of 20, he had developed an impressive array of skills to complement his blinding speed. The year on Clare Drake's Olympic team had done him a world of good.

In The Game of Our Lives, the must-read book on the developing dynasty that was the 1980-81 Edmonton Oilers, Peter Gzowski described Anderson at the beginning of that season:

"Number 9 is Glenn Anderson, still another vaunted rookie - perhaps too vaunted. At Lake Placid last year, Anderson was the most exciting player on the Canadian Olympic team, and when the Oilers signed him to a professional contract this summer, the scout who'd followed him made a flattering comparison between his speed and that of Guy Lafleur. Sather reacted vehemently, but the comparison had already been published. Still, if anyone can handle the pressure that kind of comparison entails, it is Anderson. He is fey. He comes either from Vancouver, as his birth records show, or from another planet; he seems incapable of giving a straight interview - he doesn't take the process seriously enough. He told the Oilers publicity department that his childhood idol was Wayne Gretzky, who is younger than he is. He has told other reporters that he dropped out of boyhood hockey because his feet got cold. Anderson bears an uncanny resemblance to television comedian Robin Williams, and since he does not appreciate being called Mork, he is in the process of growing a beard."

It took most of that first season for Anderson's head and hands to catch up with his feet, and for a brief time he was known for creating scoring chances that he couldn't finish. After a mid-season knee injury he returned stronger than ever, and during the team's remarkable late-season surge to the playoffs, he scored 9 goals in 7 games to reach the 30-goal plateau.

As those playoffs began, Gzowski did a similar review of the Oilers' starting lineup, including these words on Anderson:

Number 9, Glenn Anderson, is Andy now and not Mork, and he is close to fulfilling the potential the scouts saw when they signed him. As he went on his late-season scoring spree, he was named the Hockey News player of the week, an honour that among the Oilers had heretofore been reserved for Gretzky, who was so named an unprecedented four times. One of the newspapermen here, Tim Burke of the Gazette, is convinced that Anderson is cut from the mould of Maurice Richard - like Richard, he shoots left-handed and plays right wing - and Sather is concerned with that comparison as he was in the fall with the comparison between Anderson's skating abilities and those of Lafleur.

Hardly intimidated by such heady praise, Andy stayed hot right through the postseason, scoring the first goal in the Montreal Forum that kick started the Oilers shocking three-game blowout of Lafleur's Habs, and posting an impressive 5-7-12 in just 9 GP, all of them against either the Vezina trophy winning Habs or Stanley Cup champion Islanders. He was a great playoff performer right from the outset.

The next season the young Oilers blossomed into a fearsome offensive machine, with their first of five consecutive 400-goal seasons, a feat which has never been accomplished even once by any other NHL team. Anderson emerged as a 100-point scorer, setting a still-extant franchise record for assists by a winger (67). It set a standard even Mark Messier or Jari Kurri couldn't topple during their seasons on the First All-Star Team. His frequent linemate Messier achieved his career high 50 goals that 1981-82 season; in subsequent years Messier became more the playmaker and Anderson the finisher, although each was v-e-r-y comfortable in either role. Anderson potted 54 goals on two occasions during that run, sniping 198 goals in the four seasons 1982-86. He also recorded two more 100-point seasons, and another of 99 in 1983-84 in which a scorekeeper's error in Montreal cost Andy and the Oilers their best chance of having five 100-point scorers on the same squad.

For all his regular season success, Glenn Anderson lived for the playoffs, and always seemed to raise his game when the stakes were highest. A cursory look at his career stats indicates he kept his production near the same level: 0.97 points per game in the regular season, 0.95 in the playoffs. This is, however, tempered by the fact that Glenn played a disporportionate number of playoff games at the tail end of his career when his scoring rates were down. From the time the Rangers acquired him 'til the end, he played just 80 regular season games (just 7% of his career games), and 40 in the playoffs (18%). So it's hard to compare Anderson to say, Mark Messier, who played 484 regular season games after his last playoff game, thus dragging down just his regular season per-diems and effectively inflating his playoff numbers in comparison.

It's more germane to compare the performance of the Big Five during their time with the Oilers, where all played similar numbers of regular and post-season games at the same stages of their respective careers. First off, the Oilers themselves saw their per-game production decline slightly in the post-season. During Andy's career here 1980-91, their G/G rates dropped 4.65 to 4.36, a decline of 6.2%. This is pretty typical of the post-season generally. However, looking at the individual performances is instructive to say the least:

Player PPG ** R.S. / P.S. = difference
------------------------------------
Anderson **** 1.07 / 1.22 = +13.3%
Messier ***** 1.22 / 1.30 = +6.6%
Kurri ******* 1.38 / 1.38 = +0.0%
Gretzky ***** 2.40 / 2.10 = -12.4%
Coffey ****** 1.26 / 1.10 = -12.9%

While opposition teams ratcheted up the defensive pressure on the Great One, the Mess-Andy duo would pump up the volume and provide a much greater percentage of the scoring from the second line. In particular, Anderson's +13.3% is off the charts.

***
Edit January 31: In an ongoing discussion over at MC79hockey I have discovered I made an error in calculating the foregoing. Anderson's PPG rate in the playoffs in Edmonton was 1.12, not 1.22. That figure is not quite "off the charts" but is nonetheless exceptional. For details see my comment #19 on MC's site.
***

More evidence of Anderson's post-season focus can be found in shooting percentage. In his NHL career he exceeded 20% in just one regular season, 1985-86. Compare that to these post-season numbers:

1984-85 - 21.3%
1985-86 - 21.1%
1986-87 - 22.6%
1987-88 - 20.9%
1988-89 - 6.3% (7 games)
1989-90 - 21.7%

Anderson admits to losing focus after the Gretzky trade and the death of his friend George Varvis, scoring just 16 goals that 1988-89 season and just 1 in the Kings series; otherwise he was a monster in the post-season every year.

Of course stats don't, and shouldn't, tell the whole story. Fortunately, there's lots of us old-timers around with anecdotal evidence. One stunning example that I witnessed with my own eyes was Glenn scoring the game winner in three consecutive Oiler playoff overtime games (1985-87), an extraordinary "natural hat trick" after just 46, 64 and 36 seconds respectively. Boys, it's beer time. And you're buying.

Anderson could beat you with a move, a pass, or a shot. If you don't believe me, ask Doug Crossman, the Philadelphia blueliner who was a common victim of three memorable Andy plays in the wonderful series that was 1987 Stanley Cup Finals. All were scored in the east end of Northlands Coliseum so I had an identical view as each play unfolded with Anderson bursting over the right side of the Flyers' line. In Game 2 -- the greatest live hockey game I have ever seen -- Anderson scored the third period tying goal on a brilliant solo effort, freezing Crossman with a great move before blazing past him and picking the corner on Ron Hextall, sending the game to overtime and ultimately a 3-2 Oiler victory. In Game 7, with everything on the line, Anderson played perhaps the greatest game of his career. He set up the tying goal with another great effort, taking a lead pass right at the centre line, beating the first defender one-on-one before again freezing Crossman with a fake slapshot, this time slipping a pass through to Kent Nilsson who fed Mark Messier at the doorstep. Then late in the third, with the Oilers clinging to a 2-1 lead against the comeback-happy Flyers, Anderson again cruised over the blueline at speed, once again bearing down on Crossman and winding up for a slapshot. This time it was no fake, as he absolutely boomed a wicked drive right through Ron Hextall, a goal that finally nailed shut the coffin of the never-quit Flyers, even as it nearly tore the roof off of Northlands Coliseum. A moment I shall never forget.

Like Tim Burke I saw quite a bit of the Rocket in Anderson, from his blazing speed to his ability to rise to the occasion. On the attack he would cut hard to the net from either wing, most often the right side, protecting the puck with an out-thrust leg and shoulder, often handling the puck with one hand on the stick or even just one skate on the ice, driving straight at the goaltender, daring the defenceman to pull him down so he, puck and all, could crash right into the goalie and on into the net if need be. He drew a metric tonne of penalties -- only Gretzky was close -- as he drove through checks, kept his legs moving, didn't do the swan drive but crashed hard (and convincingly) to the ice, occasionally with his own stick flying up and "accidentally" clipping the defender. More than once a bewildered opponent needed a towel in the penalty box. Again like the Rocket, he was a hard, occasionally vicious competitor.

Andy was committed to Hockey Canada's national program, playing no fewer than 119 games for the Red Maple Leaf over parts of three seasons, as well as participating in the Olympic games, two Canada Cups, and two World Championships. He also represented the NHL's best in Rendezvous '87 against a Russian squad that he always admired.

One of seven Oilers who won all five Stanley Cups, Anderson later joined Kevin Lowe and Mark Messier in New York, where the first three draft picks in Oiler history won their sixth Cup together. Still in his young 30s, Andy became an international hockey nomad, playing in four different European leagues, as well as Team Canada and a couple of cameos in the NHL, including a late return to the Oilers. His priorities -- seeing the world, having fun, and winning -- took precedence over statistical objectives like 500 goals, a number he came up two short. Some Hall of Fame voters held this "shortcoming" against him, as well as some personal animosities which built up through Anderson's unwillingness to play the media game, delaying his admission into the Hall for a number of years. But Andy's spectacular record of accomplishment couldn't be denied forever, as voices from Wayne Gretzky to Mark Messier to Scott Bowman to lowly fans like me made the overwhelming case on his behalf.

After his Hall of Fame induction in November, tonight comes the cherry on top, as Andy's #9 is being raised to the ceiling in the building he called home for the greatest of his playing days. Congratulations, Andy, you deserve this.

Anniversaries VIII: 50 in 39

It was a magic time. If you didn't live through it, it's hard to comprehend what a record-breaking machine Wayne Gretzky was. He didn't just break records, he destroyed them with a flair for the dramatic. Examples:

-- Gretzky scored his first 1000 points in just 424 games. The second fastest to the mark, Guy Lafleur, needed 720 games. The night Gretzky hit the 1000 mark, he piled in 5 more points as a down payment on the next 1000.

-- On April 9, 1987, Gretzky started the night tied with Jean Beliveau for the most points in the Stanley Cup playoffs, 176. By night's end Gretzky had tied another playoff record, his own mark of 7 points in a playoff game, and was 7 points clear of Beliveau. Oilers beat the Kings 13-3, setting a couple of still-extant team records en route to their first victory in what became their third Stanley Cup.

-- On February 24, 1982, Gretzky broke Phil Esposito's record for goals in a season by scoring his 77th, 78th, and 79th goals in the last seven minutes of the third period. His natural hat trick blew open a 3-3 tie into a 6-3 Oiler celebration, and capped a streak of four consecutive five-point nights for the Great One as he relentlessly overcame Esposito's awesome record with six weeks to spare.

Of all the records, the most spectacular run had to be earlier in that 1981-82 season when Gretzky challenged and ultimately demolished the most fabled record in hockey, Rocket Richard's 50 goals in 50 games. The previous season the great Mike Bossy had equalled Richard's mark which had stood unchallenged for 35 seasons.

It was clear in the fall of '81 that Gretzky had the mark in his sights. After a run of 7 goals in 7 periods in late November, including his second four-goal game of the season, Gretzky reached 31 goals early in Game 26. For the rest of that game and the next four Gretzky slumped, scoring nary a goal -- albeit with 13 (!!) assists -- to fall to just 1 goal ahead of the goal-a-game pace. In the next four games he remained there, scoring exactly one goal in each and reaching 35 goals in 34 games as the Oilers began a five game Crhistmas home stand. It looked like it would be nip and tuck for several more weeks, maybe until Games 49 and 50 in late January.

I was already a big believer in the Great One, predicting to my season ticket mates on opening night that he would score 200 points that season in what developed into an audacious, hellacious bet. Supremely confident as I was in the young man's magic, that prediction ultimately turned out to be conservative (I guessed "only" 80-120-200, whereas he really went 92-120-212 in yet another demolition job not just of records but of all reason). Even I, staunch predictor of a goal-a-game for the season, could never have guessed the dramatics that would be packed into that five-game stand.

What did happen is emblazoned in my memory as one of the most incredible sustained displays of individual domination that I've ever seen. By the time the home stand was over, the Great One had lit the lamp an incredible 15 times, adding a not-inconsequential 10 assists for 25 points. I could cite you his game-by-game numbers chapter and verse, but you can see for yourself courtesy the Hockey Summary Project, linked below:

December 19 - Oilers 9, North Stars 6: 3-4-7
December 20 - Flames 7, Oilers 5: 2-1-3
December 23 - Oilers 6, Canucks 1: 1-3-4
December 27 - Oilers 10, Kings 3: 4-1-5

By December 30, 27 years ago today, Gretz stood at 45 in 38 and it was clear the record was going to fall. As my mates and I made the 7-minute walk from our (still free!) parking spot to the Coliseum, we discussed the upcoming sked and guessed how many more games it would take. Tonight's opponent was no Campbell Conference softie but the perennial powerhouse Philadelphia Flyers. Yet suddenly I blurted out, "You know, it's not impossible, he only needs five" ...

Did I mention this was a magic time? Like George Orr in "The Lathe of Heaven", one merely needed to imagine the dream for it to come true. Every draft prospect seemingly developed into a Hall of Famer, the owner promised and delivered a Stanley Cup within 5 years, and Wayne Gretzky wrote scripts that would have been too silly for Hollywood but which boggled the mind in reality.

And so it was on December 30, 1981, a date that will forever be locked in hockey lore:
December 30 - Oilers 7, Flyers 5: 5-1-6

Gretzky scored twice in the first period, then beat Pete Peeters once more in each of the second and third taking him to 49, before notching his 50th on a dramatic empty netter with just 3 seconds remaining to clinch an incredible 7-5 Oilers victory. His 50th was set up by Grant Fuhr and Glenn Anderson and scored past a diving Bill Barber, Hockey Hall of Famers all, but at that moment, the 20-year-old Gretzky was a colossus who stood alone astride his sport like few -- Babe Ruth, Pele, Michael Jordan, Lance Armstrong, Tiger Woods -- ever have.

Today I had the privilege of watching that entire game for the first time since I attended the actual game. It's disc #1 in the new DVD set of the Oilers' 10 greatest games that showed up under the tree the other day. To see Gretzky's performance in the context of the entire game is much more compelling than just a highlight-reel goal, goal, goal, goal, empty net goal. It is essential viewing for those who didn't live through it but who want to get a sense of what made Gretzky so sensationally special at such a tender age.

In this game, not unlike many others of that magic time, he generated chance after chance after great scoring chance in a transcendent display of hockey genius. I didn't document but I would bet he had at least a dozen shots on net and easily could have had 12 or 15 points if every ten-bell scoring chance went in. Peeters robbed him point blank on at least three occasions, and as usual Gretzky unselfishly dished the puck to the man in the best scoring position, even when he was temprarily "stuck" on 49 goals with time running out. He was an incredibly unselfish player in that respect, talking the talk -- "My dad always told me an assist is as good as a goal" -- and walking the walk. But he was just selfish enough to shoot himself if he was the guy in the best position ... which obviously happened fairly frequently.

Gretzky scored an NHL record 10 hat tricks in that 92-goal season, a record that has been equalled only once, by Gretzky himself in his 87-goal season two years later. He had at least one assist in all ten of those games, in fact he scored at least five points in all ten. No "soft" hat tricks like, say, 3-0-3 for the Great One; he scored goals and points in bunches.

The Great One also set a modern record during that Philly game of four, 4-goal games in one season; again a record he equalled two years later but nobody else has approached since the days of Joe Malone. Gretzky established yet a third separate mark by being the only player in the history of the game to notch consecutive games of 4+ goals, a feat even he accomplished just this once ... while under the heat of attacking, and demolishing, the greatest single record in the sport.

Anniversaries VII: Heritage Classic -- Saturday

Five years ago this weekend Edmonton hosted the NHL’s first outdoor game. This lifelong fan was one of 57,167 people in attendance that day, but my experiences over thathockey weekend were in some ways entirely unique. I think it’s a story worth (re)telling. Part 2 of 2 follows.


Saturday, November 22, 2003. I had really wanted to go to the Heritage Classic from the day it was announced. An historic occasion for a self-styled hockey historian who has already experienced first-hand more than his share. Yet all fall I had done nothing about it, not even entering the lottery as the ticket requests piled into the Oilers' office by the hundreds of thousands. I can't really afford it, I rationalized, but maybe something will just fall into my lap. Somehow I remained sanguine, strangely confident that somehow it would work out. When Val told me about the CBC contest, I just knew I would win -- and typically I'm a "glass-half-empty" type when it comes to foretelling the future. Even when I was down to the equivalent of pulling my goalie in the trivia game, I maintained my composure. I felt that the contest was for people just like me: the hockey-is-in-my-blood fans who could say "Thanks for the memories" and actually remember. So I felt I deserved to win those tickets and somehow justice would prevail. Of course, my end of the bargain would be to share my experience with those who might share my passion if not my luck on this occasion.

Came the day, and I awoke with said tickets having miraculously materialized only hours earlier. Game day temperature hovered between -16 and -20° C., with a "freshening" breeze from the SE. The promise of a warm-and-fuzzy experience was sure to be challenged on at least one front. Specifically, a cold front. But in a way I welcomed the cold as a factor which would make the occasion more memorable, an Outdoors-in-Canadian-Winter experience.

While the Oilers first NHL game -- whose ticket stub paved the way to this one -- was held on my birthday, the Heritage Classic itself was held on my wife's. (Some would call this a sign.) Unselfish person and loving mother that she is -- not to mention practical about the Great Outdoors in Friggin' November -- she graciously passed on her opportunity so that our son could attend, and spent "her" day mostly alone. She had seen hundreds of games with me in the glory years, and was happy to remember "the boys" as they were. Kevin, meanwhile, had heard the stories (more than once, in some cases) but never saw the team with his own eyes, the Gretzky sale having been completed in his first year.

Kevin and I prepared like tens of thousands of others for an extended outdoor stint. With my cold-weather night-time observing experience and collected layers of clothing, perhaps I was better prepared than many: briefs, thermal socks, two pairs wool socks, two full pairs of longjohns, outer pants, turtleneck, two hoodies, snowmobile suit, Oiler sweater, parka, Sorel boots, wool gloves covered by heavy wool gunner mitts, neck warmer, thick black cloth baseball hat, four hoods, sleeping bag. A thermos of hot coffee for me and of cider for Kevin, and off we trundled like a pair of Michelin Men to the Park'N'Ride. After a few nervous moments outside the stadium seeing a huge line-up awaiting security, I found that they were passing people through very efficiently indeed, and we were able to find out seats just as they began to introduce the so-called megastars. Perfect timing.

Commonwealth Stadium was the place to be that cold November Saturday, providing an interesting perspective on a few things. Seen at a greater distance than I'm used to -- and make no mistake, these were relatively excellent seats on Row 44, just below the underhang -- the games had a surreal element. I saw it as an event, whereas usually my attention is entirely focussed on the action between the boards.

What an event it was! It had a very Winter Carnival-type feel. I have been to many dozens of games in Commonwealth Stadium, starting with the Games themselves, but I have never, ever been there in the winter. Do we really just leave it sit there unused for half the year?

The experience of watching the timeworn rituals of hockey in the familiar-yet-strange setting of Commonwealth Stadium was like a dream, where context twisted into bizarre visions of unreality. The usual green floor of Commonwealth was replaced by a broad valley of brilliantly-lit white; an island ice rink surrounded by a lake of snow. While utterly appropriate to the occasion of the first outdoor game, the "lake" seemed to act as a buffer between the fans and the participants; seen at an odd, flattish angle the ice surface was seemingly suspended in space, the standard setting of spectators in surround-sound seats strangely sequestered. And my normally sharp sense of time was skewed in mysterious ways, as the utterly modern merged with the ageless.

The challenges of playing outdoors were as old as the game itself, yet utterly new to most of the participants. While a record audience of nearly 3 million viewers watched innovative camera angles on Hockey Night in Canada's first high-definition TV broadcast, to us in the distant stands the action was difficult to follow, the puck the size of a pixel when it was visible at all. One learned to follow it by the context of the play and the players; if, for example, Eric Brewer was skating in a certain direction, one could be sure the puck was going in another.

But all that said, the stands were the place to be, where one could observe the action unfolding live in something close to four dimensions, no matter how strangely warped. From that perspective one could focus less on the hockey game and reflect on Hockey, the Game. Or as Peter Gzowski put it, the Game of Our Lives. The patterns, the passing, the pounding, the poise-under-pressure, the performance art, the passion play.

In many ways the fans were the big story. Layered up as we were, we wedged ourselves together like rowsful of Dave Hunters. Not everybody stuck it out for the whole six hours, but a significant majority did. It was a wonderful celebration of the game of hockey, and simply of being Canadian. One just had to listen to the 57,000-voice Commonwealth Stadium Choir's heartfelt rendition of "O Canada" to recognize that. Normally a reluctant participant in flag-waving and territory-marking, I was surprised to hear my own voice rising to join the throng.

Back to the surreal: the legends game in particular had a dream-like quality, with the perception of both time and space seemingly distorted. For one thing it was a low-scoring game, hardly an Oiler trademark. For all that I had seen the core of the 80s Oilers play some 500 live games, they appeared for this one in their unfamiliar road blues. The Canadiens were wearing a weird sort of photonegative of the famed bleu, blanc, et rouge which made number identification almost impossible. I could see on the big screen suspended on a giant crane at the south end, that the sweaters sported the familiar "CH" (for "Classique Heritage"?).

But with due respect to the greatest franchise in the NHL's long history, it was not the Habs most of us had gone to see. Too many of les anciens glorieux are unfortunately a little more anciens than glorieux. They dominated the league for decades by passing the torch from one generation to the next. Many of the greats have long since died, some famously during their playing days (Georges Vézina, Howie Morenz), some famously in retirement (Rocket Richard), others in obscurity (Doug Harvey, Toe Blake). The majority of living greats are simply too old to participate in an event like this. Their last great team was a quarter century ago, a fully mature group of stars mostly in their 30s at a time that Wayne Gretzky and Mark Messier were hitting the pro ranks in the World Hockey Association at the tender age of 17. Unlike the Habs, the Oilers developed all of their great players almost simultaneously, with the entire core of stars being within a couple of years in age. Today, this meant in their young 40s, far younger than almost all of Montreal's legends.

The view of my old favourites was refracted by the prism of time which had eroded their skills today, but which shone in my mind like yesterday. I couldn't read their numbers easily either, but had no trouble identifying any of them through posture, skating stride, mannerisms. I'm sure I could identify Lee Fogolin coming off the bench during a stoppage at 1000 yards: the stooped shoulders and laboured but purposeful stride are still unmistakable.

Familiar plays and patterns occasionally emerged, albeit in slow motion as hard-won muscle memory fought aging legs and a puck in serious need of retraining. For every change on the fly, there was the new Oilers' right defenceman trying to hustle across to his side of the ice to defend against yet another odd-man rush; and boy, do I remember nights like that. No mistaking Paul Coffey making the big turn at his own blueline, his powerful cross-over strides morphing from backwards to lateral to full-steam-ahead, taking a pass in full stride, blasting though the neutral zone and wide on the overmatched defenceman before making a backhand centring pass which barely failed; the puck turned over but Coffey had already used his considerable momentum to round the net and glide effortlessly back into defensive position. Obviously that was Wayne Gretzky hunching over the puck for the exactly correct number of milliseconds before (trying to) unselfishly dishing it off to the man in the best position. Only Glenn Anderson could lean at that impossible angle, defying the laws of gravity while taking the puck on the shortest path to the goalmouth. That had to be Charlie Huddy making a shrewd neutral zone pinch, causing a turnover and taking advantage of his position and momentum to lumber along the right boards as the fourth man on the rush, take another pass, dish it off, duck back to the point. There was Randy Gregg, tall and poised, making a crisp breakout pass; and there was Kevin Lowe, tall and poised, making another. To some they may have looked as similar as two tall pine trees, but to me who has seen each of them make the same play literally thousands of times, they were as unique as my own brothers.

While many "experts" in the (eastern) media viewed Mark Messier's participation as frivolous or worse, fact is Oilers would have been incomplete without the presence of perhaps their most dominant personality. So what if he was still an active player? To me it was the night-in night-out grind with the Rangers at the age of 42 that's the anomaly, not playing with his old buddies who have played out the string in a more conventional time frame. And for an original WHA fan like myself, in Oiler silks Messier embodied the only surviving remnants of the old league; by 2003 the Edmonton native was the only active NHL player who played in the WHA, and the Oilers its only remaining team.

There were of course, several retirees in the game who played in the WHA: Gretzky, Semenko, Chipperfield, Hunter, Linseman, Gingras, Napier, to name a few. But as usual, the Oilers chose to bury that part of their history without a trace. I don't understand it.

As for the Habs, they played hard, and they played well. But beyond Lafleur, Robinson, Lapointe, and Shutt, many of the big names were missing: no Gainey, no Cournoyer, no Savard, no Dryden, to name a few stalwarts of the last great Habs team of the late 1970s. The roster was sprinkled with Stanley Cup champions from the "fluke" Cups of 1986 and '93, good teams with great goaltending. The masked face of that team, Patrick Roy, was nowhere to be seen, but there was no shortage of solid but uncompelling skaters like Carbonneau, Muller, Ludwig, Pepé Lemieux. The Habs did what those Habs always did, play positional hockey to close down space and time on the puck carrier. Not exactly the "firewagon hockey" for which the Habs once were revered, more like the "starve the fire before it catches hockey" of the modern NHL. So in a way they were the exact wrong opponent to let the Oilers put on a show. Time after time a still-imaginative Oiler passing play would die just before the finishing shot.

The view of the ice was further distorted by shimmering haloes of exhaled air around the players' heads, nature's elements in an unnaturally natural setting. Occasionally the puck would crack against the boards in a distinctly outdoors sort of way, and one had to remind oneself that these were some of the greatest athletes this city, this country, this game has ever seen, playing shinny on a cold Saturday afternoon in November. They were having a ball, and so were we in the stands. To see them pick up the ice scrapers between periods teleported me to the neighbourhood rink with my seven-year-old son, or as a seven-year-old myself, holding the handle of the shovel under my chin, trying to keep up with my brothers in the crisp air of Tipton Park. No doubt other minds wandered to more distant eras and lakes and rivers of a truly timeless, Canadian pastime.

A personal highlight was attending with my son. Kevin loved to play the game but is ambivalent about watching it. It might be the fastest team sport in the world, but it's positively glacial compared to video games. And my teenager's usual response rate is about one grunt per four questions asked. But midway through the megastars game, right out of the clear cold blue, Kevin volunteered "This is just great!" And beamed as only he can, right through the neck warmer.

A few other snapshots from the day's activities will stand the test of time. As an erstwhile goalie, I will cherish a couple provided by the custodians of the cord cottage. One was a remarkable period of shutout hockey provided by the recent Hockey Hall of Fame inductee Grant Fuhr, capped by a lightning quick glove grab of a rocket off the still-formidable stick of Stephane Richer. The replay on the big screen was perhaps the day's defining moment for TV viewers: the modern net cam view of Fuhr in classic hockey card pose, silhouetted against a crisp blue sky. The other was Jose Théodore's toque, a practical fashion statement which for this hockey fan made yet another link across time. In 2002 Théodore became the second Habs' goalie to win the Hart Trophy. The first, 40 years earlier in the season before I started to watch hockey, was noted worrywart Jacques Plante, who famously used to knit toques as a stress reliever. Legend does not relate whether he actually wore one in an NHL game, but on this special day his spirit lived on.

The regular "league game" was something of an anti-climax to the megastars, because in many respects it was just another game. Historic, to be sure, and interesting to watch the players deal with the challenges, but I found I had to work rather harder than usual to follow the game at the intellectual level. Two points were on the line, but who won or lost was ultimately unimportant. A lesson which I am still learning at this advanced stage of my life.

Was it perfect? Certainly not. The utter lack of crowd control made the concourse a seething (in more ways than one) mass of humanity, where the destination eventually became a not-so-simple return to one's seat, leaving one to contemplate alternative uses of an empty thermos. The main game could have been better, and had a happier outcome for the frozen faithful. The Oilers megastars could have won 7-5, not 2-0. Jaroslav Pouzar could have been there. Don Cherry could have been booed off the field, or at least greeted with stony silence. (Some dreams remain forever beyond reach.)

And there were omissions. If they'd put me in charge, I would have added a final touch: to announce the home town in the introduction of every player and in both games, from Edmonton to Espoo, St. John's to St. Petersburg. This would have served as eloquent testimony that the Game of Our Lives is proudly Canadian in origin but now stretches 'round the globe at those latitudes where ice forms naturally.

The dreamlike state in which I experienced this event was entirely appropriate. In earlier, happier days, it had been the dream of a lifetime for a die-hard hockey fan to witness first-hand such a team as the 1980s Edmonton Oilers, without doubt the most exciting team in NHL history, featuring the greatest genius to ever play the game. To have this one last chance to see them make history yet again was for me, what the chance to play together may have been for them.

Anniversaries VI: Heritage Classic -- Friday

Five years ago this weekend Edmonton hosted the NHL’s first outdoor game. This lifelong fan was one of 57,167 people in attendance that day, but my experiences over that hockey weekend were in some ways entirely unique. I think it’s a story worth (re)telling. Part 1 of 2 follows.
*****

Friday, November 21, 2003. Earlier in the week, a close friend had given me the heads-up to the Heritage Classic contest on CBC Radio One's Radioactive show. They had a pair of tickets for the person who could produce the earliest ticket from an Oilers’ NHL game. Val thought of me immediately and knowing that I’m a CKUA guy, not to mention a hockey guy who didn't yet have tickets, took the trouble to call. So I trundled in to CBC's new downtown studios with my entire 47-game set of ticket stubs from Season One. (Five exhibition games, 40 regular season games, one international with Moscow Dynamo, and one playoff game; I went to them all.) They were only particularly interested in Game One, October 13, 1979, which of course was included. As luck had it, within a minute of my arrival an elderly lady came in also with a ticket from that game, and they said we were the first two. So they interviewed both of us on-air and decided that as a tie-breaker there will be a live-on-air Oilers' trivia contest on Friday afternoon. I was to face off against the lady's son -- likely to be about my age -- and possibly others who brought their stubs before the deadline, with the winner to receive a brace of tickets to the game.

Friday was an interesting day to say the least. First I took in the morning skate, thanks to an old friend who had received a four pack acknowledging his 25(+) years as an Oiler season ticket holder. They seemed to have been quite stingy doling out tix; there were maybe 5, or 6,000 people there. Room for ten times that many. Although I noticed there were lots of school groups, hockey teams and the like.

It was numbingly cold. I had inadequate gloves, and when I took my hands out to get out my camera or binoculars, well, I just couldn't get them warm again (outside of drastic action which I was unprepared to take). It was fun to see Lafleur and Shutt bearing down on Robinson in a 2-on-1 drill, although the passes were rarely on the mark it seemed. There were a fair number of Habs sweaters and toques in the stands, some people wearing the logo of both teams. A particularly fitting touch was supplied by one wag who posted the score of Guests 6, Home 15 on the temporary scoreboard. I instantly recognized it as the aggregate score of the Little Big Horn Series of 1981. Oilers over Habs 6-3, 3-1, 6-2. Ouch.

For some unexplained, inexplicable reason, there was an interminable 80-minute "intermission" between the two teams' skates. What the hell could they possibly have been doing? Dunno, nobody bothered to turn on the PA. Had a whole bunch of the Oilers' best customers a little nonplussed, to say the least.

But it was for the Oilers that most people came -- and waited, and waited -- and were rewarded by the following starting line-ups for the scrimmage (colours were blue for defence, white for forward, so I had to choose names for the teams):

First All-Star Team - Second All-Star Team
------------------------------------------
Grant Fuhr -------- G ------- Bill Ranford
Paul Coffey ------- D --------- Kevin Lowe
Charlie Huddy ----- D -------- Lee Fogolin
Esa Tikkanen ------ LW ----- Craig Simpson
Wayne Gretzky ----- C ------- Mark Messier
Jari Kurri -------- RW ---- Glenn Anderson

Obviously, the "action" couldn't possibly live up to those great names, but to think the Oilers have such a proud legacy after only 25 years in the NHL was (almost) enough to warm the heartles of my... wait a minute.

Other trios included the Original NHL Oiler Line of Chipperfield with Hunter and Lumley, and the Rat's Paradise Line of Linseman, Semenko, and McSorley. Other blueliners included Gregg, Muni, and Beukeboom and some guy O'Flynn, # 03. Maybe he won some contest or something, I dunno, but he allowed everybody to take a breather. Meanwhile, I had my own contest to think about. I still didn’t know if I’d be back to see these guys play one last game.

The CBC contest was exciting to say the least, starting with the adventure of trying to park downtown with all the metres off-line during rush hour. I was (as usual) pushing the envelope re: timeliness, and traffic had been terribly slow, so I sent my son in to the studio to tell them while I searched for a parking spot. I tried to rush into the library parkade but miscalculated by a block and went down the up ramp. The attendant came rushing out of the booth flailing his arms, giving me what-for and making me back all the way up the narrow ramp. I finally got parked and hustled off to the studio. By now my pulse rate was about 200 rpm, but I finally got into the studio with time to catch my breath; the other guy was late!

Turned out there were just the two of us, standing on the stage in front of a live, and large, studio audience. Live music (Captain Tractor), party atmosphere, no pressure. (Yeah, sur-re.) Upon introduction I did a pirouette showing the proud #99 on the back of my Oiler sweater, which may have won me a few fans.

The contest was three "periods" of two trivia questions each, six questions in all. I played it just like the Oilers, skating out to an excellent first period and taking a 2-1 lead thanks to my knowledge of Paul Coffey's records, before completely tanking the second to fall behind 3-2 and get myself seriously behind the eight-ball. I was stumped by consecutive questions: where was the 2000 NHL All-Star Game (the tenuous connection to Oilers being that was when the NHL officially retired Gretzky's number); I remembered Canada, I guessed Vancouver but given it was CBC I should have defaulted to the correct answer, Toronto. And where did Mike Comrie play college hockey? "Michigan..." I began, and the host started to congratulate me before I foolishly finished my guess “…State." Wrong: Comrie went to Michigan, his contemporary Shawn Horcoff to Michigan State. I lump the two together, I could have told them Horcoff beat Comrie for the 1999-2000 CCHA scoring title by one point, but I couldn't remember which guy went to which school.

As it turned out, I knew the answers to every last one of my opponent's questions, but not these two. So when he got set up like a sweet Gretzky feed to start the third period, how many goals did Gretzky get in his record year, it was 4-2 and I had no room to manoeuvre. I had to get my two questions right, then hope he missed, then win it in OT. True story: at this moment my mind flashed back to one of my favourite Oiler games of all time, Game 2 of the 1988 Blow Out the Flames series, when the Oilers themselves trailed by 4-2 only to pull off the comeback and complete it in overtime on a memorable goal by Wayne Gretzky. Oilers 5, Calgary 4.

Visualization works; that's pretty much how this one played out. I answered a couple of fairly tough ones: who played the most games in goal for Oilers (Bill Ranford, 449), and who had the first shutout for the Oilers. "Eddie Mio" I responded, biting my tongue on "3-0 over Hartford, December 9, 1979." At this point it didn't matter what I knew, there were no extra points for know-it-alls, and it was out of my hands. And here it came: "Who scored the Oilers' first hat trick... ("B.J. MacDonald" my mind screamed)... at home AND first hat trick on the road?" Egads, I'm thinking, TWO clues, I'm dead, and of all the guys to beat me, it's my old favourite B.J. But my opponent asked him to repeat the question and was clearly stumped. Finally... "Wayne Gretzky?" Good guess, but wrong, and off to OT we go. Once again I got first choice, and answered an easy one about who the Oilers first playoff series was against. (Philadelphia) My opponent was asked who led the Oilers in playoff scoring that spring of 2003, guessed Ryan Smyth instead of the afore-mentioned Shawn Horcoff, and I had won. 5-4, in overtime. Felt just as good as that shorthanded Gretzky slapper over Vernon’s shoulder.

There was quite a big cheer from the audience as I received a pair of the hottest tickets this town has seen in a long time and held them triumphantly aloft. I showed one to my son and said "for you!" My opponent got a nice bunch of prizes too, including the new Gretzky DVD, but I had what I wanted. A few complete strangers came up to shake my hand.

My son and I celebrated by heading to City Hall to see the great NHL exhibit there. 18 beautiful trophies in the silverware collection, including the spectacular new Rocket Richard Trophy which is another gorgeous work of art. I visited the Gretzky Wing of the Art Ross and Hart Trophies, and saw the inscriptions of Grant Fuhr on the Vezina, Mark Messier on the Smythe, Paul Coffey on the Norris, Jari Kurri on the Byng, Edmonton Oilers again and again on the Clarence Campbell Bowl and on the first two plates of the President's Trophy. It had been a pretty spectacular 25 years for NHL hockey here in Edmonton, especially the first dozen.

Stanley was there too, but roped off and almost impossible to read at a distance, although very easy to admire. They also had some real nifty Hockey Hall of Fame displays: Frank Mahovlich's rookie sweater, the (unridged) puck with which Nels (Old Poison) Stewart scored his 200th goal, and most interestingly to me, Bill Durnan's old goal gloves. Another in the long line of great Montreal netminders, Durnan was the only ambidextrous goalie in NHL history. When he had time to prepare for an angled attack he switched his stick to the short side post, so both gloves were a weird combination of blocker and catcher. It seems to have been a good strategy: in Durnan's short, seven-year career, he got his own name inscribed on the Vezina six times.

Finally leaving the milling throng at City Hall, we found the right hole to depart the parkade and hit Thanh Thanh for a small celebratory feast Vietnamese style. Saturday would be another busy day...

Anniversaries V: Bugsy's new shoes

November 20, 1980 was a Thursday of course, it being exactly one "solar cycle" ago (28 years = 7 leap cycles). It seems like a long time ago but what goes around comes around; there are some interesting parallels between Oiler teams then and now.

In those days the Oilers played most of their midweek home games on Wednesday. 28 years ago yesterday was another such game, an utterly forgettable 6-4 loss to Vancouver, remarakable for just one thing: it was the end of the short coaching career of Bugsy Watson.

In the fall of 1980 Glen Sather was assuming the reins of GM with the departure of Larry Gordon. His first job was to replace himself as coach. In the brash Bryan Watson, Sather saw a lot that reminded him of himself. Both had lengthy NHL careers because they were as long in guile and gamesmanship as they were short in actual talent. A good comparable for Watson among mondern players would be the guy who now wears Bugsy's old #18 for Red Wings, Kirk Maltby, with a little Jerkko Ruutu thrown in for good measure.

Watson's most famous accomplishment was his shadowing of Bobby Hull in the 1966 playoffs in which Bugsy drove Bobby beyond distraction and into revenge mode. Hull had killed in the Wings the previous year's playoffs, and in this, the fourth consecutive Hawks-Wings semi-final Wings coach Sid Abel unleashed his skating pit bull with the single task of taking down Hull. Which he did, with both scoring twice in the series while conducting an ongoing tong war. Wings won in six.

In his classic book on those 1980-81 Oilers, The Game of Our Lives, Peter Gzowski wrote:

'Just a few months earlier, Watson had seemed the perfect man to put some toughness and fire in the Oilers. He must have been one of the most voracious competitors ever to have played the game. Small (five-ten) and stocky -- he played at 170 pounds -- he set league records for penalties; until Dave "The Hammer" Schultz came along to lead Philadelphia's Broad Street Bullies in the 1970s, he was the most penalized player in NHL history, with 2,212 minutes -- more than thirty-six full games -- in the box. Yet no one regarded him as a bully, or an intimidator. He shared many of Sather's characteristics as a player; in a book called The Violent Game, the American sporrtswriter Gary Ronberg singled out the two of them. Ronberg described them as "relatively small rogues," and went on to write that, "They intimidate few players, but have a knack for unnerving them with an impertinent word or gesture, an annoying slash or cross-check. When they fight, it is usually against a bigger and stronger man, but the mismatch is in one sense an advantage -- little men are usually beaten, and when they manage to avoid a thrashing it seems like a victory."

'Although Watson played with nine different teams in his seventeen years in the league, the most vivid memory most fans have of him was as the Detroit Red Wing who stuck so closely to Bobby Hull in a 1966 playoff series... The tactic, sending one defensive specialist out to hobble a superstar, was not new at the time but no one had seen it used to this degree before, and it drove Hull to distraction. As a result of punishment he received in the course of that and other assignments, Watson's face looks like that of a battered pug. The bridge of his nose is concave; scar tissue crinkles over both eyes. He looks, as his nickname Bugsy suggests, like some small-time hood in a Hollywood gangster movie. For all that, though, there is a boyish vitality about his rearranged features, despite their brutish history. Women find him inordinately attractive.'

The Oilers had finished with a flourish the previous season under Sather's tutelage, grabbing the last playoff spot with a late surge and playing the first-overall Flyers tough in a surprisingly close first-round series. But the second year they struggled out of the gate. "Veterans" of the previous season included Wayne Gretzky, Mark Messier, Kevin Lowe, Dave Hunter, Dave Lumley, Dave Semenko: still young and developing players who were subject to ebbs and flows in their physical, mental and emotional games. In this sense they weren't too different from the modern group of Sam Gagner, Andrew Cogliano, Tom Gilbert, Kyle Brodziak, Marc Pouliot, Zack Stortini, all of whom are struggling with the burden of higher expectations after the giddy heights of last spring. And their coach is struggling tight along with them.

In '80-81 the young Oilers and their coach struggled right out of the gate. Gzowski again:

'On his first road trip as coach, Watson was having difficulty adjusting the social distance he felt he ought to maintain from the players. For seventeen years he had been one of the boys; now, he missed the fraternity. Executive robes did not rest easily on his shoulders ... At the morning practive in Buffalo after their defeat by the Sabres, he had felt out of cointrol of the team. At least one player,who had apparently not settled for just a beer after the game, smelled of booze in the morning. Watson was angry with them, and disappointed.'

By mid-November the team had struggled to a 4-9-5 start, winning just one of 10 home games (a big one, the first ever Battle of Alberta which Oilers won 5-3 on two goals from Dave Semenko). Other than one frustrating run of 4 consecutive ties during a 6-game homestand -- no overtime in those days -- other home games were even more frustrating losses, many of them to mediocre opposition. In 6 home games the squad had scored 4 goals and failed to win.

Sather, whose patience with his players was legendary, wasn't satisfied with what his friend Bugsy was getting out of them. After that 6-4 loss to the ever-mediocre Canucks he had seen enough. With Peter Pocklington's blessing, Slats turned to the one guy he had the utmost confidence in: himself. That weekend, with the local press congregated in Toronto for the Eskimos' annual Grey Cup victory, Bugsy was fitted with cement shoes and quickly sank out of sight.

Sather: "The most important thing is the team. If my own brother was coaching this club, or playing on it, and it wasn't working out, I'd let him go too."

Although they predictably won the next game, 6-3 over Buffalo, Oilers continued to struggle under Sather. They posted an even worse 4-12-1 W-L-T mark in his first 17 games and made the turn at New Year at 8-21-6, before making a second half surge that took them right into the second round of the playoffs where they were eliminated by the defending champion Islanders. Sather had established firm control of the team and continued in the dual role (later becoming club president as well) as the team blossomed into a powerhouse and ultimately, a dynasty.
***

Historical footnote: The Grey Cup weekend firing was a time-honoured NHL tradition. Half a century ago, in a situation that closely parallels the Sather-Watson situation, Punch Imlach fired Billy Reay during Grey Cup weekend 1958 and became GM-coach of the Leafs. As described by sportwriter Scott Young (Neil's dad) in his own terrific book, The Leafs I Knew:

'November 26, Vancouver. Here for the Grey Cup. Sad but not much surprised to get the news that Billy Reay had been fired as the Leafs' coach and that Imlach would take over for the time being. What a bunch of cunning so-and-sos. They wait until every Toronto sports columnist is three thousand miles away covering the Grey Cup, and sports pages are all full of Grey Cup, and they fire Reay.

'Not that we could have changed the situation. But we might have put the finger on a few people who deserve to share the blame -- and do it before most fans forget, which generally takes about 48 hours; or until the next hockey game.'

Those '58-59 Leafs also went on a late season run to scrape into the playoffs, then made it through to the second round (then known as the Stanley Cup Finals) where they were eliminated by the defending champion Canadiens. Imlach too had established firm control as his team blossomed into a powerhouse cum dynasty.

In both cases the team was still 3+ seasons away at the time of the Grey Cup firing, but once they won the Cup they held onto it for awhile. Both Punch Imlach and Glen Sather won four Stanleys in the dual role. And Billy Reay and Bugsy Watson became historical footnotes in their own right.

"Scouting" a Hall of Famer -- two ancient game reports

My first view of Glenn Anderson occurred sometime during the 1978-79 season, when the University of Denver brought their fine hockey team to Edmonton for an exhibition game against the University of Alberta Golden Bears. The Bears were in the second of a three-year run as national champions, perhaps the best team ever iced by this long-standing dynasty of Canadian university sport, their line-up featuring future NHLers like Don Spring, Dave Hindmarch, and their captain and CIAU Player of the Year Randy Gregg.

While I was keen to see how the Bears fared against a top NCAA team, I also went to this game with scouting aforethought. The Pioneers’ roster featured Ken Berry, a draft choice of the then-WHA Oilers and brother of Doug Berry who was breaking in with the Oilers that very season. Little did I know that a childhood friend of the Berrys would be the true find. Or as I said to my seatmate more than once that night: “Berry looks pretty good, but who in the heck is this # 9 ?!” Glenn Anderson was flying on the always-excellent Varsity (now Clare Drake) Arena ice, and made a very positive impression despite being blanked along with his mates in a 2-0 Bears victory.

One person who was likely in the building and certainly paying attention was Lorne Davis. That summer the Oilers drafted Anderson, in the fourth round, 69th overall, in the best ever Entry Draft class of 1979. Oilers’ first three picks, Kevin Lowe, Mark Messier, and Anderson, would go on to win six Stanley Cups together, five of them right here in Edmonton. I remember being thrilled on draft day that I had actually seen two of the guys we picked – Messier and Anderson – during the previous season. I had no problem remembering Anderson’s exciting pell-mell dashes towards goal, and was honestly excited that this was a great pick by the newly-reinvented NHL Oilers.

The following season Andy was back in the same arena, which is hockey’s version of Renfrew/John Ducey Park – hard on the rear end, but a wonderful place to see a game. This time the Bears’ opposition was Canada’s Olympic team that was barnstorming the country in preparation for the Lake Placid Olympics. Father David Bauer’s revised dream team was coached by Drake with assistance from Tom Watt and one Lorne Davis. In fact Team Canada featured six players from that Denver-Alberta exhibition game: Gregg, Spring, Hindmarch, John Devaney, Berry and Anderson. It also featured at least four guys who would go on to play for the Edmonton Oilers: Gregg, Anderson, Berry and (trivia fans take note) netminder Bob Dupuis.

Even though the Bears’ roster had been ravaged by “defections” to the Olympic team, they were no spent force. Drake’s assistant Billy Moores stepped to the forefront and guided a team with 11 newcomers to a third consecutive national championship. On this night they gave Team Canada one of their best games on their season long tour, handing the Red Maple Leaf a rare loss in a spirited 4-3 affair.

While there was lots of story lines and some great hockey to enjoy that night, the apple of my eye was Anderson, now a full-fledged Oilers prospect and clearly one of the stars of Canada's first Olympic hockey team in 12 years. He had an outstanding game, scoring once, setting up another, finding iron at least once while creating one great scoring opportunity after another with his speed, puck-carrying and fearlessness. He was not yet a polished finisher in those days, it took him about a year at the NHL level before his brain caught up to his feet in the scoring area. But man, did he make things happen.

I won’t dwell on Glenn’s NHL career in this post, other than to say that at 20 he was one of the most well-rounded and NHL-ready rookies I’ve ever seen, thanks in large part to that year under Drake, Watt, and Davis. Anderson would emerge as one of the earliest and most successful graduates of Hockey Canada’s Program of Excellence, as will finally be confirmed tonight when he finally receives the highest individual honour the game can bestow.

From the archives: The campaign to elect Glenn Anderson

Date: November 13, 2006

To: Hockey Hall of Fame

From: Bruce

Re: The compelling case for Glenn Anderson

When Wayne Gretzky retired in the spring of 1999, the NHL decided to honour him in a multitude of ways, including immediate induction into the Hockey Hall of Fame. The decision to waive the customary three-year waiting period was not unprecedented, so the further decision was taken that the Great One should enter the Hall of Fame alone, since anybody else's accomplishments and, especially, statistics would pale in comparison.

Lost in the Gretzky spotlight yet again was one Glenn Anderson, another Oilers superstar of the 80s who had retired in 1996. Under normal circumstances Anderson would have been first considered for the HHoF in 1999, instead he was put off to 2000 to compete with a second graduating class. And he's been put off ever since.

Tonight Dick Duff becomes the 10th NHL forward to enter the HHoF since 2000. Duff was an excellent role player on two mini-dynasties, the Leafs of the early 60s and the Habs of the late 60s. Duff's statistics are well below HHoF standards, but he has the deserved reputation as a clutch player, and is the first of those ten inductees to have equalled Glenn Anderson's total of six Stanley Cups. So certainly Duff was a worthy candidate, if a borderline inductee.

Anderson compares very well to that entire group of 10 forwards, who include Joe Mullen, Denis Savard, Mike Gartner, Dale Hawerchuk, Jari Kurri, Bernie Federko, Clark Gillies, Pat Lafontaine, Cam Neely, and Duff. Compare Anderson's stats to their average totals:

Inductees: 1081 GP, 464-601-1065

Anderson : 1129 GP, 498-601-1099

Anderson played a few more games than average, but his goals and points per game were a virtual saw-off. Now let's look at the playoffs:

Inductees: 126 GP, 50-63-113

Anderson : 225 GP, 93-121-214

Anderson is the fourth highest scorer in Stanley Cup history. Of the 10 inductees only Kurri and Savard have even half of his points. In the tighter checking of the playoffs the peer group's per-game production fell by about 10%, Anderson's by a bare 2%. More importantly he played way more games, which in the playoffs is a direct by-product of WINNING. He's got the 6 rings to prove it; even with the addition of Duff, the group of 10 have only 19 among them, including five players with none at all. For sure part of that is opportunity, but you could make the same case for Duff, Kurri, Gillies, and Mullen who all landed in the right place(s) at the right time and made the most of their opportunity.

The most statistically comparable inductee to Anderson is probably Joe Mullen, a player with virtually identical regular season stats to Anderson (502 goals to 498, 1063 points to 1099) but only half of Andy's playoff production (106 points to 214, three Cups to Anderson's six). Mullen was inducted in his first year of eligibility, while 10 years after his retirement Anderson remains on the outside looking in. It is not my point to say Joe Mullen doesn't belong in the Hall -- quite the contrary! -- but if he's there, Glenn Anderson should be there.

Ironically, perhaps the most stylistically-comparable recent inductee to Anderson is the one non-NHLer, Valeri Kharlamov. Both were lightning-in-a-bottle fast with an equal ability to finish a solo drive to the net or make the killer pass at full speed. Both game-breakers struck terror into their opposition with their innate ability to rise to the big occasion, and to find or create holes in the staunchest defences. In Anderson's case, that can be seen in his five playoff overtime goals, or that in an Oiler record book dominated by Gretzky it is Anderson who comfortably leads in game-winning goals.

Andy loved to represent Canada and for years was an automatic choice for the world's deepest team, winning two Canada Cups and appearing in the Olympics, two World Championships (on the rare occasions his playoffs ended early), and on the All-NHL team in Rendezvous '87.

As his peer group shows, making the Hall of Fame can be about the numbers, or it can be about winning. Glenn Anderson's case can be made on both fronts. His continued exclusion from the Hockey Hall of Fame casts a bad light not on the individual, but the institution.

Bruce

*****

Date: November 15, 2006

To: Bruce

From: Philip Pritchard, HHoF

Re: The compelling case for Glenn Anderson

Thanks for the note and your interest in the Hockey Hall of Fame.

I am going to forward this on to the Hockey Hall of Fame's Selection Committee. I trust they will look at it and appreciate all the talents Mr. Anderson brought to the game of hockey, as much as you do.

Thanks again for your interest.

Regards

Philip Pritchard

Hockey Hall of Fame

Anniversaries IV: The First Gretzky Sale

Thirty years ago today, on November 2 1978, the hockey landscape in Edmonton changed forever.

The World Hockey Association had begun its seventh and ultimately final season under the usual cloud of controversy. The previous summer overtures at a merger with the NHL had been rebuffed, and the Rebel League's struggling southern franchises responded with an unprecedented raid of underage talent. in 1977-78 the Birmingham Bulls had signed Ken Linseman as an underage test case, but now the gloves were off. The Bulls signed goalie Pat Riggin, defenders Craig Hartsburg, Rob Ramage, and Gaston Gingras, and forwards Michel Goulet and Rick Vaive. The Cincinnati Stingers snapped up Mike Gartner. And the Indianapolis Racers snagged the biggest prize of all, the 17-year-old wunderkind Wayne Gretzky, fully three years before he was eligible to be drafted into the NHL. The Racers' flamboyant owner Nelson Skalbania penned "the Kid" to a seven-year, $1.75 MM contract that shook the hockey world.

Gretzky was already famous for his scoring exploits as an amateur, coming to national attention at a very young age by posting unbelievable totals during his minor hockey days. The previous year he had taken the OHA by storm, scoring 70 goals and 112 assists in just 63 games as a 16-year-old, finishing a close second in league scoring just behind 19-year-old Bobby Smith, who would go on to be the #1 draft in the NHL. Gretzky was almost singlehandedly responsible for raising the profile of the fledgling World Junior tournament with a dominant performance, leading the tourney in scoring as its youngest player with 8 goals and 9 assists. A superior Soviet squad won a critical showdown en route to the gold medal, with 19-year-old captain Slava Fetisov personally responding to the challenge of shutting down the young Canadian star.

Despite the addition of the young hotshot, the Racers struggled out of the gate and at the gate. Gretzky had a slow start, but famously scored his first professional goal in a home game against the Oilers, and added a second just eight seconds later. (I still remember Rod Phillips' description from Market Square Arena.) The Racers were not scheduled to visit Edmonton until November 17, a date I had circled on my pocket schedule the day it was released.

Out of the blue on November 2, the incredible happened. Word filtered down that the Oilers' owner Peter Pocklington had completed a major deal with his former partner Skalbania to acquire Gretzky along with teammates Ed Mio and Peter Driscoll for the princely sum of $850,000. It was an out-and-out purchase with no players going the other way.

Such one-sided transactions were not uncommon in the Rebel League. Financial difficulties, bad debts and folding franchises were the rule rather than the exception throughout the league's turbulent history. Two years earlier the Oilers had briefly acquired seven members of the Minnesota Fighting Saints (a.k.a. the "Folding Saints") including Dave Keon and Johnny McKenzie, only to have the deal mostly fall through when the famous vets turned up their noses at Western Canada and forced a second deal to New England Whalers. So while the first reaction to the Gretzky purchase was overjoy, the second was trepidation; would Edmonton be snubbed yet again?

By the suppertime news, Gretzky was already in town, after an eventful charter flight in which the destination was unknown while Skalbania dickered with Michael Gobuty of the Jets (who famously chickened out of a game of backgammon) before closing the sale with Pocklington. Eddie Mio paid for the flight on his own credit card ... such was the precarious state of finances in the WHA.

The following night Gretzky made his Edmonton debut, scoring his first Oiler goal in a game I was obliged to miss due to a prior commitment which took me out of town. The Oilers themselves then went on the road, returning, ironically enough, for that game against the Racers that I had been so eagerly anticipating. To see the hotshot in the home whites was too good to be true.

I couldn't take my eyes off the Kid that night, in fact I quickly fell into the long-term habit of keeping an eye on him every moment he was on the ice. He did odd things, standing off to the side of puck battles and then pouncing on the loose biscuit, or occupying traditional dead zones of the ice and picking off stray passes and shootarounds. His anticipation was otherworldly, his stick skills magical from the get-go. His skating, not so much. But you could see from the stuff that he tried, that when he got stronger on his feet he would be hard to stop.

The Oilers cruised to a 4-0 first-period lead against the overmatched Racers, with Gretzky popping a garbage goal on a rebound. From there the game became a desultory 6-1 affair, with one shining exception. Attacking my end of the rink on a second period powerplay, the Oilers were going precisely nowhere and the Racers iced the puck again and again. Gretzky was growing frustrated and his face flushed (something my season ticket buddies and I soon learned was a VERY good sign). By the second or third icing Gretzky, playing the point, turned on the burners and raced down to his own end to retrieve the puck. He slapped his stick on the ice a couple of times to encourage Dave Dryden to simply leave the puck for him, and by the time he circled back with it he was in top gear. Crossing the Racer line he encountered the two penalty killing forwards, slipped the puck past them and avoided a check by leaping and spinning in the air, a move which I don't think I ever saw again. (Turned out he had a few others.) Landing on his feet and through the hole, Gretzky took a couple of steps, wound up and leaned into a slapshot which found the top corner of the net. I will never forget the the moment of silence that it took the people in the crowd to process what they had just seen, not just the whizzy move but the end result, the puck in the net, the red light on, just out of nowhere. Then the place, all 8 or 10,000 of us, erupted with a frenzy of cheering unlike anything I had experienced to that point. What a moment.

Gretzky went on to score 110 points, finish third in WHA scoring and decisively win the Rookie of the Year award against a bumper crop while leading the Oilers to a first place finish and a berth in the Avco Cup finals. While some NHL chauvinists ascribed his success to weak competition, fact was those 110 points remained the Great One's lowest output as a professional until 1992-93.

One other highlight of that first game didn't come into focus until much later. After trading three major assets to the Oilers the Racers had holes to fill on the roster. One of the newcomers was another 17-year-old, a local lad named Mark Messier. Thus I had my first view of the two most famous Edmonton Oilers on the very same night.

The unpolished Messier did little that night to really catch our eyes. He was lightly enough regarded that he lasted into the third round of the following year's NHL Entry Draft, long after his WHA contemporaries Ramage, Gartner, Vaive, Hartsburg, Goulet, Gingras and Riggin were selected. Indeed the WHA itself finally gained entry into the NHL that summer, as merger negotiations were finally successful. Gretzky himself avoided the draft altogether, having been signed by the crafty Pocklington to a personal services contract, and finessed into the NHL as an Oiler. Within five years Gretzky, Messier and Pocklington completed a rapid ascent to the ultimate goal, the Stanley Cup. But that's a story -- more than one actually! -- for another day.