What Hockey has Meant to Vladislav Tretiak

IPicture of Vladislav Tretiak was never so happy in my life as I was the first time I was a member of a world championship team. That was in 1970 when I was  18, serving as backup goaltender to Victor Konovalenko, a wonderful goalie with fantastic intuition. I don’t know of any Soviet player of that era who commanded more respect than Victor. He was respected for his sense of fair play, his devotion to hockey and for his valour and steadfastness.Often it seemed the pucks flew into his glove by themselves. He was twice my age but there was a bond between us. He patiently revealed to me the secrets of the goaltender’s art and he knew them all. Hadn’t he played on seven world championship teams? Hadn’t he been an Olympic gold medallist? At that young age, more than anything else, I wanted to be the kind of man, the  cool competitor, that Konovalenko was. I was also helped to the top by such world-renowned players as the brilliant forward Anatoli Firsov and  the reliable defenseman  Alexander Ragulin.

Later on, prior to the famous Soviet-Canada series in 1972, I would meet the fabulous Canadian goaltender Jacques Plante, who was kind enough to give me some tips on how to play the top NHL forwards prior to the Summit Series. Had it not been for that unique tournament, perhaps I would not have had an opportunity to have my own puck stopping abilities compared to future Hall of Fame goalies like Ken Dryden and Tony Esposito. More than any other hockey event, the 1972 tournament made it shockingly clear that there was very little difference between the Soviet national team players and the top NHLers.  Suddenly there was renewed interest in  world and Olympic hockey tournaments, and beginning in 1976, in the establishment of the popular Canada Cup competitions.  Today, as a fitting finale to hockey’s first century, we have the best of professional players competing at the Winter Olympics in Japan with a world-wide audience anticipating a thrilling race for the  gold medals and the coveted title “Olympic Champions.”

If you want to hear more about what the hockey experience was like from his Russian persepctive, you may want to take a look at Vladislav’s book Tretiak : The Legend.  At Amazon, Brian E. Erland says it “…provides an illuminating glimpse of those years… and examines the volatile games that took place when the ‘Eastern Block’ collided with the ‘Powers of the West.’ “

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More About Orr

When Bobby Orr signed a contract to play for the Boston Bruins in 1966-67, for a base salary of $15,000 and a bonus of $5,000 for playing in more than half his team’s games, he became the highest paid rookie in NHL history. He went on from there to become one of the greatest players in the annals of the game.

“He was the greatest,” says  Don Cherry, his former coach.

In 1997, The Hockey News conducted a survey, attempting to discover who was the better player, Orr or Wayne Gretzky. Gretzky, who played eight more seasons than Orr, was the choice of voters by a narrow margin. The difference was less than one per cent.

In 2000, The Hockey News conducted another vote. A panel of experts was asked to name the most significant full season performance by an NHL player.

This time Orr edged Gretzky by the slimmest or margins–864 votes to 857.

Orr’s 1969-70 season, in which he  became the first defenseman to win the scoring title with 120 points, was seen as the most significant full season by an NHL player.  Gretzky’s 92 goal, 212 point season in 1981-82, received just seven fewer votes in the balloting.

Before knee injuries forced Orr to retire at age 30, he had helped the Bruins to two Stanley Cups and had smashed most  scoring records for  defensemen. During the 1969-70 season,  he won four major trophies: the Hart (regular season MVP), the Norris (best defenseman), the Art Ross (scoring leader) and the Conn Smythe (playoff MVP)

No other player has ever earned so much silverware in one NHL season.

We’re on the ice at the Skatium in Fort Myers hard at play when a dapper little guy dashes out wearing a full referee’s uniform. He barrels around the ice, warming up, then pulls out a whistle.

“Tweeeet!”

“Offside!” he shouts, snagging the puck off the ice and motioning the guys to line up for a faceoff. Like sheep, we obey.

Seconds later, there’s another blast of his whistle.

“Tweeet!”

“Icing!” he bellows. He stands in the faceoff spot while one of the players directs the puck to his feet. He drops the puck between two sticks and blasts his whistle again.

This goes on for five or ten minutes. There’s a faceoff every few seconds and the guys begin to grumble.

“Who the hell is that guy?” someone asks. “Who told him we needed a referee?”

“Nobody invited him,” Dave St. Andrews says. “He just showed up,”

“Then tell him to go home,” I say. “We lose 15 seconds of playing time every time he blasts that friggin’ whistle.”

Dave calls the ref over to our bench. “Not so many whistles, pal. They eat up too much time. Besides, we’re used to calling our own offsides.”

The guy looks offended. Just then a defenseman slaps the puck into the net.

“Tweeet!” goes the whistle.

“How about that one?” says the ref, looking over his shoulder. He dashes in to retrieve the puck. “That was a good whistle.”

We don’t argue.

But he must have sensed how we all felt.

Two more offsides follow. He wanted to blow them down but he hesitated. No “tweet”. Then he lets an icing go.

Silence.

A ref who can’t “Tweet” is no ref at all.

A few minutes later he was gone. Off the ice and into the dressing room.

Pissed off, no doubt.

But what do we care. We don’t give a hoot—or a “Tweet”.

Lanny McDonald, one of the most popular players ever to play in the NHL, enjoyed two huge playoff thrills in his Hall of Fame career—and they took place 11 years apart.  His first was a game-winning goal in overtime against the Islanders in 1978.

He was a key member of the Toronto Maple Leafs back then, along with Darryl Sittler, Tiger Williams, Borje Salming, Ian Turnbull and goalie Mike Palmateer. A quarterfinal series with the Isles came down to the seventh game on Long Island. The Leafs, coached by rookie mentor Roger Neilson, were decided underdogs against Bryan Trottier, Mike Bossy, Denis Potvin and company. Believe me,  there were a few thousand “nervous Nellies” biting their nails in the Nassau County Coliseum when the final game went to overtime.

The late Dan Kelly and I were in the broadcast booth.

Check out this book about Lanny McDonald written by Lanny himself, called…Lanny

CONTINUED….

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Red Storey Ends his Career

Throughout the 1950s, Red Storey, a former football star who once scored three touchdowns for the Toronto Argonauts in a Grey Cup game, established himself as one of the most colourful, popular and highly-respected referees in the NHL. But his illustrious career came to a shocking end during the Stanley Cup playoffs in 1959.

On April 4, 1959, the Montreal Canadiens, pitted against  the Chicago Blackhawks in game six of a best-of-seven semi final series at the cavernous Chicago Stadium,  held a three games to two lead. Storey’s work over the first two periods of a spectacular see-saw game drew nods of approval from Chicago coach Billy Reay and Montreal’s bench boss, Toe Blake.  Earlier in the series, Reay had pleaded with referee-in-chief Carl Voss to assign the unflappable Storey to referee game six. Before the third period was over, Reay would regret making that request.

It was an emotional match that was tied 3-3 in the third period. At one point Storey stopped by the boards and turned to see a fan pointing a gun at him. “I’m going to blow your brains out,” the man threatened, before two cops moved in and tossed the gun-toter from the rink.

With seven minutes left in the third period, Ed Litzenberger, Chicago’s leading scorer, went sprawling after he stepped on Marcel Bonin’s stickblade. No whistle, no penalty to Bonin. The Chicago fans, anticipating a power play, were stunned. They howled in frustration.  Moments later, they howled even louder when the Habs scored on Glen Hall to take a 4-3 lead..The boos rained down on Storey. With two minutes to play, and the score tied 4-4, Bobby Hull, in his second season, was flattened by a hip check thrown by Junior Langlois. It may have been a legal check but not a soul in the Chicago Stadium thought so. Again, Storey’s whistle remained silent.

While the enraged fans screamed at Storey, Montreal’s Claude Provost scored the go-ahead goal.

Bottles, cans, coins, programs rained down on the ice–all of the debris aimed at Storey’s balding head. Suddenly, a fan vaulted over the boards and ran at Storey, throwing a cupful of beer in his face. Before Storey could react, Montreal’s all-star defenseman Doug Harvey skated over and punched the intruder—hard. Continue reading »

I enjoyed a bit of reunion with Hall of Famer Ted Lindsay the other night here in Naples. Ted is 84 now. He was about 50 when we worked together  for three seasons on the NBC telecasts back in the early fifties. He can look back on a career in hockey filled with fabulous memories of Stanley Cups and scoring accomplishments.  But he still retains a bitter memory of a juvenile championship that eluded him—and it shouldn’t have.

In the early 1940s, Ted played left wing on an outstanding juvenile team in Kirkland Lake, Ontario—Holy Name.

“We were said to be the best juvenile team in Canada,” he says convincingly. “But we got robbed in the playoffs.

“We played for the Ontario title and handled a team from Sudbury rather easily, carrying a two-goal lead into the second game of a two game series–total goals to count.

At the end of two periods in game two, we still maintained our two goal lead.

Then came the second intermission which stretched on for a good hour. None of us could understand the reason for the long delay. Turns out Maxie Silverman, a shrewd hockey owner who ruled the game in Sudbury, used the delay to hustle in four or five  of the top junior players in the area. Continue reading »

We’re at the Skatium, a hockey rink in Fort Myers. It’s a Friday morning in early March, 2010. The dressing room is crowded with old farts getting suited up when a fellow I haven’t seen in 25 years pushes his way through the door.

“Brian, I’m Jim Dorey,” he says, grinning down at me.

“Hell, I know who you are,” I reply. “How could I ever forget Jim Dorey.”

I introduce him to the others, saying, “Guys, this gent set a record for penalties in his first NHL game at Maple Leaf Gardens. What was it, Jim, 38 minutes in penalties? I broadcast the game with Bill Hewitt that night on Hockey Night in Canada and I’ll never forget it. You battled all of the tough guys on the Pittsburgh Penguins, one after the other.”

He smiles. “No, it was more than 38 minutes. It was 48 minutes by the time they added up all the five minute fighting penalties, the misconducts and the game misconducts.”

“Holy shit!” someone says.

“Got your skates with you? I ask Jim. “You can play today.”

“Nah, no skates. Maybe another time. I heard you were here and I just stopped by to say hello.”

I feel honoured. He hands me a business card. Dorey and Tolgyesi Insurance Brokers, Kingston, Ontario.

Good—there’s an email address.

We chat briefly about old times and then he is gone.

I drive home thinking of Jim Dorey and how good it was to see him again. I laugh out loud recalling his rookie season and his very first game. He fought about eight Penguins that night and got tossed from the game. He told me once that he sat in the dressing room alone, nursing sore knuckles and shaking his head in disbelief, wondering what the hell he’d done, how he could be so undisciplined, convinced that Punch Imlach was going to send him so far down in the minors he’d never re-surface.

A door swung open but he wouldn’t look up. He cringed when he heard footsteps enter the room. King Clancy, then Imlach. He braced himself for a verbal barrage from Imlach. But it was Clancy who spoke first.

“That’s the kind of fight we like to see,” the King cackled, slapping him on the back. “What a debut!”

“You beat the crap out of couple a Penguins,” chuckled Imlach. “Here’s a hundred bucks. Get the hell out of here before the media comes in.”

He grabbed the money and ran, relieved to know he would be back to fight another day. And the day after that. He rang up 200 penalty minutes in his rookie season and became a fan favourite in Toronto.

In 1971-72, veteran defenseman Tim Horton, a former Leaf but then a Ranger, whispered in manager Emile Francis’ ear. “Get me Dorey from the Leafs. He’ll be my defense partner. You won’t regret it.”

Dorey was traded to New York for an obscure winger–Pierre Jarry, I believe–and donned the Ranger red, white and blue. But only for a game. A single game! The WHA was about to debut and Dorey was offered a bundle to jump leagues. He deserted New York and joined the New England Whalers, more than doubling his Rangers salary. In leaving, he did his former Ranger teammates a huge service, especially the famous GAG (Goal a Game) Line of Rod Gilbert, Vic Hadfield and Jean Ratelle. And defenemasn Brad Park, of course. Ranger management feared the team’s best players would follow Dorey’s lead and jump leagues. Francis simply couldn’t afford to loose the GAG Line and Park. When Dorey bolted, their salaries jumped more than 100 per cent, moving from less than one hundred thousand a year to two hundred and fifty thousand. All the other Rangers got salary hikes.

Thanks Jim, they must have said. Your stay in Gotham made us all wealthy.

I’ll save some of my favourite Jim Dorey stories for another day.

Next week I’m arranging a hockey luncheon in Naples featuring a select few: Ted Lindsay, John (Goose) MacCormack, a former Leaf and Hab will be there. Both are 84. Minor league scoring star Len Thornson (500 career goals with Fort Wayne) and one or two others are committed. Bill Christian, star of the 1960 U.S Olympic Team, gold medal winners at Squaw Valley sent his regrets. He’ll be back in his home state of Minnesota that day for a hockey function. Dorey says he may be able to join us. What a bonus that will be.

The other day Peter Puck and I were talking and I asked him who was his all time favorite player.  He started thinking so hard I could almost smell rubber burning but then he smiled and he said; “Brian, I don’t know which great hockey player I would choose as my favorite, there are so many great ones, but I can tell you who inspires me the most right now and who, when I’m feeling too small, gives me courage.  It’s  Marty St. Louis from Laval, Quebec.

See, Marty is a small guy, he tells everyone he is 5’9″ but I think that may be with his skates on because when I see him, he sure is a lot closer to me than anyone else on the ice.  Anyway, he played college hockey at the University of Vermont and holds the record for most career points there. He also was an All American and a three  time Hobey Baker award finalist.  Not only that but he came within 4 points of breaking the ECAC all time scoring record.

Despite all this, he was not drafted into the NHL and was overlooked – and I use the pun on purpose Brian – by every NHL team.

Finally, he managed to get the Calgary Flames to notice him and they signed him as a free agent.  But they must not have had much faith in Marty and gave up on him without even seeing what they were losing.

Luckily, the Tampa Bay Lightening, who must judge their hockey players on skill not size, recognized Marty for the exceptional player he is.    They signed him right up and got themselves a real star player.   In 2003-04, Marty won the Hart Trophy (MVP), the Art Ross Trophy (scoring leader) the Pearson Trophy (players choice as MVP) and the Stanley Cup.  That’s a lot of trophies!  And, in 2005, Tampa bay signed him  for six more years for more money that I know how to count!   Not bad for a little fellow from Laval, Quebec, who ignored the people who judged him “too small for the NHL”.

So whenever I get feeling like everyone is out to get me (which in my case they are!) I think of Marty St. Louis and realize that having faith in myself can help me get noticed when no one is willing to look in my direction… which, for me, would be down.

INKERMAN ROCKETS – THIRD CHAPTER

Word Spreads Fast about a Little Team with Big Talent

Even though I’d told my Dad I wanted to play for the Inkerman Rockets one day, I actually had no idea  where Inkerman was.   It wasn’t surprising, few people knew of the tiny speck on the map between Ottawa and Cornwall.  The next year, at the ripe old age of 16, I tried out for the Rockets but LaPorte wasn’t interested in the 150-pound high school player from Glebe Collegiate, he passed on me but took not one, not two but three of my older team members on the Glebe team.  It was an amazing moment for Glebe hockey, which hadn’t turned out a hockey player since Bill Cowley back in the thirties.  So, with center Lev McDonald, winger Billy Lynn and goaltender Bert Feltham filling out the Inkerman Roster, there wasn’t much space for me.

Inkerman Rockets Team Photo 1948-49

Disappointed but not disheartened, I jumped to junior hockey that season with the Ottawa Montagnards and worked to prove myself.  I made the second all star team at center behind Bill Dineen of St. Pats, a future Detroit Red Wing. I guess I’d proven my mettle because after that season, I had gained enough attention to receive an offer from Bucko McDonald to join his Sundridge Beavers, a tough intermediate team located somewhere north of Toronto.  Luckily, I’d also gained someone else’s attention and Lloyd LaPorte came calling.

He knocked on our door  and told my parents he’d like to move me to Winchester where I would go to school and live. I’d be billeted in a room over the barber shop.  He’d pay me $25 a week “expense money.” It was a better offer than one I’d received  from Bucko McDonald and my parents, who valued an education, liked and trusted LaPorte who was  a school teacher himself.  They allowed me to sign with the Inkerman Rockets.

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INKERMAN ROCKETS – SECOND CHAPTER

People must have laughed when LaPorte, the high school teacher from the small town of Inkerman, population approximately 100,  applied for a junior A  franchise.

“There’s not a single junior A calibre player in your area,” he was told.

Inkerman Rockets Team Photo 1948-49

Still, to everyone’s surprise, he was awarded a franchise.  When nay-sayers protested that “No team is going to play on your rinky-dink rink”,  he retorted that he’d find a rink and he’d have no trouble bringing in players.

And by golly, he did find a rink and he found those players.   He recruited farm boys who played on backyard ponds all winter.   Two of them, the Duncan twins, became outstanding juniors. He found a 15 year old in Prescott, Ontario—as lad named Leo Boivin—who went on to a Hall of Fame career in the NHL.

I was about 15 years old when I first saw the Rockets play. I lived in Ottawa then and my dad took me to a junior playoff game at the old egg-shaped Auditorium where I played my high school games.  “You watch these kids from Inkerman ,” my dad told me. “This fellow LaPorte has some boys who can skate like the wind. They don’t have a league to play in so they play exhibition games all season. They’ll do well against St. Pats.”

When I saw them skate out for the warm-up I felt sort of sorry for them. They were little fellows, most of them. And their hockey pants were too small. Surely they’d be no match for St. Pats, the Ottawa City league champs.

Then the game began and the Rockets went to work. They whipped the Ottawa boys easily that day with non-stop skating and an energy that was truly impressive. Twins Erwin and Edwin Duncan, supplied most of the offense and that stocky sparkplug  named Leo Boivin was awesome. I’d never seen anyone skate backwards like he did.

I was so impressed I told me dad, “That’s the team I’m going to play for some day.”

More about the Inkerman Rockets another day.

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