Our Common Thread

Do you remember the first hockey game you ever watched? I can't think a specific game, but I do remember the era that captured my imagination. Like millions of Canadians, I grew up watching Hockey Night in Canada every Saturday night with my family. In the pale blue glow of a black and white television, with a screen not much larger than a small pizza box, we watched our hockey heroes take on their rivals. We listened to Danny Gallivan calling the play-by-play like a run-on sentence punctuated by improvised hyperbole like 'a cannonating shot.' Dick Irvin would chime in with astute observations of action the cameras missed, usually spotting an altercation long before it began. He referred to post-whistle scrums as 'the gathering of the clan.' Between periods, Dave Hodge would attempt to pry analysis from sweat-soaked players, who in turn would spew the same sports clichés we've heard since the dawn of intermission interviews. Win or lose, when the broadcast was done, the credits would roll and pro hockey was done for the week.

For me, things really changed in 1972. It's difficult to explain the impact of the Summit Series in the context of today's 24/7 sports media cycle. The series transfixed an entire nation unlike anything I had experienced before. In our modest suburban community it was all anyone talked about, and it wasn't even hockey season. I remember being in elementary school once the series shifted to Soviet Russia. Televisions were wheeled into classrooms as the series supplanted schoolwork. Perhaps the teachers thought this was a good way for students to experience a moment in history. They weren't wrong. Paul Henderson's game winning goal is still the stuff of legend, but on a grander scale, how the series captivated Canadians, and legions of young hockey fans like myself, was truly remarkable.

Hockey is a thread that links me to childhood. Watching the game stirs up memories of those distant Saturday nights. My mother offering up gentle encouragement to players from the corner a sofa. Holding my father's hand as we navigated the narrow halls of the Forum. My brother leaping from his seat at an overtime victory. The joy, the excitement, the sense of togetherness, those are the things that define the game for me.

Lately I've felt we've drifted away from what the game means to us. There is a creeping cynicism in the fandom of professional hockey that has soured the experience. Rivalries have grown vitriolic and hateful. Dedicated fans have become bitter critics, attacking players, coaches and management. Some in the media have shifted their analysis from what they see to what they think, producing agenda-driven opinion pieces designed to stir up rancour. It's easy to get caught up in the swirl of argumentative sniping, particularly when disagreements turn derisive and ugly.

It wasn't always this way. It shouldn't be this way.

I grew up in Montreal during the Canadiens many Stanley Cup championships. I've been to games at the legendary Forum and cheered in the streets at a Stanley Cup parade. As a fan of hockey, I've been extraordinarily blessed, but the thing about that '72 series was how the game united us. It didn't matter which team you supported, or where you lived, it was all about the hockey.

My parents have been gone for many years now. My brother died tragically in 1986, the year the Canadiens won their 23rd Stanley Cup. He was 23.

We can't bring back the past, but we can preserve those things that made it special. Considering all that is happening in the world today, I can't think of a better time to see the game the way we saw it when we first became a fan. Bring back the joy. Bring back the excitement. Bring back the togetherness. Hockey is the thread that links us to our past, and unites us all.