Rita Butt
Rita Butt
With every breakaway, I imagine myself the player, skating my fastest and being super clever so I score the most important goal. I don’t want to be the goalie and be blamed for everything that goes wrong.
When I was young, there were only six teams: Montreal Canadiens, Toronto Maple Leafs, Boston Bruins, Chicago Black Hawks, Detroit Red Wings and New York Rangers.
We knew the names of every player and followed their personal lives as if they were movie stars.
We even knew the managers such as Toe Blake and Punch Imlach who wore hats throughout the games, sometimes angling the brim depending on the score, the tension and the frustration.
It is strange when you see pictures of old games.
All the audience was wearing fedoras while the players were bare-headed.
Only very forward ladies went to hockey games, but the whole country watched Hockey Night in Canada on Saturday nights.
We were alerted to game time with the Gillette “Look Sharp March” and Murray, the Esso man.
If you didn’t have a TV, you made sure you knew a rich neighbour with rows of kitchen chairs lined up in his living room and lots of drinks and snacks.
The very first live NHL game I ever saw was at the Montreal Forum. It was one of the most exciting times of my life, especially since I had been invited by a gentleman.
To my shame, I must admit I didn’t know they changed sides between periods.
You couldn’t tell this from watching TV.
I thought I was witness to one of the world’s worst moments and hollered out, “They’re going the wrong way,” much to the embarrassment of my suitor. Never mind, I did see the Rocket, Maurice Richard, in person.
Mondays at work, everyone discussed the game either with pride or despair or where their coaches had gone wrong and how you knew exactly what they should have done.
There were many great stars who did wonderful things. We knew them all: Bobby Hull, Stan Mikita, Boom Boom Geoffrion, Terry Sawchuck, Jacques Plante, Gordie Howe, Jean Belliveau, Red Kelly, Phil Esposito, Gerry McNeil, Gump Worseley, Dicky Moore, Darryl Sitler, Davy Keon, George Armstrong and Tim Horton.
They were our true Canadian stars and idols.
And whenever the game was surely won and we could afford a little downsizing, our favourite, Eddy Shack who had been sitting on the bench all game was called to perform.
Then, all the fans shouted, “Clear the track, here comes Shack.” Sometimes he surprised us all by scoring. Either way, the performance was great. He was the crowd favourite.
I still watch hockey, but with much less interest since most of the players are not our hometown boys.
And then it is possible they may all be a little younger than I am or at least better skaters.
Go, Sens, Go.