Cross that one off the bucket list
I played on the same ice, at the same time, as Stephane Richer.
That would probably be OK for any hockey fan to cross off their bucket list, but when you’re a life-long Habs fan and he was once your favourite player not named Patrick Roy, it’s just about the coolest thing you could ever do.
Saturday night when the Montreal Canadiens Alumni Tour stopped at the Canalta Centre in Medicine Hat, I was beyond lucky to be one of a few media members asked to join a local men’s league team as opponents for a group of former greats.
Forget the fact I hadn’t played hockey of any kind in nearly a decade, and of any competitiveness since I was a mid-teen; some things supercede the idea of looking foolish in front of 1,700 strangers, and about 25 friends and family members.
It was amazing enough just to enter the arena through a security entrance and be escorted to a dressing room, where three tubs of refreshments included two tubs of beer. Three minutes later I was taken to meet all the former Habs I was about to skate with.
It’s funny how easily a grown man can be reduced to a wide-eyed child when he’s face to face with those he worshipped in his youth. On the outside I’m sure I mustered fairly articulate nice to meet you’s and thanks for coming’s but on the inside it’s impossible not to melt when you shake hands with Yvon Lambert, or chat about the ’93 cup with Patrice Brisebois.
After rubbing elbows and getting autographs, it was back to the dressing room to prepare for a 7 p.m. warm-up. As someone who’d dreamt of such things as a kid, I will never forget the moment I stepped on that ice.
I’d been pretty nervous in the lead-up to the event, but warm-up went great. I felt good on my skates, had a probably-won’t-look-too-awful shot going on, and was able to gaze in awe at my brightcoloured opponents. Throw in a few blown kisses to the fiancée and some waves to family and friends, and I was feeling top-of-the-world.
After a trip to the dressing room while they flooded the ice, it was back through the tunnel where I promptly skated to the bench, lost my footing and fell back to earth like only a 6-foot-3, 39-year-old beanpole could. It was comforting to know that among 1,700 people, my own family’s laughter was so easy to hear.
The national anthem was next, and while I’ve often looked at the pre-event sing as two minutes where I can’t wear my hat, this one was special. The feeling I had lined up on that blue line, looking across at the Montreal Canadiens lining the other, was nearly as amazing as the three periods to come.
The game went by fast for all kinds of reasons: It was shorter than regulation with 15-minute periods. It was the most fun I’ve ever had, and those times always fly by. And I don’t care how much men’s league you play, skating with former NHLers playing halfspeed is sort of like riding a bicycle at Daytona — pedal all you want, they won’t have to press the gas too hard to make you look slow.
Most of my night was spent watching the Habs play hockey, whether on the bench or on the ice, but I did have a few moments where I actually resembled an athlete, including a few faceoff wins and a defensive play on Keith Acton.
I also had the most memorable shift of the night. It started when my line came out for the faceoff after a Habs goal. They were up a few on us and wanted to give us a break, so when the puck dropped they all stood still.
I passed the puck back to the defenceman who promptly gave it right back. Actually having a chance to carry the puck for a few seconds was apparently way too exciting for me, so instead I decided to fall in a way that made my warmup spill look like a landed triple lutz — right at centre ice with every eye in the building squarely on me.
After lying there for several seconds listening to the echoing laughter, I realized the shame only ends when I get up. As we moved into the their zone, the Habs began to skate again. The defenceman went for my puck-carrying linemate, who took a shot on goaltender Richard Sevigny.
As if a gift from the heavens, the rebound came right into the slot where I was just arriving. I had the puck for about six seconds combined on Saturday, but I used one to score a goal on the 1981 Vezina Trophy winner.
The list of people who can say that isn’t long and there are plenty of players much better than me who won’t ever have a chance to do it. I had a chance to play hockey with men who were once the best on Earth, and even if it was just for one single moment, I got to feel like I belonged. They left the city soon after the game toward their next destination, unlikely to know what they left with me will last the rest of my life.
For that, they’ll always be more than heroes to me.