Every sports fan should go to the Hockey Hall of Fame once every 50 years, and so I did.
It was as shocking as it was impressive, which explains why my wife and I were there twice in six days. There’s too much to absorb in one visit, or maybe two, even if you’re not an old sportswriter whose past included seeing some of these historic events and players first-hand, coming to know a few of them and being a friend to so many great hockey writers and broadcasters.
For anybody who loves or lived hockey, there is something attractive that makes the $25 ticket to get in an enormous bargain, or a steal — has anybody check the cost of going to a game lately? In fact, in the downtown Toronto of today, it costs more to park ($32), even when the Blue Jays aren’t playing down the street at the Rogers Centre.
The Hockey Hall of Fame is a testament to the game’s greatness, a dedication to its depth. Naturally, its “raison d’etre” is the National Hockey League, yet its international hockey section is extensive, its women’s hockey section is growing and its interactive section is a work in progress.
Among the Hall of Fame’s many displays:
- Ever-changing movies in two theatres, with compelling and forgotten stories about Mario Lemieux, about Vladimir Konstantinov, about Tim Horton, his a short walk from one of the donut shops he left behind
- A recreation of the Montreal Canadiens’ dressing room with sweaters, skates and sticks, with an authenticity I can validate, having been there many times in the ’70s
- 802 pucks, arranged to spell “802” for the goals Wayne Gretzky scored to break Gordie Howe’s record
- A life-size statue of Ken Dryden’s historic pose, resting on the knob of his goal stick
- The classic photo of Billy Mosienko, holding three pucks for the goals he scored in 21 seconds, 73 years ago in Chicago
- Wonderful quotes, none better than this one from Harry Sinden: “Gretzky sees a picture out there that no one else sees. It’s difficult to describe because I’ve never seen the game he’s looking at.”
Even though all artifacts are donated by players or teams or organizations, there’s not nearly enough space for everything; one estimate is what you see represents maybe 30 per cent of what there is. And yet, in the other 70 per cent or on display, something’s missing.
For my generation, the greatest player of all was, arguably, Bobby Orr. He dominated the game. He took a last-place team that hadn’t won the Stanley Cup in 31 years — remember, with only five opponents — to win two in three seasons. He changed the game, in a way that nobody (also arguably) ever did.
He’s there, but it’s minimalist. In the corner of one display, there’s a modest photo of Orr, a few words, a stick that is partially hidden by Bobby Clarke’s junior hockey blazer and a puck. Somewhere else, there’s an Orr sweater…from Chicago, where he played the last 26 games of his career. One of the Hall’s employees said it was all they had.
In a shrine that celebrates the best of hockey, it just didn’t feel right.
