When I was young, I thought like a young person, full of idealism and believing the impossible was possible. In other words, I was certain the Toronto Maple Leafs not only could win the Stanley Cup, but would.
And they did.
As a kid, I’d grown up a Leafs fan, like almost anyone west of Ontario. The only direct contact we had with the National Hockey League was on Saturday night. Those were the early days of Hockey Night in Canada, although that trademarked name was far less familiar than it is today.
There was one game a week, either from Toronto or Montreal…usually Toronto, probably because that was presumed to be English Canada’s team, a belief fortified by the unbalanced exposure on television. Quebec felt like a foreign country because when you go to a foreign country you can’t speak the language, and most of us couldn’t speak French. It had nothing to do with separatism.
For hockey fans west of Fort Frances, it didn’t matter if the Leafs were bad, and they were. I recall sympathy was also part of my affection for the Leafs when I looked at the standings onthe sports pages and, day after day, week after week, there was Toronto, in sixth place. Sixth meant last. It was immaterial. When that black-and-white TV lit up on Saturday night, the Leafs felt like the home team.
Of such connections, fan bases are built.
Actually, I didn’t watch a game every Saturday night. I watched a half-game. They dropped the puck at eight o’clock in Toronto, which was seven o’clock in Winnipeg. The live telecast started at eight o’clock. In Winnipeg. During the second period. It never occurred to me that the actual telecast probably started an hour into the game even in Toronto — I just assumed that out west we were only allowed to pick up games in progress, as punishment for not living in Toronto. On a good night, a fight or two in the first period might delay the game enough so that we’d get to see more of the second period. Most nights, the second period was half over when the TV game-of-the-week started.
This drip-drip-drip connection to the NHL was intoxicating for young hockey players. It was addictive. We wanted more, and couldn’t get it. We wanted more of the Leafs, win or lose, and were limited to one half-game per week. Occasionally, we could find a Sunday night game on radio but it was just hearing, not seeing.
So you can imagine, after watching the Maple Leafs either miss the playoffs or be eliminated in the first round eight times in a decade, there was euphoria across the country when they made the playoffs. If the Leafs won the first round, it was time to plan the parade that came if they won the second round…and the Stanley Cup.
The last time that happened was 57 years ago.
Today, fans of visiting teams populate arenas across the country, often to the annoyance of home-team supporters. It appears there are more Leafs fans everywhere, although it’s unlikely many of them started by watching when that was the only game (or half-game) available all week.
