Mark Spector

Mark Spector is a columnist for sportsnet.ca

Wayne poses for cameras with his 21-year contract.

Much has happened since the night Gretzky celebrated his 18th birthday at Northlands Coliseum.

EDMONTON -- When I look back at that night 32 years ago -- Jan. 26, 1979 -- what strikes me the most are all the things we thought we knew.

I was 13-years old, and sitting in about row 12 in the corner at the Zamboni end of the Northlands Coliseum, Canada's most modern hockey showplace. Surely, with the Oilers rumoured to be in the running as an expansion franchise with a few of the other World Hockey Association clubs, this arena would never fall out of date.

Though the term "Sports Talk Radio" would not be coined for years, we had been reminded by the AM radio that it was Wayne Gretzky's 18th birthday. Sure enough, they wheeled out a table with a big birthday cake in a pre-game ceremony, and there were Walter, Phyllis and the kids down on the ice.

A smaller Western Canadian city had somehow come into possession of this hockey gem. Most people thought, "Hey, he's no Guy Lafleur, but this guy might turn out to be pretty good."

Two teams and 16,000 people watched as Gretzky cut a cake and nervously signed a lifetime deal with Peter Pocklington. We assumed he signed "Wayne Gretzky" on that 21-year contract, yet in a fit of indecision, he did not.

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I circled above the blue-line, gave a look, laid my stick blade open, and took a pass from Wayne Gretzky.

What happened next?!? Does anybody care what happens next, after you GOT THE PASS FROM WAYNE GRETZKY!

In return for some publicity for the Shooter Tutor, Grant Fuhr's latest sponsorship endeavour, we had switched our weekly media hockey to the Coliseum. Gretzky, Jari Kurri, and a few others stayed out after practice for a few minutes, graciously pretending to enjoy some pre-shinny drills with the media.

I should have accepted the perfectly delivered pass, taken another stride, then hit the brakes and grabbed "The Puck That Wayne Gretzky Passed Me." It should be mounted on my office wall today.

But, no. I fired it at/past a goalie/net.

And I've never been on the ice with Wayne Gretzky again.

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The Cincinnati Stingers were in town, that night in '79, with a few players who might turn out OK on their roster: Mark Messier, Mike Gartner, goaltenders Mike Liut and Michel Dion.

It was 40 games into the 80-game World Hockey Association schedule, and the birthday ceremony was as cheesy as everything else they were doing in Edmonton 32 years ago. There was Gretzky with a big cake, made up of two number nines. He brandished a knife only a fool would give an 18-year-old hockey prodigy, and after cutting the cake the night he was to sign a 21-year personal services contract with the Oilers trusted and beloved owner, Peter Pocklington.

Twenty one years! With a contract like that, he would have to be an Oiler for life, wouldn't he?

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I missed Game 3 of Edmonton's first NHL playoff series -- a 3-0 sweep by the Philadelphia Flyers -- while attending a Trooper concert. It didn't take long however, for a teenager to plan every element of his life around playoff games, come springtime in Edmonton.

My girlfriend's father and I spent most of her 1985 high school grad in the hotel bar. Game 3 -- Oilers-Flyers in the Stanley Cup final. Canada Cups put a serious dent in late summer camping trips.

Five-goal nights to score 50 in 39 -- and the four-goal night that came in the game before that -- could happen at any time. So you could not afford not to watch Gretzky play, because you never knew when he would do something you'd never forget.

I had binoculars, and on some nights, I would just watch Wayne on every shift. Forget about the other 11 guys on the ice. I never missed a Gretzky moment, mostly on TV but sometimes live. Neither did my buddies.

Now I look back, and every one of us thinks, "Gosh, I wish I'd paid closer attention."

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An Edmontonian remembers where they were on Aug. 9, 1988 the way our parents recall their whereabouts on Nov. 22, 1963 -- the day John F. Kennedy was shot in Dallas.

I was in the Edmonton Journal sports department, where I had been hired about a year before. Everyone rushed to Molson House for the press conference, but my boss told me to stay behind and work the phones.

The first call? To Walter. Even a cub reporter could find that number in moments, in Edmonton circa 1988.

"They finally traded Wayne, eh?" he said. He'd heard the rumours for months.

"Are you sure?"

I was as sure as any Edmonton kid who had assumed Gretzky would stay in my town for life.

Sure, but unable to believe what my ears were hearing, what my eyes were seeing.

"Better call Wayne," I said.