“Goal.”
Teemu Selanne and Paul Kariya had barely passed centre ice, an Anaheim Mighty Ducks two-on-one against some typically sorry Edmonton Oilers defenceman from the late 90s, and my Edmonton Journal colleague Jim Matheson was channeling his many years of NHL coverage into a single word.
“Goal.”
Matty just knew.
Like the time I barked, “That’s not offside!” and he looked over, raised an eyebrow, and said calmly, “That’s Ray Scapinello working the lines. It’s offside.”
Can’t Miss: Watch the Oilers’ final game at Rexall Place, live on Sportsnet, April 6 at 5 p.m. MT. Broadcast Schedule | Rogers Gamecentre Live
Freekin’ Matty. Right again.
Look — I could sit here and list all the cool hockey moments I saw at Northlands Coliseum, Skyreach Centre, the Edmonton Coliseum and Rexall Place over the years. But you know what they are, and if you don’t, you’ll see them this week on Sportsnet.
A rink is a rink, and this one was never particularly pretty. But the people I met inside its walls? There were some beauties.
Guys with names Sparky, Planet Al and Lowetide. Teppo, Teemu, Teddy and Spaz. Miles the security guy. Ike in the truck. Joey slinging towels…
I started showing up here as a young writer in 1985, under the good graces of former P.R. man Bill Tuele, to whom I am eternally thankful. He gave my university paper — The Gateway — a press pass, and I was the sports editor. So I got in free for the prime dynasty years, then jumped to the Edmonton Journal and haven’t lost my centre-ice seat since.
I saw the Steve Smith goal in ‘86; Game 7 in 1987; the 3-1 opening round series deficit against Winnipeg in 1990, and the 3-1 lead the Jets took in Game 5 of a series they would naturally blow to the Oilers; the anthem in 2006 that the crowd sung, long before anyone else was doing that.
I saw Gretzky score, and Semenko fight, and a kid named Brett Hauer cry one night after being the goat on an overtime goal in, like, January. “He’ll never play,” sniffed Matty as we walked away from that interview.
Hauer played 37 NHL games.
But you’ve heard it all before, and you’ll get your fill this week as the old girl plays host to its final National Hockey League game, sadly another meaningless early April affair. For me, this rink has been about the people I’ve met inside of it. And the most interesting ones were not always the best players. Or players at all.
There was Oilers trainer Barrie Stafford, whose coffee pot was always there for an early arriving scribe. He taught us the Six P Principle: Proper Preparation Prevents Piss Poor Performance.
I remember being part of a small media group that interviewed legendary Russian coach Viktor Tikhonov, right near what used to be the visitor’s dressing room. He understood English almost perfectly, but used a translator to keep open his option not to answer a question he didn’t like.
My Rexall memories include Washington defenceman Al Iafrate in a towel, hopping up on the stick bench and lighting a smoke with the blowtorch. He’d have another cigarette behind his ear, in case the interview held his attention long enough for it to be needed.
Or Joe Sakic, whose wrist shot was as pure as the driven snow. I remember a breakaway that silenced 17,000 fans to the point where you could hear the puck hit the twine behind Bill Ranford — all the way up in the catwalk. “Ffffft!”
I remember Josh Manson running around the dressing room while his Dad, Dave, practiced. I remember when they told Dave to hold off on surgery to repair his voice until his playing days were done. Now Josh plays for the Anaheim Ducks, and Dave never did get his voice back.
I remember walking in to cover one of my first ever visitor’s practices, and seeing New York Islander winger Mick Vukota beating the snot out of a teammate while several others monitored the thrashing. I learned that day that these things happen now and again, and teammates never explain them, or talk about the incident at all afterwards.
There was an old defenceman named Dean Kennedy who was winding down his career as mine was beginning. He took time nearly every day to impart some of his hard-earned experience to a young writer, and luckily I was smart enough to lap it up. To this day I remain thankful.
Same thing later on, with the scouts upstairs who’ve forgotten more about this game than I’ll ever know. Guys like Canadiens scout Vaughn Karpan, who watches between whistles to see how far a player glides before he pushes off again. Pigeon-toed players push off more than the good skaters, he once told me.
Or Tommy McVie, and old player and coach who walked down the press box one night and whispered over my shoulder in his gravelly voice as the anthem was being played. “I hate this song,” he said. “Every time they sang it, I played horse shit.”
I watched Ryan Smyth take the laces out of his skates after every morning skate of his life, and figured out that this was a good time to stand in front of his stall and chat. He had time, and liked to chat too. Then I watched him give three pucks to three kids after every pre-game warmup of his career, and thought, “Why isn’t every player doing this?”
Glen Sather dressed me down at this rink more than once, while Bill Guerin once shook my hand after he’d read my column in which I called some locals who’d booed the Star Spangled Banner a bunch of tools. He sent thanks from his American-born wife as well.
We were near the TV trucks one morning when Oilers captain Craig MacTavish called me over after I’d had a good, loud run-in with his linemate Kelly Buchberger over something I’d written. I figured I’d worked my last day in that Oilers room when MacTavish pulled me aside. “I thought you were fair in there,” he told me.
The ice here was the best in hockey in its long-ago prime. They’ll all tell you that.
What they won’t recall is players like Sakic, Selanne, Mike Modano and the great Sergei Zubov loved it just as much as the home team — but they had twice the talent. Selanne may never have been faster in his career, or Zubov slicker with the puck, than when they played on this ice in this building in the 90s.
Selanne scored on that two-on-one with Kariya, of course. If I had a dollar for every time Matty was right I’d buy the new rink myself.
