We remember the ghosts that lived in the Old Forum. They

had migrated from the previous one into the newer modern

version. They were carrying a torch of formidability for

posterity. It was a place where legends were born and

majestic teams ruled in the spirit of what was the grandeur

of Rome. Effortlessly, artistically and powerfully they dazzled

not only their fans and opponents alike but themselves too.

The ghosts made their presence felt one last time in a

game between the great Montreal Canadiens, Les

Habitants, Nos Glorieux, and Toronto Maple Leafs in what

was the last year before they tore down the old rink. One

gets the sense that the ghosts were hanging around on this

somber day. It is as if they had no intentions of moving

again. They did not like what they foresaw down the road.

Some were fixing the banners of all those Stanley Cups,

others were playing around on the ice chasing each other,

still others sat back and listened to the play-by-play of a

game between the Red Wings and Bruins broadcast on the

radio. "Hey, do you think Terry Sawchuk, Eddie Shore, and

Dit Clapper are at the Gardens tonight?" shouted Bill

Durnan a standout goalie for the Habs. "Nah" joked Aurel

Joliat; "They want to stay here! Same for

The present Habs were a mere shadow of their former

selves. They were a team that was mismanaged and with it

its tradition of excellence. Vision was lost to designers of

this once majestic franchise. No one is really sure how this

was allowed to happen. Some believe that the Habs will

rise again one day. After all, the dynasties of the New York

Yankees and Green Bay Packers were able to do it. Why

shouldn't Les Canadiens complete the Triumvirate? Maybe

one day the Boston Celtics will join in. It will be a return to a

Golden Age.

On this typically cold night, Montreal is losing 4-1 heading

into the third period to their archrivals Toronto Maple Leafs.

"Where are these fricken ghosts" one player on the bench

asks. Peetie, a strong and effective player for the Habs, tells

him there are no ghosts. "Get a grip and play hard" he

continues. "Just get the puck to J-P."

In the stands, a young fan feels like his life is coming apart.

"Will the ghosts come through, Dad?" he asks. "They always

do son." The father unconvincingly tells his son.

Howie Morenz, the Stratford Streak, Montreal's first legend,

overhears the conversation on the bench. He had spent

most of the game taping his hockey sticks and wasn't much

interested in the game. Suddenly he wasn't so indifferent.

He summons the lads for one more round of magic.

"What do you say boys?" Morenz proposes. Out of the clear,

The Rocket passes by and tells them about the boy who

believed in them. "I'm in" he decides. The others followed.

On his next shift, Peetie gets off the bench and scores an

incredible goal. 4-2. He came sweeping in from the left side

and lifted a backhand shot with deadly accuracy into the top

of the net. Peetie was a hustler not known for such flair.

Even the French players were impressed. "If Peetie could

score like dis evry game, hostie we'd beat all de teams all

de time" quipped Jean-Paul with an ear to ear smile, their

leading scorer. The coach comes over "What the hell got

into you? Good job."

Even Peetie wondered. "Lucky shot" he murmurs to himself.

He goes down to tighten his skate. As Peetie looks up he

sees something flash by. He nudges his teammate. "Did

you see that?" The team mate responds "See what?" Peetie

could have sworn he saw #7 fly by.

The Habs are playing uncharacteristically with marvel and

style. Their skating reminds some in the stands of the old

Habs. One fan shouts, "Who do you guys think you are? The

Second Coming of '56 and '78?" Jean-Paul, at that moment,

breaks between two Leaf defensemen and scores. They

look back haplessly and amazement as they look at each

other realizing that assigning blame was futile. 4-3 with 4

minutes to go. Jean-Paul shakes his head at an image he

thinks he just saw. "#9? Nah."

No one ever thought that Mario would be the next one to tie

this game up. He did. 4-4. He could have sworn he saw #2

flash before he scored. The energy in the Forum is electric.

If one could read body language, the Leafs had resigned

themselves to defeat. One player remarked later "It was as if

the ghosts came down and played the game."

In the broadcast booth Danny Gallivan the sweet voice of

Montreal Canadiens radio play-by-play calls the game as he

winks to Dick Irvin who somehow was able to see him.

Behind the bench stands a stoic Toe Blake. He glances

over the coach and his notes and ensures what will work

and what will not. The ghosts have arrived.

The game is not won. There are 33 seconds left in this

critical game. Peetie bolts down the wing taking whacks and

pushing off opponents and out of the corner of his eye he

sees all past Montreal Canadien legends around him, he

let's a ferocious slap shot go. He scores! Habs lead 5-4.

Doug Harvey taps Peetie's knees with his stick. Peetie was

too much in the moment and did not realize what had just

happened. He felt the tap and figured it was his linemate

Mario.

The proud Toronto Maple Leafs, however, will not leave

without a fight. One of their fine players fakes the goalie with

3 seconds to go...What a save! Habs win! Behind the net,

one could have sworn Vezina and Plante were chuckling.

With the arena emptying out the young boy and his father in

the stands wait a little while longer absorbing the victory.

"Dad" asks the young boy. "Yes, Steve" the father replies.

"Dad, look on the ice." The father looks down and squints

lightly. Father and son, together they got a glimpse of the

ghosts whom were congratulating each other. While they

sat and watched in utter amazement, one of the ghosts, in a

tuque and a woolen Habs jersey, winks, smiles, skates

away and vanishes.

Incredible. Later, as the lights were shutting down, the

ghosts hugged one another and skated off the ice for the

last time. They were tired. They swore they would come

back one day. Maybe #23 could pick up and assemble

together the fragmented pieces fallen to the ground that was

once a symbol of excellence that transcended sports. The

illustrious 'C' may indeed shine one day like the beacon

Dante saw when he left the Inferno with Virgil.

http://www.friendlymisanthropist.blogspot.com - The Commentator