The Great One and Me

"You miss 100% of the shots you don't take." - Wayne Gretzky

If you walked into a bar in Canada, any bar any place in Canada, and stated that the most important day in the history of Canada was January 26, 1961, few, if any, Canadians would argue.  For on that momentous winter day, in the small Ontario city of Brantford,  a mere 100 km from Toronto, Wayne Douglas Gretzky was born.

17 years later he would grow to the height of 6' 0" and 185 lbs. (His official playing height and weight only - most teammates would have laughed hysterically if you told them he was more than 5' 10" and 170 lbs.)

He wasn't tall, big or fast.  He didn't have a particularly hard shot.  He wasn't the prettiest skater.  All he could offer a team was the ability to score goals.  Lots of goals.  And after he'd been in the league a few years, and teams started to make defensive adjustments to him, he made his own adjustments and became more of a passer and playmaker.  Then all he did was set his teammates up for goals.  Lots of them.  Many of them easy tap-ins to an open net.  He made opposing defenses and goalies look silly.  He made the game look easy.

And when he finally hung up his skates for the final time at the ripe old age of 38, he had tallied 894 goals and 1963 assists to add up to a career 2,857 points.  He averaged the most points per game (1.921) in NHL history.

To give you an idea of how thoroughly Gretzky dominated the game, the next leading scorer in NHL history - former teammate Mark Messier - is almost 1,000 points behind.  Gretzky literally changed the way the game was played.

Here's a tip if anyone ever asks you a question involving single season or career scoring records in the NHL.  No matter the question, or how it's phrased, the answer will most likely be "Gretzky."  He holds or shares 61 NHL records.

He won four Stanley Cups as Captain of the Edmonton Oilers and then was traded to the Los Angeles Kings.  He would be traded by the Kings to St. Louis and would end his playing career in New York.

"A good hockey player plays where the puck is. A great hockey player plays where the puck is going to be." - Wayne Gretzky

By the time the San Jose Sharks joined the NHL in 1991, Gretzky was playing for the Los Angeles Kings, and while still an amazing player, he was definitely on the downside of his career at the age of 30.  I figure he played about 30 games against the Sharks in his career in a Kings sweater.  I must have seen half of those.  And he was still able to create magic and wave his wand and make scoring opportunities and goals appear where none seemed to exist.

On a cold Spring night in April of 1999, I would find myself on an overnight for work in New York City.  Gretzky and the hometown Rangers were set to take on the Mighty Ducks of Anaheim.  While he had not officially announced that this season would be his last, there were certainly plenty of rumors.  I didn't need to listen to the rumors.  I just had to look at his body language and listen to his voice in post-game interviews.  The game just didn't seem fun for him anymore.  The Rangers would not make the playoffs that season, and Wayne lived for the playoffs, and the league was at the height of its obstruction, or "clutching and grabbing," era.

Many expansion teams were added to the NHL in the 1990's - there were now three teams in California alone - and with expansion came a lowering of skill.  Newer teams with fewer skill players would try to hold and hook and stop players like Gretzky any way they could, and the league put up with it.  It was no coincidence that Wayne's nearest rival, Mario Lemieux of the Pittsburgh Penguins, had already retired around this time, disgusted with the level of play and tolerance for obstruction in the league.

The Great One skates off one last time.

I have a good friend who lived in Manhattan at the time, and she had never seen the Great One play in person.  We headed off to Madison Square Garden to try and score some tickets for the game.  Virtually every Rangers' game is sold out in New York, but I'd had good luck in the past getting tickets at the box office at the last minute.  Not tonight.  The line for returns at the box office was incredible.  Far beyond what I'd ever seen before in New York.  I wasn't the only hockey fan who sensed this was Wayne's last week of hockey.

Striking out at the box office, we started to wander around the outside of the arena in one final, vain attempt to get inside to see Wayne one last time.  We finally found an unscrupulous scalper and paid $100 for two tickets.  The game had already started and we ran back to the Garden and up to the entrance.  The doorman at the entrance scanned our tickets and looked at them closely for a moment, and then motioned over a supervisor.  They explained the tickets were counterfeit, showed us how they could determine that, and turned us around.  A costly, painful lesson learned in the Big Apple.

Ciaran (l) and Aidan (r) watch the Phoenix Coyotes practice.

A few years later, in December of 2007, I was an assistant coach for my boys' Bantam hockey team, and we had all made our way to Phoenix, Arizona for a tournament over their Winter Break.  We were scheduled to play one game early in the morning at the AllTell Ice Den in Scottsdale, practice rink of the Phoenix Coyotes - led by NHL legend and now coach, Wayne Gretzky.

We had tickets to watch the Coyotes play the Detroit Red Wings later that evening.  As our game started, we could tell that the Coyotes were starting to file in to the arena to have their pregame practice, or morning skate, right after the boys' game, on the same ice surface.

As our game started to wind down in the third period, and as it got closer to their own practice, the Coyotes coaches and players started milling around the glass in the corner of the rink nearest their locker room, watching my boys and their team play.

I was on the far end of the bench, running the defense (which at that level mainly consisted of telling the two defensemen on the bench to get ready each time the two defensemen on the ice headed towards the bench).

I was aware that now Head Coach Gretzky, coffee cup in hand, and some of the other players were up against the glass to my left, watching the game and smiling and laughing, being pulled back in time to when they themselves were that age and size.

I had my attention on the game when I suddenly heard what sounded like a light knock on the door at the end of the bench, a door we weren't even allowed to use because it only led to the Coyotes' locker room.  I thought, "what's going on now?' and didn't immediately pay it any attention.  I continued to watch the game, and realized the tapping on the door continued.  I looked over and there was a man in a Coyotes' coaching jacket and warm-up pants, wearing a Coyotes baseball cap atop his head, at the door, motioning me to come over.  It was Gretzky.

I quickly ran over and cracked open the door.

Gretzky poked his head through and asked, "so where are you guys from?"  He was watching the game and was curious (as I recall it was a close game, and we had several good players on our team - although as it turned out that would not translate into a winning season) and started asking me questions.

"How far are you from San Francisco?  Is that near Napa?  Who do you play?  How long was the drive down?  How old are the kids?  How are you doing in the tournament?"

My attention shifted back and forth between the end of the game and Wayne's questions.  I guess we talked for about five minutes.  I informed him the entire team would be at the Coyotes game later that evening.  There was finally a pause in the conversation.  I had not asked him anything at that point.  I tried to end our conversation on a light note.

"Bring back any memories?"

His mouth opened into a grin, letting out a quiet chuckle.  He shook his head and said, "I'm far too old to remember back that far!"

He asked if I had a card.  A card?  When you're coaching youth hockey, you are required by USA Hockey to carry a "coaching" card, to show at games and tournaments, that proves you have satisfied the proper requirements for coaching each level.  You constantly have to produce your coaching card and sign paperwork and score sheets each game throughout the tournament.

"My card?" I thought to myself.  "Why in the hell would he want to see my card?  My card!  He wants my business card!"

I realized what he was asking, but I didn't have a business card.

"Give me your number," he said, "and we'll have the boys come downstairs after the game tonight."

I quickly scribbled down my cell phone number on the back of a lineup sheet I had in my hand for the game.

"Somebody will give you a call with instructions.  Good luck in the tournament."

Stunned by the whole experience, I managed to get out a  weak, "thanks," as he shook my hand.

We lost the game, and headed back to our hotel.  The boys had seen me talking to Wayne on the bench and I told them everything I could remember about the conversation.  I told them he had asked for a contact number and said we might be able to go downstairs after the game that night.  I tried to undersell the offer as him just being polite because I didn't expect to get a call from anyone.

An hour later my cell phone rang and a "623" number - that was a local Phoenix number - showed up on the display.  I answered.

"Hello, Vince.  I'm Bob Thompson (no, I don't really remember the name), I'm the traveling secretary with the Phoenix Coyotes.  Wayne gave me your number a few minutes ago and asked me to give you a call.  He'd like to invite your team downstairs to the locker room after the game."

He seemed very pleasant and efficient and made sure I understood all the instructions on how to go downstairs in the Arena to the locker room area after the game.  He had one caveat before he hung up.

"Now remember, Vince, this whole thing is off if we lose.  We just don't have anyone around after a loss.  You wouldn't even want to be down there after a loss.  This only happens if we win.  Hope to see you tonight."

Oh, boy.  I had already had my moment with Wayne, I didn't really care if we went downstairs to the locker room after the game or not.  But my boys and their teammates would get a kick out of it.  Trouble was, the Coyotes were a mediocre team and their opponent - the dreaded Detroit Red Wings - were the class of the league.

We went to the game that night and I had low expectations.  We had great seats and the boys on the team were having a good time.  The Coyotes struck early and went up quickly to a 2 - 0 lead.  And then they did what bad teams do - they sat on it.  The Red Wings kept up the pressure and got on the board.  The Coyotes held on to a 2 - 1 lead halfway through the third period.  I exchanged glances with the two other coaches, and we gave each other hopeful looks as if to say, "we got a shot.  Maybe the Coyotes pull this off."

A few moments later, a Coyotes defenseman made an ill-advised pinch along the right boards to try and keep the puck in their offensive zone.  The puck took a weird bounce and went by him, springing the two most dangerous players on the Wings, Pavel Datsyuk and Henrik Zetterberg, on a 2 on 1 odd man break.  They passed it back and forth a couple of times.  The defenseman and goalie never had a chance.  The puck was in the back of the net for a 2-2 tie with five minutes left to play.

"OK.  OK," I thought to myself.  It's not over.  The Coyotes were holding their own.  They were at home.  They could still pull this out.

A couple of shifts later, Datsyuk and Zetterberg were out on the ice together again.  Another bad pinch by a Coyote defenseman - "why in the world would you make that pinch in a tie game?" - all of the amateur coaches in the stands thought to themselves.  Same result.  Zetterberg to Datsyuk, back to Zetterberg, fake, puck finds the back of net.  Game over.  Good night, drive safely.

And with the Coyotes' loss went the boys' chance to meet the Great One.  Maybe next time.

 

A touching video of Wayne Gretzky's last game in the NHL.