It’s Hockey Time!

Lace up your skates, and let’s go! (those of you who still care…) The Boston Bruins (Broons) begin a new season on Friday night. This year, everything is different: New GM, new coach, new players, new attitude. Hopefully, all these ingredients will combine to produce a competitive and exciting product on the ice. (They haven't dropped the puck yet and we're already drinkin' the Broons Kool Aid...)

New England is a hockey-mad region. Perhaps not as passionate about the Broons as in years gone by, but there was a time when hockey ruled the roost in these parts. Granted, a certain Robert Gordon Orr and the Big Bad Broons had a lot to do with the immense popularity of the game. But over the last thirty or so years (My God, has it been that long?) the Broons and hockey in general fell from their lofty perch, and with the exception of a couple of Cup runs many years ago, slipped into irrelevance.

Since the last time the Broons drank from the Grail in 1972, the game has changed dramatically. The number of teams competing for the Cup has more than doubled. The talent pool is worldwide rather than 98% Canadian. Management and scouting of talent have evolved more scientifically. The development of the players themselves is light years from where it was in the ‘70’s. They’re bigger, stronger, faster and more athletic. They train year ‘round and are compensated handsomely for their efforts.

So whatever happened to the Broons, anyway? Why has their once loud and proud following dwindled to practically cult status? Ownership and management, that’s what. In 1974, the little UHF station that broadcast their games sold the team and the venerable rat infested dump in which they played to a concessionaire from Buffalo who made millions selling hot dogs, sodas, beers and popcorn to patrons at sporting events. From an “American Dream” standpoint, it’s a marvelous story of hustle and hard work. From a hockey fan’s perspective, it’s been a nightmare.

Not long after taking over, the team’s GM, Harry (a man who will always receive high praise in this space) traded one of the team’s icons to its then-biggest rival. Everyone was stunned by the move. In retrospect, it was a pretty fair horse trade. The Bruins received two Hall of Famers for the price of one (plus a pretty good defenseman). These players were integral parts of teams that went to the Cup finals on several occasions in the mid-late ‘70’s.

Then, the unthinkable occurred: Bobby Orr was allowed to leave Boston via free agency and wear the sweater of another NHL team. 10,000 season ticket holders canceled their subscriptions. Unfortunately, by 1976, Orr’s knees were rebuilt using chewing gum and chicken wire. He was a magnificent, once-in-a-lifetime player except for knees of clay. How could they let him simply slip away?

We did not learn until many later (thanks to the tremendous journalistic efforts of Russ Conway from the Lawrence Eagle-Tribune, for which he was awarded a Pulitzer Prize) that the Bruins offered Orr via his agent an equity stake but the agent never communicated the offer to Orr, instead steering him in the direction of another club with whom the agent maintained cozy agent/owner relations.

The agent, a despicable bullying boor who wore several hats (player agent, union president, president of Canada’s National Team) was eventually brought down in a messy scandal; due in considerable part to Mr. Conway’s fearless reporting. He ended up doing time north of the border and thankfully vanished into the mist.

Amazingly, after Orr’s departure, the team reinvented itself under more of Harry’s shrewd moves (trading fan favorites of the past for highly talented young players) and hiring a charismatic coach who was as popular with the fans as were the players.

The Bruins had developed a reputation for an “in yo’ face management style” and pissed off many of their stars in the process. But they were still banging out them out at the rink, the team was winning and the money was flowing like Bud from the tap.

Then came 1979: The Bruins were steamrolling their way to another Cup run. The only obstacle in their way was the immovable block they could not crack since 1941: Le Club de Hockey Canadien. The Forum was one of hockey’s most treasured venues. Bruins fans always felt as though the place was spooked by the ghosts of Les Glorieux. Howie Morenz never died. He was reincarnated as Yvon Cournoyer, and later as Guy LaFleur. Georges Vezina reappeared as first Jacques Plante, Rogatien Vachon, Ken Dryden and later on, Patrick Roy. Auriel Joliat appeared as Doug Harvey, and later on as Larry Robinson. Various and sundry guys would often occupy the roles of Maurice Richard and Jean Béliveau (as no one could ever really fill their skates full-time).

In Game seven of the East Finals, the Bruins were ahead late in the third period by a goal. All they had to was weather an onslaught of 90 seconds and they would be headed for a Cup Final against Rangers. Inexplicably, Boston is called for a “too many men on the ice” minor. (The sensation was as if you were descending on an elevator from the 100th floor). Montréal goes on the power play, bang! They tie the score. The game goes into overtime. The fans hadn’t even the chance to get back into their seats, bang! LaFleur picks up a loose puck at the blue line, flies down right wing and rips a wrister that goes top shelf. Game over, season over. Two weeks later, Canadiens won the fourth Cup in a row.

Afterward, Harry and the coach got into a power tussle. Harry won, the other guy left town and went on to fame and fortune (with his pit bull) as a HNIC analyst. About the only great thing that happened thereafter was landing the #7 pick in the draft. Harry traded a journeyman goaltender (whose son, ironically, would play goal for Boston) to LA for their first pick. In what was another of Harry’s steals, the Bruins selected a kid from Montréal who became on of the greatest defensemen of all time.

By 1979, Bobby Orr’s knees simply could not hold up to the rigors of the game, and he retired. Shortly thereafter, his number 4 was retired in a poignant ceremony. When he pulled on his Bruins sweater, there was not a dry eye at the rink or those who watched on television. It was my privilege in that ten-year journey from adolescence to adulthood to see virtually every game of greatest hockey player that ever lived. With apologies to the game’s greats, there was no one even close.

The early-mid eighties were a time of transition and misfortune. The blend of older stars and young talent produced regular season success, but the team faltered come April. They drafted another Québec star, a kid who was loved by teammates and fans alike. He was beginning to show flashes of brilliance when he suffered a congenital aneurysm during an early season game in Vancouver. He required years of rehabilitative therapy to regain basic motor skills. Then, when one of the Bruins sought to leave the team over a salary beef (a familiar refrain down through the years), Harry shrewdly exchanged first-round draft choices with the team the player wanted to join. The player’s team finished dead last in the NHL and the Bruins were sitting in the catbird’s seat. They chose a big kid from Saskatchewan, a dominating defenseman who would be a rock in front of the net for the next ten years. The only problem was that the kid had glass knees. When he was healthy (which was about 15% of the time) he was a fantastic player. There was nothing wrong with his brains, though. The kid went on to receive Bachelor’s and Masters’ degrees from “The H” and became a successful investment banker.

Then in ’86, Harry swung a one of his best deals, flipping a very good center (who had injury problems) for a #1 pick and a 21 year old right wing, who was big and tough and who could score goals. Within two years, the team was once more steamrolling on another Cup run. The road to The Grail went through Montréal once more, but this time, they would not be denied. Unfortunately, the Bruins ran into the Edmonton Express. During one of the home games in May (when the conditions in the rink were like a sauna), the old dump couldn’t take the strain; a transformer blew and the lights went out (in more ways than one). Oilers went on to win their fourth Cup in a row, closing the door on The Great One’s Stanley Cup glory.

In 1990, the B’s were at it again. They once more ripped through the regular season all the way to the Cup Final. Once more, Edmonton stood in their way. Game 1 went to a second overtime before Oilers scored on a fluke goal. As Willie sings, “Turn out the lights, the party’s over…”

Since then, the Bruins haven’t gotten within a sniff of the Cup. It seemed as if one dynasty dimmed, another ascended. Montréal, the Islanders then the Oilers were dynasties, each having won four consecutive Cups. Then came Pittsburgh, who won two straight on the back of one of the game’s most dynamic players mixed with veteran goaltending and skaters, guys who knew how to win but were deemed too expensive for Boston. One of the Pittsburgh defensemen, an unabashedly dirty Swede, checked the Bruins’ star power forward low, causing the player to suffer an injured hip, which subsequently led to knee problems. Though the star returned to his 50 goal status, he was never the same dominant force.

After that, things started to go downhill. Coaches came and went. Beloved players had their equipment bags coldly thrown outside the locker room. One Coach even had the temerity to bench the great right wing (signing his death warrant in the process).

A player strike wiped out half of the 94-95 Season. When they returned, a style of play referred to as “neutral zone trap” gained favor (although it was anathema to proponents of a more open game). The Bruins would have good players, but you could sense a growing alienation between the players and the management. Guys who spoke out regarding the team’s penurious policies were generally shipped out of town on the cheap. The fans started to get indifferent.

Finally, the old barn closed its doors for good. The closing ceremony was as moving as ever occurred. First the Bruins played Montréal in an exhibition game. Some of hockey’s greatest stars were then introduced to warm applause. Then, one by one, the Bruins of old (wearing the sweaters of their eras) stepped onto the ice for one final twirl. Among those who were called was the young man who suffered the aneurysm all those years before. Though he was unable to skate on his own, he was aided and balanced by his former teammates around the rink. The response was so powerful; it was as if the roof would explode off the building…an amazing, unforgettable scene. Then the lights went out forever.

The new building opened to much fanfare, but it was typical of the soulless concrete venues that went up all over North America. There was no ambience, just a sterile shell where noise had to be continuously pumped in to keep the patrons alive, catering to the well-heeled crowd who attended events under the guise of entertaining clients. The hot dog and beer crowd who were responsible for establishing the franchise as a highly profitable venture were given seats about ten stories above the action.

By 1997, the Bruins missed the playoffs for the first time in 30 years and finished dead last in the NHL. They had two first round picks and grabbed a very tall center and a flashy left wing from Russia. Things were lookin’ up…or so it seemed.

Harry had been named as President of the team a few years earlier and turned over the GM’s reigns to his protégé, a guy who played for the Bruins years before (one of Harry’s “bad” trades, we gave up on a kid who turned out to be a multi-season 50 goal guy) and somehow returned to the fold and worked his way up the management ladder.

I never liked the guy as a player and grew to detest him as Harry’s replacement. He appeared to have ZERO PEOPLE SKILLS and had an affinity for liking American players. The team was slowly crawling out of the basement. They hired a former Canadiens’ coach. But Father Time was catching up with the team’s Captain, Raymond Bourque. Ray wanted to win a Stanley Cup just one time in his illustrious career, and knew it wasn’t going to happen in Boston. So, either he asked or the Bruins accommodated his wish and he was sent out to Denver for a bag of pucks.
One year later, Bourque’s team won Game 7 of the Cup Final, and he raised The Cup then retired on top. To add insult to injury, Ray was honored a few days later by the City of Boston, where he raised the Cup before a large throng on the same spot where the Bruins championship rallies were held thirty years before. The Bruins were humiliated by this, and rightly so.

From 2000 on, two things became apparent. First, Harry’s successor proved to be incompetent. The team fired coaches virtually every year. At some point, the GM has to look in the mirror and figure out that perhaps it’s not the coaches but the quality of the players…

They tried to build a team around their first pick in ’97, a tall centre who seemed a nice enough kid who was beginning to develop into a premier player in the league. But there were always holdouts and injuries, and the team was able to win one playoff series in ten years.

In the fall of ’04, the owners were drowning in a sea of red ink so they decided to “lockout” the players at the conclusion of their collective bargaining agreement to induce/force the players to accept a salary cap. The owners of the Bruins were leading the hard-liners for “cost certainty”. So, for the first time in 80 years, there was no NHL hockey. The Bruins had slipped so deeply into irrelevance that not many people actually noticed they were gone. The players eventually caved, and the Bruins owners’ finally got what they’d been bitching about for years…

When the NHL returned last season, the Bruins’ plan was to use the new salary structure to woo a couple of free agents to mix with the young group and make a solid playoff run. That was the plan, anyway. So they signed a defensemen who was one of the best (ten years ago) and a Russian center who was pretty good (ten years ago). The team stumbled out of the gate, never gained any traction and, by mid-November, traded their star centre out West for two very good players and a journeyman. The guy the Broons traded went onto win the League’s MVP…and the B’s failed to make the playoffs.

Due to the lack of cokes, beers and hot dogs that weren’t being sold, perhaps ownership got the message. (We’ll see, the jury is still out on that) They actually decided to bring in (gasp!)—outsiders--to run the hockey ops and handed the reins to run the show. The Bruins had never, ever gone outside of the house for a manager; the significance of such a move (perhaps) demonstrates that there is more than a commitment to the concession stands. In light of the Patriots’ and Red Sox championships, maybe they finally see the need to put a competitive product on the ice.

With a new management team in place, the team set about to rebuild. They signed a couple of top notch players, traded a couple of good guys whose time in Boston was over, and grabbed one of the top amateur plums in the draft. They retained some of their better players, so, all in all, things are lookin’ up in “The Hub of Hockey” (hey, it’s better than last year’s slogan). Stanley Cup? Probably not…but an exciting and fun team to watch, let’s hope so.