... or my history of hockey fanaticism with an unadmirable television and admirable friends and their families, not to mention the cutest and youngest fan of them all
On Saturday night we watched the hockey playoff game at the kids' place. Although it was a choice yesterday, it brought to mind the many times that I was more or less forced to do watch hockey elsewhere when I was a kid. It has to do with TV troubles — we always seemed to have 'em.
We bought our first TV, an Admiral, and not a very admirable Admiral as it turned out in 1957 (I think). We may have been the last family on the block to get one of dem new-fangled devices; nevertheless, I was quite ecstatic to finally be on the tube. I may have it all wrong, but I think that b&w cost more than $200 way back then. If so, that was rather a large sum in those days — no wonder poor us were the last to own one. Even if I am wrong about the price, the point still stands that televisions were very expensive then compared to now. And then, they never worked worth a darn: especially not our Admiral and especially not at playoff time.
Over the years, the disrepair of the unadmirable Admiral forced me to watch hockey playoffs at my friends' houses: Nelson's in Montreal, Stuart's in Mississauga, and Ron's in Weston. All bring back fond memories, but 1967 at Ron's place is the biggest story of all.
1967 was Canada's centennial year and the last year of the original six, so it seemed pretty darn important for me to witness my glorious Montreal Canadians once again defeat Ron's vile Toronto Maple Leafs. The general consensus was that my Habs were almost a shoe-in to defeat Team Vile. But they didn't! Great goaltending stole the series for the Leafs.
It was just as well really because Ron really went the extra mile, or hundred miles as it turned out, to make it possible for me to watch the series. He would drive the fifteen miles from Weston to Cooksville to pick me up and then take me home after the game. He was a good friend, and we were young, and it seemed like an realistic price to pay for Canadian kids to watch the Stanley Cup playoffs. He deserved to see his team win, and he didn't even rub salt in the wounds — not too very deeply anyway.
Ah the memories. Hockey with the Potters of Montreal, the Martins of Mississauga, and the Andersons of Weston (part of Toronto). It is now that I realize how fortunate I was to be saddled with such unadmirable Admiral for lo those many years. How much better it was to share good times with good friends and and their good families. I was very fortunate indeed.
I was pretty fortunate on Saturday evening too — watching with my favourite Smudge and youngest and cutest Senators fan.