When I was a kid, I hated the Montreal Canadiens. I hated them because they were so fast, so flamboyant, so precision-like. Mostly, I hated them because they were so good. And they almost always beat the Maple Leafs. Or so it seemed. I recently looked up the history of the Leafs-Habs series from my childhood and discovered that Toronto had won plenty of those games. But why is it that I remember Henri Richard always beating my heroes. I have a distinct memory of the Pocket Rocket scoring off a faceoff with two seconds left in the game to beat the Leafs. Why are those memories of losing to the Canadiens so vivid, yet the Leafs beating the Habs 9-2 on December 26, 1973 doesn't register? In those days, the Leafs and Habs played to many 2-2 and 3-3 ties, back when a tie with Montreal was something to be proud of. No overtime meant a well-earned 60 minute draw against an elite team. That single point meant something. Not like today, when a single point meant you lost in overtime or worse, the dreaded shootout.
By the time I started working in Montreal and covering the Canadiens, the Pocket Rocket had long since retired. He had scored 1046 points in his illustrious career. He scored 20 goals in a season nine times (that's when 20 was considered a good season). But the most staggering number that Richard put up in his career: 11 Stanley Cups as a player. The most ever. He was a legend. He was also the proprietor/occasional bartender at my local watering hole. The place was on Avenue du Parc, north of Sherbrooke. It was called "Brasserie Henri Richard" and it featured pretty good food and cheap beer (O'Keefe, Laurentide, Brador). It was also within staggering distance of my apartment, so I spent a fair bit of time there. The place was festooned with Canadiens memorabilia that you had to see to believe. The big clock on the wall spelled out Richard's name. Hockey sticks lined the walls and ceiling. And Richard, it seems, was always there shaking hands, posing for pictures and always talking hockey. Even though his hair had turned silver, he still, at 5'7" and 160 pounds, looked like he could play in the NHL.
Fast forward a few years. I'm working for Global TV and we get the rights to telecast Maple Leaf games. I'm the host of the show, and one night we're in Montreal and we get Henri Richard as our intermission guest. Naturally, I'm thrilled. I used to drink at his bar. I'm on a first name basis with him. This should be fun. And so, as we come out of commercial, Henri is sitting next to me in the studio as I introduce him to the audience. "And joining us between periods is the man who owns a record 11 Stanley Cup rings". But Richard is shaking his head "no" as I'm saying this. "No, not 11" he says. "8 Stanley cup rings". Now, I'm panicked. I was CERTAIN that Richard had won 11 Stanley Cups. Here we are "live" with hundreds of thousands of viewers, and I'm looking like an idiot, shuffling my papers as I envision my career going down the drain. And just then, Richard says this: "I only have 8 rings because the first three Cup's they gave us frozen turkey's instead, and I couldn't fit a frozen turkey on my finger." The rest of the interview went just fine, but I often wonder how many times the Pocket Rocket used that line while he was holding court at his now-extinct Brasserie on Park Street. Ah, the good times!
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