Hockey Dreams: Memories of a Man Who Couldn't Play
David Adams Richards
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
With a voice as Canadian as winter, David Adams Richards reflects on the place of hockey in the Canadian soul.
The lyrical narrative of "Hockey Dreams" flows from Richards' boyhood games on the Miramichi to heated debates with university professors who dare to back the wrong team. It examines the globalization of hockey, and how Canadians react to the threat of foreigners beating us at "our" game.
Part memoir, part essay on national identity, part hockey history, "Hockey Dreams" is a meditation by one of Canada's finest writers on the essence of the game that helps define our nation.
Canada and colophon are trademarks. National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication Data Richards, David Adams, 1950– Hockey dreams : memories of a man who couldn’t play eISBN: 978-0-307-36381-7 1. Hockey – Canada. 2. Richards, David Adams, 1950– I. Title. GV848.4.C3R53 2001 796.962′0971 C2001-930658-X Visit Random House of Canada Limited’s website: www.randomhouse.ca v3.1 To the memory of Kevin Casey, who always knew why the puck was dropped. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS I would
start a broomball league tonight at cubs —” And sniffing in unfelt derision, baseball cards in his pocket, with the players names scratched out and names like Delveccio written over them, Stafford would finally, pepper shaker in hand, sit down to his stew. Tobias’ grandmother, who was called his mother, was named Bert. She was a tough leather-necked, half-mad, old lady. No one knew where their fathers were or where their mother had gone. Bert’s last name, like Tobias’ was Kennedy, although
exhibitions in England, like Mr. Foley and the North Shore Regiment, we were pretty much top drawer. But he said, not any more. In fact he was reiterating what my uncle had said, but thankfully he wasn’t as happy about it as my uncle was. The Russians were good — not as good as the pros yet, but soon would be — the Swedes were becoming stronger — the Czechs too. Of course we had all heard of this, and were immediately suspicious. “Well if we send our pros over, “I told the old Colonel, “That
would snap on, and he would be wandering the house, soaked to the skin. A smelly bucket of pee sat under his bed. One day just after this he began to question me about my grandfather. My grandfather was a diabetic and had graciously volunteered to be one of Banting and Best’s guinea pigs. He was one of the first diabetics to try insulin, and died of insulin related complications. When I related this story to him Stafford turned to me and clutching my arm with his small brave hand said, “Thank
scorn of the coach, if he was just not quite good enough to know. One time a friend told me of his hockey days over beer. He told me who he played against when he was voted most valuable player in the OHL. “Why, all those lads are in the NHL,” I said. He nodded. “You — you could have made it too.” He shrugged. “There is no doubt in my mind,” he said. “I could’ve played up there —” “Well?” “Well, what?” “Well, why the hell aren’t you up there?” He looked at me very seriously, as if being