Hockey and heartbreak

You know you’re getting old when you can actually remember the last time the Leafs won the Stanley Cup. It was 1967 – Canada’s centennial. One way or another, the championship would be Canadian as Toronto squared off against Montreal. But it’s more than just hockey that makes that spring 56 years ago stand out vividly in my memory.

I was 10 years old with a close friend who was a whole year older and wiser than me. She was popular, pretty and somewhat sassy. She talked back to her parents and got away with stuff I’d never dream of doing. My parents considered her a “bad influence.” Honestly, the bad-girl persona was part of the attraction. We hung out a lot, frequently doing things my mother would never approve of – like wading into the creek to tease snapping turtles or setting off firecrackers behind the library – just two of our breathtakingly stupid ideas.

Mostly I knew my place within the juvenile hierarchy – behind her. But every now and then I asserted my independence on highly significant issues. She preferred Pepsi, I chose Orange Crush. Mustang or Camaro? C’mon – Chevy rules! She cheered for the Habs. I jumped on the Leafs bandwagon. And now it had come down to a final game between those two teams. The stakes were high – we had bet a can of pop on the outcome. Add gambling to the list of delinquent behaviours.

The morning after Toronto’s victory I arrived on the school playground with a big smile. “Hey, looks like you owe me an Orange Crush.” I said with a laugh.

“Drop dead, turd-face,” she said.

Surely she was joking. I waited awkwardly for the punch line. It didn’t come. “Why are you so mad at me?” I asked.

“I’m not mad at you. I just don’t like you. Never really did.” With that she turned and walked away.

A key lesson

The glow of Toronto’s win disintegrated along with my smile.

What brought that on? Maybe my parents had been right about her after all. As a kid I was often far more concerned about pleasing my friends than listening to my parents. Suddenly their opinion mattered to me. This relationship based on defiance hadn’t worked out so well. Time to be more selective about the company I kept. I had a new appreciation for the other friends in my life. We might have let each other down now and then, but none of them had ever been so cruel to me.

Six months later (an eternity in childhood), my former buddy came alongside me in the hallway. “How’s it going?” She spoke as if we hadn’t skipped a beat. Later, I asked her why she had been so angry with me. “Can’t remember,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “Doesn’t matter.”

Oh, it mattered. Thanks to her I understood that kindness, loyalty and sincerity were more valuable than status, accomplishments or appearances. Unintentionally perhaps, she had taught me the hard way about life, friendships and – come to think of it – hockey.

Always next year

As I write, the Leafs are down three games to the Florida Panthers in the second round of this year’s playoffs. It’s farther than they’ve been in nearly 20 years. Go Leafs! (And remember – no matter what happens – there’s always next year.)