Thirty Years of the Game at its Best

by Gare Joyce

  I finished my career playing a few seasons in Europe, and over that time the world junior tournament really took off. When I retired and our family was spending our first holiday at home, my wife and I bumped into our daughter’s teacher at the supermarket and we asked her what she was planning to do at Christmas. She said that her family did the same thing every year—about 30 of them gathered for a party and to watch the world junior tournament. My wife and I just looked at each other—we couldn’t believe the tournament had taken on a life of its own.

  Dave Morrison (third

  f from the left) didn’t

  realize the impact of

  his team’s victory until

  after his retirement

  years later.

  Canadian junior

  players about

  to go on to NHL

  stardom struggled

  in the pivotal game

  against the Soviets

  in Leningrad. Here,

  Dave Andreychuk is

  run into the boards

  by defenceman Ilya

  Byakin as Mario

  Lemieux looks on.

  There are tough road games, and then there are tough road games.

  A tough game on the road might be your third game in three nights and you’re up against one of the league’s best teams. Those types of road games are tough. I had seen enough of them as a goalie with Sudbury in the Ontario Hockey League.

  Being in another country and playing a game you’re not used to—that makes your life tougher. If you ask anyone involved in the Program of Excellence who ever played or coached in a tournament held in Europe, they’ll tell you that it’s a challenge.

  To be a Canadian team playing in Russia? That’s tough. And it was even tougher back in the days of the former Soviet Union. If you were a bunch of teenagers—well, let’s say that, no matter how good and experienced you were in major junior, you had never been in a situation quite like it.

  We went to Leningrad as the defending world junior champions, taking a really talented team there, a lot more talented than we actually realized at the time. We didn’t know that Mario Lemieux was someday going to be in the conversation when people talked about the most talented players ever. We didn’t know that Steve Yzerman would be the captain of three Stanley Cup winners. That Dave Andreychuk, our leading scorer, would end up with 640 goals in his NHL career.

  The Canadian juniors

  had no answers for

  the Soviets’ speed and

  skill. Here, Vladimir

  Turikov slips by Mike

  Eagles.

  That Gary Leeman was going to have a 50-goal NHL season down the line. Or that James Patrick, who was back from the ‘82 gold-medal winners, would play in the NHL until he was 42. No, we didn’t lack for talent. We had enough that a future Hockey Hall of Famer, Doug Gilmour, was one of the last cuts.

  We were just teenagers—a few amazingly talented; the rest very good juniors. But teenagers.

  We were just old enough to remember Team Canada going to play in Moscow in 1972—we would have been in elementary school at the time. We all had heard about the teams from the Soviet Union when we were growing up—we had seen the USSR’s best beat our best NHL players. We knew enough about hockey to understand that these guys could really play.

  The Soviets were good. And they were at home.

  I think it’s different now. I think kids are more worldly than we were. Most of us had never been to Europe. None of us had been to Eastern Europe. And

  what we knew about the Soviet Union we learned from the movies: spies lurking around the corners, soldiers in the streets, people living in fear of the gulag. Were we scared when we took on the Soviets in Leningrad in ‘83? On the ice, I’d say no. Were we comfortable? Not even close.

  We’d won our first three games at the tournament, beating West Germany, the United States, and Finland pretty comfortably, and went into our round-robin game against the Soviets looking at it as the contest that would decide the gold medal.

  Even before we hit the ice, we knew it was going to be a different game completely. In our first three tournament games, the arena was practically empty and almost silent. When I was standing in the crease in those games, I could hear guys talking on the bench. But for our game against the Soviets, we could hear the crowd while we were sitting in the dressing room.

  Then there were the head games. We got the call to go out and we got our game face on—but when we were just about to step on the ice, the officials sent us back to the dressing room. It seems like a small thing but it wouldn’t happen anywhere else. It wasn’t a big thing; it was just another thing. We had been through the long stare-down with customs officers, dirty looks from soldiers, sneers from people working around the arena, and other stuff. We were warned that the food was bad but we couldn’t have imagined just how bad it was—I thought they might have been trying to poison us. All that wouldn’t rattle you if you were a professional, but we were teenagers. For sure, it unsettled us.

  Dave King returned

  to the head coaching

  post for a shot at a

  second gold. The

  Canadians stayed with

  their game plan from

  the year before, and

  it came up just a bit

  short.

  Sylvain Turgeon

  celebrates after

  putting the puck by

  goaltender John

  Vanbiesbrouck in

  Canada’s 4–2 victory

  over the United States.

  The win left Canada

  undefeated after the

  first two games in

  Leningrad.

  So did the whistling.

  As soon as we stepped on the ice, the whistling started—the European equivalent of booing. And whenever we touched the puck, the whistling got even louder. It was just ear-splitting. We’d gone from playing in a silent rink to one where you couldn’t hear yourself think.

  It was a whistle that really threw us off. We thought it was a referee’s whistle. We were sure it was. Maybe it was just the ringing in our ears.

  We were on a power play in the first period. The Soviets had scored a couple of goals against us on consecutive shifts at about the 10-minute mark and I was doing my best to keep us in the game. The power play was going to be our chance to get back in it. A goal at that point would have given us a huge boost. James Patrick, who was playing the point on our power play, had the puck at the Soviet blue line when he heard a whistle and figured it was an offside call. He came to a dead stop and so did everyone else. It was a whistle from the crowd—at least that’s the story we were told. Before anyone could react and get back in the play, a Soviet player picked up the loose puck, skated the length of the ice, and beat me. It was a backbreaker. I guess it’s like boxing—you have to defend yourself at all times, even after the bell.

  Dave King was our returning coach and, even though we had guys who would score hundreds of goals in the NHL, he had really set us up to be a defensive team. Mike Eagles probably had a bigger role than a lot of the better

  known players on our team. We didn’t play a run-and-gun style of game, but instead were going to win our games with a few goals and tight checking. Mounting a comeback from that 3–0 hole would be tough anytime. In Leningrad, in 1983, we didn’t get close to pulling it off. I’ll shoulder my share of the blame. I wasn’t good enough. I gave up six goals in 40 minutes and I was pulled in favour of Mike Vernon.

  The final score was 7–3.

  We were rattled. The next game, we tied Czechoslovakia 7–7, and then lost to Sweden 5–2. We were still thinking about the Soviet game. It was like the whistles were still ringing in our ears.

  Canada ended up with the bronze medal. It could have been a silver pretty easily with a better effort against the Czechs or the Swedes.

  I played for Canada’s national team for a stretch a few years later. I’ve worked as a scout in the NHL fo
r more than a decade. When I’ve seen a Canadian team perform well and win in Europe, I know all about the challenges those players and coaches have overcome. The Program of Excellence does a great job to prepare Canada’s best juniors to play in the toughest road games. And those who win on an opponent’s turf are prepared to handle things way out of their control—like a fan in the crowd blowing a referee’s whistle.

  Pat Flatley has his

  legs taken out from

  under him in Canada’s

  disappointing 5–2 loss

  to Sweden.

  J. J. Daigneault,

  flanked by linemate

  Lyndon Byers, crashes

  the net in Canada’s

  6–0 trouncing of West

  Germany. Canada’s

  third straight victory

  put them in a strong

  position for a medal.

  I was lucky enough to play for Canada in the world junior championships. I was even luckier to get a chance to pull on a red and white sweater and play for our country years after. A fair number of players from the world junior program do go on to play in the Olympics and world championships. I don’t think that anyone, though, has had quite the experiences I’ve had. “Unusual” would be one word to describe them. “Unforgettable” would be another.

  It’s hard for me to express how much just getting an invitation to try out for the WJC team meant to me when I was 19. I was playing on a very good team in Kamloops and I was having a pretty solid season, but I never considered myself more than a good junior player. I was honoured to get the invitation, but I went to the camp without a lot of expectations. I didn’t even really give a lot of thought to my chances of making the team and going to the WJC. Everything just happened so fast.

  I was one of the last players selected to the team and a lot of things had to fall into place for me to make the cut. Some things were beyond my control. A big one was Mario Lemieux deciding not to play in the tournament even though he had been on the WJC team the year before. Even with Mario out I figured I was on the bubble. I had a couple of goals in the last exhibition game

  before the final cut and that probably sewed up a spot for me. I ended up on right wing beside two pretty talented offensive players, Russ Courtnall and Dave Gagner. My role was to look after the defensive end and allow Russ and Dave to use their skills.

  Our coach was Brian Kilrea—who, as everybody knows, is the only major junior coach in the Hockey Hall of Fame. Brian was the ultimate old-school hockey man. He wasn’t so worried about systems and strategy—he just demanded that we play hard and encouraged us to have fun. I loved playing for him. I was used to the “hardcore” coach—I played for Bill Laforge in Kamloops and he had the same approach to the game.

  So much of the WJC in the round-robin format rode on a good start. We didn’t get one and ultimately that’s what really hurt us. We lost our first game 4–2 to the Finns, who ended up with the silver medal. Four straight wins came after that, though, against the United States, Switzerland, Germany, and Sweden. We felt we were really coming together as a team and had a shot at winning the tournament when we went into a showdown with the Soviet Union.

  The Soviets were the defending champions and we had a lot of respect for their talent. We thought they were the best team in the tournament, but we were confident we could stick with them. There was a bit of a scene before the game. We knew that they played head games in the warmup—at the end of their skate, they’d go up to centre ice and stare down the opposition, like you’d see a boxer do as the ref is giving him instructions before a bout. Brian Kilrea told us to give it right back to them. So when the Soviets stood at centre ice and were giving us dirty looks, we stared right back and held our sticks at head level. We let them know that we weren’t going to be intimidated.

  I remember it being a great game. We gave as good as we got and managed to take the Soviets off their game. Gary Leeman and John MacLean gave us a 2–0 lead in the first period. The Soviets tied it up in the second period—the second goal was by Nikolai Borschevsky, who ended up playing for the Toronto Maple Leafs years later. Kirk Muller gave us another lead but we couldn’t hold on. We outshot them 37–30 and that’s a fair representation of the game. We outplayed them but they got away with a 3–3 tie.

  We took the result hard. We didn’t have a shot at the gold and the best we could do was a bronze going into our final game against Czechoslovakia. Our attitude was gold or nothing, and after playing our best game against the Soviets we played our worst against the Czechs, losing 6–4 after taking a lead into the third period. The Czechs went away with the bronze and we came home empty-handed. Kilrea and his assistant Terry Simpson pushed us as hard as they could, but we weren’t motivated. It was strictly our fault.

  Russ Courtnall ended up being our leading scorer: seven goals and six

  assists in seven games. John MacLean picked up seven goals as well. I had six goals and three assists and probably was playing better then than I ever had before. Playing in the WJC was a real turning point in my hockey career. It gave me confidence going forward and took me places I never imagined.

  I ended up playing 13 years in the NHL, over 800 career games, and I’m proud of my career. Still, I wasn’t a threat to play on a Canada Cup team. I was a professional but not an all-star. I had to fight to make my spot on the roster every season. Years when my team didn’t make the playoffs, I didn’t get invited to play for Canada at the world championships. I made my peace with the idea that I’d just have that one shot to wear the maple leaf. By the summer of ‘96 it looked like my NHL career was winding down—Calgary had bought out my contract and all I had was a couple of tryout offers, nothing concrete. I had a chance to make some money playing pro in Europe. And that’s when I got a call from Andy Murray, who was coaching the national team for Hockey Canada that season.

  I knew Andy from growing up and playing in Manitoba as a teenager. He told me that he had a very young team and asked me if I’d be interested in being a player–assistant coach, a veteran who could help him out. He couldn’t offer a lot of money—I think it was about $15,000 for the season—but at least I had a chance to play and maybe an NHL team would notice so that I might get another shot. I’d had such a good time playing in the Program of Excellence, even with the fourth-place finish at the WJC, and I took that into consideration.

  I took the job with Andy and it was a great experience to play wearing the maple leaf—but then midway through the season I got an offer to play for an American Hockey League team and maybe get a final shot at the NHL. When I told Andy, he told me that he needed my help. If I stuck it out the rest of the way, he promised me a spot on the team that would play in the world championships at the end of the season—that I’d be playing alongside all the NHLers who’d join the team that spring. It was another chance not just to wear the maple leaf but to do it with a world title on the line, a chance to get the gold that got away 13 years before.

  On that Canadian roster at the 1997 worlds there were a bunch of future Hall of Famers, including Mark Recchi, Rob Blake, Chris Pronger, and Jarome Iginla—all guys who had won gold at the world juniors. There was only one player who wasn’t on an NHL roster. Me. It was an honour when they named me captain and a thrill when we won the gold. If it hadn’t been for the experience I’d had in the Program of Excellence, I might have made a different decision when Andy offered me the player–assistant coach job. And I would have missed out on the greatest hockey experience of my life.

  I played only one more season after that, a winter in Europe. I feel like my career started and ended wearing the maple leaf.

  With a gold medal

  on the line against

  Czechoslovakia,

  Bob Bassen couldn’t

  completely duck under

  a head shot in open

  ice to make a play.

  Jeff Jackson had never been so happy to be stuck on the bench.

  Late in the afternoon of New Year’s D
ay 1985, Jackson, who had just killed a penalty and was, admittedly, “really sucking wind,” was told by Team Canada head coach Terry Simpson to take a breather while his regular linemates Brian Bradley and Adam Creighton were joined for a shift by a relatively unknown Saskatoon Blade named Wendel Clark.

  “It kind of worked out,” Jackson recalled with a laugh.

  Indeed. It worked out to the point that Canadian international hockey history was made and permanently altered.

  It was the last day of the 1985 world junior championships at the Helsingin Jäähalli (Helsinki Ice Hall), and Canada was trailing favoured Czechoslovakia 2–1 with less than seven minutes remaining in their final game. There were no playoffs in those days, so the round robin among the eight nations would determine the winner of the tournament—which Canada had won only once before, and had never won in Europe.

  Going into the game, Czechoslovakia and Canada were undefeated, each with five wins, and a tie against Finland. Canada possessed a solid edge in goal differential so required only a tie to become the first Canadian team of any kind in 24 years to win a world championship in Europe.

  Brian Bradley,

  here skating in

  open ice against

  Czechoslovakia,

  switched from one

  wing to the other

  when Wendel Clark

  took his single, yet

  unforgettable, shift

  as a forward.

  Czechoslovakia had arrived in Helsinki as tournament co-favourites along with Finland and Russia. Canada was rated no higher than fourth, partly because that’s where they’d finished the two previous years with much more high-profile rosters. Canadian hockey fans might not have heard of any of the Canadian kids before they went to Helsinki, but they knew all about them by the end of the first day of 1985.