by Al Strachan
“Now I’m thinking if we can win Game Two, we’re going to beat Calgary. And we really felt that Calgary was the only team in the NHL that could beat us. Teams could beat us once in a while, but over seven games, there was no way.
“That was when I was engaged to Janet, and it was about four o’clock in the afternoon of Game Two. She said, ‘You’ll never guess what happened.’
“I said, ‘What?’
“She said, ‘I’m pregnant.’
“We’d sort of planned it that, once we got engaged, that would happen. I went to the rink and I was on a high.”
Once again, the Flames had a late lead—4–3 this time with four minutes left—but the Oilers, using the play that had been such a staple over the years, went to the attack with a long pass up the middle. It’s a play that coaches abhor, a play that can get a kid sent back to the minors. When you use that play, to quote songwriter Jim Steinman, you’re living in a powder keg and giving off sparks. But in this case, the passer was Gretzky and the puck was right on target. Mike Krushelnyski, standing at the red line to conform to the offside rules of the era, didn’t even stop the puck. He just put his stick on the ice and redirected it to a streaking Kurri. That was all the Oilers needed. The game was tied.
The old Oilers were back—in more ways than one. In the intermission prior to overtime, Sather told his troops, “Go out and play to win. Play to your strengths. Don’t lay back worrying about stopping them from scoring.”
Back to river hockey. Back to original Oiler hockey. Someone—no one remembers who—piped up, “Even short-handed, Glen?”
“Even short-handed,” said Sather.
The Oilers were so determined to attack that Messier, trying to get a scoring chance, hauled down Joey Mullen beside the Calgary net. Now the Flames, with their vaunted power play, had an opportunity to pull this one out.
For the first forty-six seconds, Sather used his defensively oriented penalty-killing forwards. Then he sent out Gretzky and Kurri. Sather’s message was still ringing in their ears. Attack. Even short-handed.
Immediately, Gretzky pounced on a loose puck, started a rush down the left side and set up a scoring chance, but Mike Vernon made the save. Seconds later, Gretzky was at it again, but this time, he came down the left side alone. He stepped over the blue line and, only about six feet from the boards, blasted a shot. It was a blur. It was also in the net.
“I went to the rink on a high after finding out Janet was pregnant,” he recalled decades later. “The next thing I know, it’s 4–4 and it’s overtime and I’m coming down the wing and I’m thinking, ‘There’s no way I’m missing this.’
“That’s as hard as I can hit it. No question. I can’t hit it any harder.
“That was the greatest goal of my career.”
He remembers the moment with great pride—and a little bit of shame. It may be the only time in his career that he gloated.
“When I scored,” he recalled. “I remember turning the corner, and at that time, the Zamboni was right there. I’m yelling, ‘Take the ice out.’
“The guy said, ‘What?’
“I said, ‘You don’t have to worry. We’re not coming back. You can take the ice out.’
“I knew once we got back to Edmonton, we weren’t going to lose. Had it been 2–0 for us at home, it still could have been a series, but I knew that once we won that second game in Calgary, they weren’t going to beat us.”
They didn’t. As Gretzky predicted, the series did not go back to Calgary. It was an Oilers sweep.
The Detroit Red Wings were next in the Campbell Conference final and didn’t give the Oilers much trouble, thanks to one of the many astute coaching moves that Sather and Muckler made over the years.
This time, they unveiled a new power-play formation. Instead of using the two defencemen as quarterbacks, they let Gretzky do the job from an area at the hash marks near the boards.
“When you’ve got five on four, somebody’s always got to be open,” he said with eloquent simplicity. “The key to success on the power play is to hit that open man.”
And who better to do that than the best passer the game has ever seen?
On the ice, Gretzky was once again starting to feel invincible. Off the ice, he was coming in for criticism. Even Pocklington, who should have been supportive of his superstar, joined the chorus. He suggested publicly that Gretzky’s impending marriage was hampering his performance on the ice.
“That’s unfair,” said Gretzky. “I’ve got enough pressure on me, and I’ve got the owner of the hockey team saying this. Whether he’s trying to buffalo the press or whatever, I don’t need the extra pressure, and Janet doesn’t need it, either. It’s unfair and it’s uncalled for.”
I suggested in a lighthearted fashion that perhaps they should elope.
“We thought about it,” he said, “but we’ve both got families, and we want to enjoy the wedding and let our families enjoy it.”
The announcement had set off a media feeding frenzy in Canada, with many observers suggesting it was the country’s version of a royal wedding.
“Baloney,” Gretzky said. “Nowhere near it. That’s unfair, too. We’re just two normal people, a Canadian and an American, getting married.”
Even Gretzky, who hadn’t been out of the public eye since he was a child, was shocked by the media reaction to the impending nuptials. “I guess it’s what you come to expect,” he said. “I guess it comes with the territory, but I never really had that much attention paid to my personal life until I was engaged to Janet.
“There’s no question she has rejuvenated my life,” he said. “She has been a big influence on my career.
“This is the first year I faced any kind of adversity, and it could have been a tough year for me mentally. But she made it positive. She was there telling me it was the best thing that could have happened to me.”
It made Pocklington’s assertions all the more curious. Gretzky was convinced that the arrival of Janet in his life made him a better hockey player, but Pocklington didn’t agree. It was a spectacularly stupid thing to say, especially since Gretzky was leading the Oilers to another Stanley Cup and was on his way to his second Conn Smythe Trophy.
After cruising past the Red Wings, the Oilers had little trouble with the Boston Bruins, winning in four and a half games.
Game Four had to be cancelled midway through because of a power failure in the decrepit Boston Garden, so it was replayed in Edmonton, and the Oilers completed the sweep.
But an explanation for Pocklington’s remarks was not far away. He was in the process of trading Gretzky and hoping to minimize the negative fallout. It didn’t work.
That power-failure makeup game was the last one Gretzky ever played as an Oiler. It was also the last Stanley Cup he would ever win.
CHAPTER TEN
Wayne Gretzky always says that the best game he ever played was the second game of the 1987 Canada Cup final. As far as the rest of us are concerned, the first and third weren’t too bad, either.
His father, Walter, originally disagreed with the popular assessment of Wayne’s contribution to Game One. But the fact remains that, in that series, Canadians saw not only some of the greatest hockey ever played, but also some of the greatest hockey Wayne Gretzky ever played.
The tournament marked a changing of the guard in Canadian international hockey. The Team Canada coach was to be a first-timer, a thirty-eight-year-old with no NHL playing experience and only four years’ coaching experience: Mike Keenan. A promising kid by the name of Mario Lemieux was trying out for the team and seemed highly likely to make the cut. The New York Islanders’ involvement, like the team’s dynasty, was mostly a memory. Nevertheless, the nation’s mood was optimistic, as was always the case at the beginning of these tournaments.
It was far from hockey weather when the thirty-five hopefuls showed up in Montreal on August 4. Montreal is not known for its heat waves, but when they come, they are lengthy and steamy, and this one was n
o exception.
Gretzky, as he often did in these circumstances, spent a good part of the evening prior to the opening practice hanging around the hotel lobby, chatting with fans, media and the usual assortment of hangers-on. But when the training camp officially opened the next day, he was all business. He had a clear message to send.
As soon as Keenan blew his first whistle—the universal command for the troops to assemble around him—Gretzky, who had been designated captain, skated over to Keenan’s side. Mark Messier took a position on Keenan’s other flank.
Keenan remembers Gretzky’s actions well. “He couldn’t get any closer than he was,” he said two decades later. “His shoulder was up against me while I was giving some instructions. It was his affirmation of me as a coach. He was telling the rest of them, ‘We have to listen to what we’re doing here. Everybody has got to be on board.’ The very first whistle! The very first practice!”
When I mentioned Keenan’s interpretation to Gretzky, he agreed. “Yeah, I did that,” he said, “because he was a young guy and nobody knew what to expect of Mike at that time.
“I really thought that Mike, as a young guy, was nervous. I went and stood beside him, and I had Mess go to the other side.”
Keenan admitted that he was indeed nervous—until Gretzky’s actions affirmed his status. He says he’ll never forget that moment.
Even so, he was still “Iron Mike,” the nickname he had earned during his years as coach of the Philadelphia Flyers. His was not one of those ironic British-style nicknames where a bald man is called Curly or a giant is called Tiny. They didn’t call him Iron Mike because they couldn’t think of anything else to call him. This was to be no holiday camp.
Once again, to help fill the coffers of Alan Eagleson, the NHL’s best players were forfeiting a major chunk of their short summer, a sacrifice that should not be taken lightly. Once the NHL season is under way, days off are rare. The players either play, practise or travel almost every day for seven months. Many of them then continue the season for up to two more months depending on how well they do in the playoffs.
Yet here were the best players in the game, guys who certainly weren’t doing it for the pittance they were to be paid, on August 4 kicking off a tournament that would run until September 15.
Eagleson, in his role as executive director of the NHL Players’ Association, said he was representing his charges by giving so many of them a chance to make the team. Coincidentally, this approach also allowed for extra intra-squad games, exhibition games, a longer tournament and a best-of-three final, all of which increased the profit.
Iron Mike put the candidates to work right away with some gruelling high-tempo practices, so much so that, before long, there was discontent. The players knew they would need to be at their best to beat the Soviet Union, the team they all saw as the inevitable opponent in the final, but with those games being so far away, they felt a more leisurely approach might be warranted.
Accordingly, a delegation was sent to confront Keenan. As captain and alternate captain, Gretzky and Messier went. Also present, representing the popular view in the matter, was Raymond Bourque.
Keenan still remembers that incident as much as he remembers the opening practice, but he chuckles when telling this story.
“They came up to me and they said, ‘Gee, this is structured, we’re working awfully hard,’ and so on.
“I said, ‘We’re playing the best team we ever faced and we have to win this thing, but if that’s what you want, I’ve got no problem backing off you guys.’
“Then I said to Wayne, ‘Wayne, what are the expectations of the Canadian public? Of course, it’s to win the gold medal. I’m not putting any demands on you guys with the exception of the on-ice practices, none whatsoever, but if you want to back off, we can.
“One thing, though: Am I supposed to tell—or are you going to tell—the Canadian public we’re going to back off a little bit because we’ve got too much work to do here and you want to take it kind of easy?’
“Wayne said, ‘Mike, forget this meeting ever existed.’
“The whole meeting took about two minutes. Wayne said, ‘Mike, you’re absolutely right. I’m embarrassed I’m here. I’m sorry. See you tomorrow.’
“It flashed on him in about ten seconds. What are we doing here? The practices had a lot of tempo, but we never practised more than an hour. We’re playing the best team we ever faced and we have to win this thing.”
I asked Gretzky if Keenan’s recollections correctly represented the way the meeting went.
“That’s pretty accurate,” he said. “We all said the same thing.”
Also accurate was Keenan’s evaluation of the opposition. This was near the end of the era in which the Soviet Union made it a priority to dominate sports for the propaganda value, and these matches were seen as a battle of culture versus culture.
The Cold War was still very much in existence. The Iron Curtain was still in place. There were no Soviet players in the NHL. Being an international athlete in the Soviet Union meant that you trained at least ten months a year—eleven or more if you didn’t win a world championship—and you trained hard with the full support and pressure of the state behind you.
The team the Soviet Union sent to the 1987 Canada Cup was indisputably the best hockey team that nation had ever assembled, and unless Canada could prove differently, it would also be the best team the world had ever seen.
Gretzky, as keen a student of the international hockey scene as he was of the NHL scene, said it was important to note that the basic Soviet style hadn’t changed since the famous 1972 Summit Series. Canada’s style had evolved—an evolution that had been forced upon North American players by Soviet domination.
“We’re at the point now,” he said, “that the European, NHL and Soviet styles have become so similar. In the past, you associated the NHL with tight checking, but now it’s tight checking with speed. Every team moves the puck quickly. Puck movement and forechecking are a big part of success in the NHL. That’s going to make it a lot easier for us to play the Soviets.”
Not easy, but easier. In earlier meetings, the Soviet forwards, with their nifty stickhandling and passing, had moved the puck up the middle and created opportunity after opportunity. But Canadian hockey had evolved to the point that, by 1987, that tactic was no longer effective. Now, the Soviets were going to have to play on the periphery, and it was Canada’s intention to own the area along the boards and behind the net. If you wanted to go there, you were going to pay a price.
There would be no goon show. Keenan had banned fighting in training camp, saying that anyone who tried to win a position by fighting would instead lose it. But he still wanted rugged hockey—clean, but rugged.
People like Gretzky and Lemieux—both of whom surprised no one by making the cut—were not expected to throw bodychecks, but the others were to apply what Keenan referred to as “controlled, disciplined aggression.”
As Team Canada took shape during the weeks leading up to the key games, so did Gretzky’s moulding of Mario Lemieux into a great player.
Only a minimal portion of the information concerning that development comes from Gretzky himself. It is not his nature to make pronouncements on such an issue. Furthermore, it involved a confrontation, something with which Gretzky is never comfortable. Nevertheless, there were plenty of people in that camp who saw it happen and recognized it for what it was.
They say that, had it not been for Gretzky, Lemieux would never have evolved into the dominant player that he became. Obviously, Lemieux had superb talent and, just as obviously, he would have been a prolific scorer. But Gretzky pushed him to go beyond that, to become the best player in the world.
I asked Keenan where Lemieux went when Gretzky stood beside his coach at the opening of training camp. “He was standing in the background,” he laughed. “He was in awe.”
At that point, Lemieux had never even played in an NHL post-season, let alone a world-level professional t
ournament. Gretzky was a veteran with Stanley Cup and Canada Cup victories to his credit, not to mention a closet full of NHL trophies.
“Wayne was at that point in his career where he was the best,” recalled Keenan, “but I think he needed someone to keep pushing him.
“His attitude was, ‘Okay Mario, I’m going to teach you everything I know about this for two reasons. And two good reasons. One, if I can teach you and accelerate your ability in six weeks, it’s good for Canada, good for the NHL and good for this team. And two, you’re going to make me a better player because now I’m going to be thinking, “Where’s Mario?” for the next ten years.’
“He basically said, ‘Even though I’m going to teach you everything I know, you’re still not going to be as good as me. I’m just going to drive my game up.’
“Wayne never verbalized it, but I saw it unfold in front of my eyes,” Keenan said. “He was challenging himself. It was unbelievable. It was great to watch.”
It was clear that Lemieux had tremendous talent. He had racked up 351 points during his three years in the NHL despite missing thirty-one games due to injury. Gretzky knew, as did Messier and other Edmonton stars, that Lemieux represented the future of Canadian hockey. Strangely enough, much of the credit for that has to go to Glen Sather.
As coach and GM of the Oilers in their dynasty days, Sather always impressed upon his charges the need to look at the larger picture—the game’s heritage and its future. Sather had played for the Montreal Canadiens and seen the impact of tradition and the necessity of passing the torch. In their formative years, the young Oilers stars heard him stress this message and took it to heart.
Now it was time to start passing the torch to Lemieux, and they did so. “Mario was just a kid,” recalled Keenan, “and they brought him along. Maybe because of ’84 and the internal squabbles, and what they had gone through, there was no delineation, no separation. They were a team.
“They were guiding Mario and bringing him along. He learned quickly, but they had him on the fast track. He was in awe of them when he got there, but he was coming along quickly. You could see it, and his skill set was always so high.”
