Scotty glances at me. “You bet we are!” he says. Right, Hoffman?”
Mr. Grossi goes ahead, relieved to see us join the rest of the Tee Pees. In the hallway leading to the team’s bench, Scotty grabs my jersey.
“Thank you uh…Abigail…for everything! If you hadn’t picked up my eye…if—”
I interrupt him. “You would have done the same for me, right?”
Scotty hesitates for a second.
“Of course, not,” I answer for him. “What was I thinking?”
“Let’s go score this first goal!” Scotty replies.
Chapter 28
Back at the Tee Pees bench, Scotty and I don’t have a chance to sit. The coach immediately sends us into the fray for the beginning of third period. I’m happy to see we’re still leading 2-0, with ten minutes left to this final game.
Scotty goes to center line and takes his position at right wing for the faceoff, only to find himself next to the opponent who injured him in second period.
“Hey, Cyclops,” the boy whispers.
Scotty is not at all shaken. “If you harass me or tell anyone about this, I’ll take my eye out right in front of you, and I swear, what you’ll see will give you nightmares for the rest of your life.”
A trace of worry crosses the bully’s face, and he skates off.
In nature, when wild animals are wounded, they become all the more dangerous. Their pride stung, the Marlboros do everything they can to turn the ship around.
During the first two minutes, they charge furiously at us. One of the shots hits the post. We’re trapped in our zone. The mandatory shift change after two minutes gives us a breather, and fresh forces are sent on the ice.
Halfway through the period, during a massive charge from the Marlboros (following a penalty given to Scotty, who got back at the Toronto bully—an eye for an eye, as they say), our opponents score their first goal, a deflection shot. But the celebration is cut short by Referee Hull, who overturns the goal. He declares that the Marlies player intentionally changed the course of the puck with his skate to score the goal.
“We’re not playing soccer, here!” he remarks to the coach, who asked for an explanation and ends up accepting the verdict.
This goal reversal knocks the wind out of the Marlboros who, right then and there, give up the fight. The blow is fatal. They don’t have the energy to fight anymore; they simply defend themselves.
We have less than two minutes to play. In an ultimate attempt to shake his team out of its lethargy, the opposing coach removes his goalie.
I jump on the ice with David Kurtis, determined to help our goalie end the season with a shutout victory. But Coach Grossi has other plans for me. He puts Jim Halliday in my position and I take Jim’s place to the left of center Russell Turnbull. Scotty Hynek is to his right.
“Time to score your first goal, Abby!” Jim reminds me.
Scotty looks at me from his side of the ice. He’s shaking his head, exasperated. In spite of the recent events that brought us a little closer, the old Scotty quickly resurfaces.
“Everything for Hoffman, the Tee Pees’ pet!” he grumbles, bitter. The fact that I’m being favored over him to score my first goal must seem terribly unfair.
The faceoff is in our zone. Screams rise from the bleachers: Abby! Abby! Abby!
The fan support for me is far from dampening Scotty’s hostile attitude. For a second, I feel bad for him. But only for a second! Hey! I’m not about to apologize because my teammates and part of the crowd think highly of me!
According to a game plan drawn up by Coach Grossi, Scotty and I have to rush toward the Marlboro defensemen to neutralize them or intercept a pass.
That’s exactly what happens. The Marlboros center wins the faceoff and relays the puck to his defenseman who shoots it toward our net. But the puck hits my pad and bounces forward beyond the red line. Since I’m in motion, I race alone toward the puck.
The ice is wide open in front of me. The two Marlboros defensemen, who didn’t react fast enough, can’t catch up. I cross into the Marlies zone. I see the empty net in front of me, about fifty feet away. The crowd gets louder. I hear a voice, very close, to my right.
“Here, Hoffman! Here!”
A voice that would normally make me grit my teeth. Except this time, the tone is so imploring that I don’t have the heart to get angry.
Will I regret this one day? Maybe…but right now, it seems like the right thing to do.
I put the puck on the blade of Scotty’s stick. (He finally understands the concept of keeping his stick on the ice…now that the season is over!)
Oh, no!
He’s so surprised to receive the puck that he loses control of it. I already regret my decision. And there’s a Marlboros player directly behind him.
What an idiot I am! In my desire to be generous with a teammate, I misjudged our chances. The way things are going, neither he nor I will score in this game.
Smart move, Abby…
I stop skating and glide toward the empty net. Here comes Scotty, the puck close to his skates. The enemy defenseman is about to steal it from him. Suddenly, Scotty shows skills unseen until now. With his skate, he pushes the puck toward his stick and without so much as a look, shoots right in front of him.
The red light comes on!
“And scoooore!” screams Scotty, ecstatic, his arms raised to the sky.
He rushes to the net to retrieve the puck, escaping the congratulations of his own teammates.
Scotty spots his parents in the bleachers. He skates toward them, proudly holds up the puck, and throws it in their direction—with a little too much enthusiasm. The rubber disk hits a spectator exactly where his jock should be. The man lets out a high-pitched yelp while Scotty keeps cheering for himself.
Back at the center line for faceoff, Scotty goes silent to listen to the announcement of his goal: “The third goal of the St. Catharines Tee Pees was scored by number 8, Scotty Hynek!”
My turn to listen carefully: “With an assist from number 6, Abby Hoffman!”
Is it wishful thinking or do the cheers grow louder? Even Scotty notices. But nothing can ruin his good mood. Not even the “Abby! Abby!” resonating in the entire Varsity Arena.
As soon as the announcer broadcasts the time of the goal—8 minutes 48 seconds—Scotty starts screaming again. The referee, who is ready for the faceoff, has to blow his whistle twice to get him to shut up. He even threatens to send him to the penalty bench for delaying the game!
Despite Jim Halliday’s protestations, I go back to my defense position.
“There’s a little over a minute left,” he insists.
True. Except the Marlboros goalie is back in front of their net. The coach must have decided that a 3-0 loss would be more honorable than a 4-0 or 5-0 loss.
I prefer to end my season in the same position I have played since the fall.
The game starts up again, but without much intensity. Scotty keeps floating on a cloud. He doesn’t skate toward the puck. He walks and dances on the spot with a blissful—or stupid, depending on who you’re asking—smile on his face. Seeing him like this makes me glad about my decision. I’m really happy for him.
In any case, my job is to stop the enemy forwards, not to put the puck in our opponent’s net.
Chapter 29
After the siren seals the outcome of the game, the Tee Pees rush toward Graham Powell. Panicked at the sight of this mob descending on him, Powell seeks refuge behind his net. We manage to calm down a bit, and a little reassured, Graham lets us approach him. He’s immediately surrounded by fourteen team members who hit his pads with their sticks, and cheer him with slaps on the back, shoulders and stomach. Coach Grossi joins in the celebration. We all shout our rallying cry: Tee Peeeees!
Scotty, still excited about his goal, keeps on hitting the players’ pads. He doesn’
t look where his stick is landing so Mr. Grossi becomes his victim. Now the coach is jumping up and down on one leg, holding the other leg with both hands.
“That’s a funny victory dance, Mr. Grossi,” says Scotty.
During this celebration, every Tee Pees member is carried on a group of players’ shoulders while his name his chanted out loud. Captain Halliday is the first to get the honor. Then it’s the turn of goalie Powell, who is much heavier with all his equipment.
The Marlboros players—with heads slung low and heavy hearts—wait at their blue line to shake our hands. It must be humiliating for them to watch the Tee Pees’ celebrations, especially since they dominated the league during the regular season.
Jim Halliday puts an end to the laps of honor right before Scotty’s turn. He invites us to go shake hands with our defeated rivals. Scotty stands next to me in the Tee Pees line.
“I bet they’ll all remember your name.”
A minute later, Scotty is proved right. To have an opponent call you by name is very nice. It feels like a sign of respect. Unfortunately for them, I only remember the names of their best scorer, Bobby McGuinn, and their goalie, Milt Dunnell Jr.
We go back to the locker room, our fans still cheering. I rush to Earl Graham’s office so I can take off my skates and join my teammates.
Passing the Tee Pees locker room, I see the chairman unlocking his door. “One last time?” I say, in a hurry.
“No,” says, pointing to the room where the Tee Pees are going. “Your things are in there.”
Did I thank him? I think I did. I hurry to my team’s locker room, afraid he’ll change his mind. My boots and my coat are at my place between David Kurtis and Scotty Hynek. I’m greeted with cheers of “Abby! Abby!”
I sit down to take off my skates. David Kurtis gives me a big hug. “It was very nice playing with you, Abby Hoffman. Should we do it again?”
“Uh…”
In truth, I haven’t thought about next year. I just want to enjoy the present moment, even if it is in Scotty’s company.
“Did you see my goal? Did you see my goal?” he shouts, totally wired, trying to get his teammates to admire him or at least pay attention to him. “Hoffman’s pass was terrible, but I managed to catch it and to score. Did you see my goal?”
Good old Scotty. He’ll never change.
“The puck was right on your blade,” David remarks.
“Yes, the blade of my skate! Did you see my footwork to retrieve Hoffman’s awful pass?” continues Scotty, as if he hadn’t heard a word.
“Yes, Scotty,” I say. “Very clever!”
He’s not listening. Just yesterday he would have gotten on my nerves, but today he makes me laugh.
Excitement in the locker room goes up a notch when the parents arrive. Mine make their way to me. They hug me, proud of my accomplishments.
“It was very generous of you to let your teammate with the glasses score,” says Dad.
“I’m giving you the rate for a goal, not an assist,” promises Mom, as she searches her purse for a dollar.
Paul, Muni and Little Benny join us. I grab my older brothers by their coat sleeves and whisper in their ears: “It’s true that you’re my idols!”
Confused, Paul looks at my parents. “I think Abby took a puck to the head.”
Oh, here’s my friend Susie!
“Hey, Abby. Where are the showers?” she whispers with a chuckle.
With players as young as us, there won’t be beer or champagne to celebrate this championship like there was for the Detroit Red Wings after they won the Stanley Cup. Orange Crush is brought in for us. Each player gets his own uncapped bottle.
“Orange Crush?” says Scotty, still wired. “Hey! We’re celebrating! Give me something stronger! I want a Coke!”
“You’re hyper enough as it is, Scotty,” remarks his mother.
Al Grossi claps his hands and asks for silence in the room. He raises his bottle: “Gentlemen”—he hesitates for a second—“and young lady,” he adds, which generates a few laughs. “I drink to your success, your hard work, and your team spirit. I’m thrilled to have been your coach this year.”
His voice cracks with emotion. We raise our bottles high and clink them together almost to the point of breaking.
“To my first goal!” exclaims Scotty who does a round so every teammate can drink to his achievement. When he gets to me, he pauses for a few seconds. I try to remember on which side his glass eye is. Right or left? Even from this close, I can’t tell.
He turns to the Tee Pees. “Hey, guys! Let’s raise our bottles in honor of Abby Hoffman’s season!”
I’m stunned.
“A fabulous season, Abby Hoffman! Thank you!” shouts Scotty.
Once again, the players’ voices fill the room, led by Jim Halliday: “Abby! Abby! Abby!”
Happy and touched, I shout the team’s rallying cry, which is immediately echoed by my teammates. “Tee Peeeees!”
By Way of Overtime
From March 25, 1956 to today
The hockey career of young Abby Hoffman, born in Toronto on February 11, 1947, ended quite simply in the early spring of 1956. Abigail abandoned the sport, or at least its organized form—she continued to play at the Humberside rink—to concentrate on basketball, swimming, and, most of all, on running.
The Little Toronto Hockey League did not create a hockey league for girls the following fall. In a December 1956 interview with a CBC radio journalist, Abby explained that the officials of the league abandoned the idea because it would have been too expensive to rent the ice for girls.
We can assume that this was the main reason Abby abandoned hockey. According to a comment by the same journalist, she might have been refused access to the boys’ league. Not only did the officials of the Little Toronto Hockey League fail to change their minds the following year, but also, in November 1958, they went so far as to adopt an amendment preventing the creation of a mixed league. This was directly related to the Abby Hoffman episode from two years earlier. In the league’s constitution, any future Abigail was eliminated by the words “for boys.”
The determination that carried Abby through that hockey season never left her. Over the years, Abby Hoffman built an international career for herself as a runner. However, resistance to girls’ hockey is not the only obstacle that Abby had to overcome in her life. In high school, she realized that boys were encouraged to be physically active, while few similar opportunities were offered to girls. At a track and field meet in Waterloo, Ontario in the summer of 1961, she was supposed to run a 220-yard race in the “girls-under-fifteen” category. The event was cancelled because the organizers decided the distance was too great for girls. Abby registered for the half-mile race.
In addition, at the time, women were not allowed to participate in events over 800 yards. Once again, Abby had to spend time and energy to have this ban lifted. In 1966, she fought to get the University of Toronto’s Hart House—home to the only indoor running track—to open its doors to women after having been expelled from the track three times.
This initiative was commemorated at Hart House in 1979 with a plaque bearing the inscription: “Only she who attempts the absurd will achieve the impossible.”
Abby became one of the best middle-distance runners in Canada. At fifteen, though she had been running for only a year, she represented her country at the 1962 Commonwealth Games in Perth, Australia.
Four years later, the Canadian Champion won gold medal in the 880-yard event at the Jamaica Commonwealth Games, while pursuing her studies in Political and Economic Sciences at the University of Toronto.
The woman who, as a young girl, dreamed of going to the Olympics, participated in four Games: Tokyo (1964), Mexico City (1968), Munich (1972) and Montreal (1976), where she was Canada’s flag-bearer in the opening ceremony. The members of the Canadian team
selected her in recognition of her long international career, and to thank her for her work with the Canadian Olympic Association.
It’s also worth noting that in the mid-70s, this articulate and independent woman was one of the people who dared speak out about Canadian elite athletes’ poor financial conditions. A bursary program was set up to remedy the situation, allowing athletes to concentrate on their training, without having to worry too much about financial issues.
Abby’s greatest moment in all her years of track and field, she told author Fred McFadden in her book Abby Hoffman, was her performance in the 880-yard (800 meters) finals at the Munich Games. Competing against seasoned runners, she managed to beat the Olympic record of the time.
Abigail Hoffman retired from the track at the end of the 1970s, after an international career that saw her on the podium multiple times. She spent many years working at Sports Canada in Ottawa (she was the first female Director General) before moving to Health Canada. In 1993, she became the first Director General of the Bureau of Women’s Health And Gender Analysis.
Her career earned her much public recognition. On October 20, 1982, she was named Officer of the Order of Canada. The following year, the Abby Hoffman Cup was inaugurated by the Ontario Women’s Hockey Association to reward the best team in Canada’s first National Women’s Hockey Championship. In November 1994, the University of Toronto inducted her into its Hall of Fame. Ten years later, she was admitted into Canada’s Sports Hall of Fame.
The Canadian Association for the Advancement of Women and Sport and Physical Activity awarded her the Herstorical Award in February 1992, to recognize her efforts in advocating for gender equality in sports. Five years earlier, at the gala for the same association, Abby Hoffman gave the Breakthrough Award to 15-year-old hockey player Justine Blainey. This young Ontarian had to go all the way to the Commission on Human Rights to be able to play hockey in a boys’ league. It took her three years to win her case.
Since 1995, Ms. Hoffman has represented Canada as council member of the International Association of Athletics Federations. In 2007, the International Olympic Committee awarded her the Women In Sports Award for the Americas.
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