In North American hockey, a one-goal lead never seems insurmountable, but the Soviets were so quick and so much in control of the puck that this single goal gave them palpable confidence. Jacques exhorted his teammates from the net to keep up the fight.
In the third period, Scotty Bowman’s team redoubled its efforts. André Boudrias and Serge Savard forced the Russian goaltender to make some difficult saves, but it was Larry Pleau who finally scored at 7 minutes and 42 seconds into the period, on a pass by Norm Ferguson. The relieved Juniors might have been content to accept a tied end count, but they realized that to simply stay on the defensive against such a well-oiled machine was altogether too risky. Finally, with 30 seconds left in the game, the Junior Habs got an opening: Bill Inglis received a pass from André Boudrias and took a shot. It was blocked by Zinger, but right-winger Bill Dennis flipped the deflected puck past the goalie. The crowd went crazy. Victory for the home team was imminent, but the Junior Habs still had to hold out for another half-minute. The Russians took their goal-tender off the ice. With less than ten seconds left in the game, Vaniamin Alexandrov broke away: Jacques, as quick as he had ever been in his heyday, made a superb save. The final score: Junior Canadiens 2, Soviets 1.
As soon as the siren sounded, Jacques was mobbed by his teammates. Serge Savard and Noël Picard lifted him onto their shoulders and the Montreal Forum shook with one of the loudest ovations in its history. Carried in triumph, Jacques waved to the fans, mask in hand. He had carried off an almost perfect performance – a signature Jacques Plante performance.
At the entrance of the Forum, everyone was talking about him. The spectators of this thrilling match were all agreed that Jacques Plante could hold his own on any NHL team. He was still the best and the most spectacular hockey goaltender in the world. The Russians’ No. 11, Alexander Almetov, had a good reason to say it: all four of his shots, three of which were taken when he was alone in front of the net, had been stopped by Jacques.
In the dressing room, even with all the bright young hopes surrounding him, Jacques did not feel like a patriarch. He was simply an athlete who, once again, had given everything he had for the love of the sport.
“For me, this is one of the happiest moments since I began playing hockey,†declared the sweat-drenched goaltender. “I wasn’t playing for Jacques Plante; I was playing for Canada.â€
Even if this was the first defeat in their Canadian tour, the Russian players were thrilled to have played against a true hockey legend. Their coach, Anatoly Tarasov, was effusive in his praise.
“You want me to talk about Jacques Plante? We only knew him by name. Tonight, not only did we meet him, we felt his presence. I’d like to ask you to thank him – to say thank you to Jacques Plante on behalf of all of us. I am speechless when I see him play I hope I can say that the Russian team deserved to meet such a goal-tender. It was a great honour for us to play against him.â€
Later on, analysing the game more calmly, Jacques explained how he had figured out the opponents’ individual strategies even though he had never seen any of them play before. He had watched their feet: the position of their skates was his gauge, the tangible reference he had chosen to focus on. By doing this, he could predict the trajectory of each of the shots that were coming at him and would move into position to cover the angle correctly. In that one isolated game on that December evening, his prodigious knowledge of hockey had allowed him to decode an unfamiliar adversary’s game. In sixty minutes, he had brilliantly demonstrated the fruit of years of accumulated observation and experience.
The day after the game, Jacques went back to work for the Molson company, as usual. He presided over amateur tournaments and advised young players at several hockey schools. Beside giving them the benefit of his vast experience, he tried to inspire them to play for the love of the game instead of just playing to win. To Jacques, sport was a noble pursuit that merited being practised for its own sake – and Jacques knew what the love of the game was all about.
12
The Amazing Comeback
June 6, 1967.
With the annual NHL draft session scheduled to take place, the most ambitious expansion plan in sports history became a reality. The desire to reach new markets began a process that indelibly transformed hockey. The Golden Age of the six NHL teams now belonged to the past. NHL owners and managers paid court to the West Coast, the land of Hollywood super-productions, and the mythical destination of gold diggers and adventurers.
The “Go west, young man!†of the previous century had become a rallying cry for a new kind of pioneer, one who carried a pair of hockey skates laced together and slung over a hockey stick instead of the proverbial bundle of clothes tied to the end of a pole. The six original NHL teams now formed the Eastern Conference of the League; six new teams were created to make up the Western Conference. The western newcomers were the Philadelphia Flyers, the Los Angeles Kings, the St. Louis Blues, the Minnesota North Stars, the Pittsburgh Penguins, and the Oakland Seals – and there were plans to add still more teams to the League. Before this, 108 people had been on the NHL payroll; now there were 216, not counting the managers, coaches, scouts, and the rest of the army that worked behind the scenes. Although more people were interested in hockey than ever before and players could move easily from coast to coast, the core of the talent became diluted. Star players did not suddenly appear to fill the new slots. On the positive side, it meant that more young players could aspire to reach the big league in a shorter time. Also, veteran players, who had learned the ropes of the game while freezing their toes and ears on outdoor rinks, could now hope to prolong their careers by a few extra years, while taking advantage of the slightly higher salaries that came with the whole expansion project.
Drafted by the St. Louis Blues, Jacques Plante makes a comeback
in 1968 and wins his seventh Vézina Trophy.
The new contracts only protected a select few players on each team, and thus, many of the old soldiers of the NHL became available for trades. The luckier ones went to warm themselves in southern climes. Dave Balon expatriated himself to Minnesota; the venerable Andy Bathgate went to Pittsburgh, and defencemen Bobby Baun and Kent Douglas signed with Oakland. Certain clubs gave a higher priority to establishing a solid base by obtaining a good goal-keeper. The Philadelphia Flyers chose two promising youngsters, Bernie Parent and Doug Favell. However, experienced NHL goalies were the targets of choice. The ever-solid Glenn Hall opted to play for St. Louis, leaving work on the farm for a later date.
Jacques, always an attentive observer of the hockey scene, noted that one of the idols of his youth, Terry Sawchuk – whose brilliant playing for the Maple Leafs had prevented the Stanley Cup from gracing the World’s Fair in Montreal that year – was first draft choice by the Los Angeles Kings. Sawchuk was actually the same age as Jacques, as was Gump Worsley, who remained with the Canadiens. So many radical changes in the organization of the sport made Jacques rethink his own plans. Two years in retirement had taken him away from hockey too long for him to be considered first pick by the managers of the new teams. Jacques was happy to be a Molson’s ambassador and was enjoying his present life. But his heart still belonged to hockey.
At the beginning of that 1967–1968 season, Jacques received a phone call: it was a hockey proposition. He was all ears; how could a lifelong hockey lover have resisted the temptation? Once again, there were comments and speculation in the sports pages when Jacques asked his employer for time off to join the Oakland Seals’ training camp in Port Huron, Michigan.
After a few days, he was the centre of attention and the big question mark at the camp. Rumours abounded that Jacques Plante was going to make a comeback with the California team. He denied it energetically. “No, cercueil! I just came to help out my exteammate, Bert Olmstead. He asked me to train his goaltenders. There definitely won’t be a comeback.â€
The coaching help that Jacques had referred to took on an unconventional allure as the training camp evolved: he seemed to be teaching mainly by example. No one was surprised to see him in the Seals’ nets in an out-of-season game against the Los Angeles Kings. He let in a couple of shots by Lowell McDonald and Eddie Joyal before giving up his place to rookie goalie Gary Smith at mid-game.
“Wouldn’t you call that a comeback?†a reporter queried.
“I just wanted to see if I was still capable of stopping pucks in the NHL,†Jacques answered. “Now I know I can.â€
Was there a basis of truth in the rumours, then? As is often the case, the sportswriters had jumped the gun. Jacques finished his three-week stint with the Seals and returned to Montreal, satisfied by the experience. When the reporters pestered him, he declared that it would take ten years for one of the newly created expansion teams to win the Stanley Cup. His reasoning was simple: each of the fledgling teams depended on one top scorer, whereas the long-established teams like the Canadiens and the Black Hawks each possessed up to eight sure goal-getters.
“The only way the new teams can keep from being overwhelmed is by developing good defensive strategies, but that’s not the way to win cups.â€
Jacques’ analysis proved astonishingly accurate. During the ensuing seasons, the expansion teams that did practise a defensive game were the most successful ones. He had also predicted a 60-goal season for Bobby Hull, and the formidable No. 9 of the Hawks scored 58 times in the 1968–1969 season.
Jacques went back to work at Molson. For once, Lady Rumour had missed the mark, but she would have a chance to redeem herself.
Jacques kept abreast of developments in hockey through his job. At the same time, some of the League managers remained aware that he could still perform in the nets. The fact that he was not yet out of the running in big league hockey came to light when Emile Francis, the Rangers’ general manager and coach, called on Jacques to solve a problem during the 1967–1968 season; Jacques was still under contract to the New York team. The coach had noticed that his regular goalie, Ed Giacomin, did not perform as well when the team faced the Chicago Black Hawks. The usually dependable Giacomin seemed to falter particularly when playing in the Windy City Stadium. One day, Francis called Jacques in Montreal.
“Jacques, can you do me a favour?â€
“What is it?â€
“We still have five games left to play against Chicago. I’d like you to tend goal for us in those games. I’m sure you could be in shape if you trained in Buffalo for a week.â€
Buffalo, Chicago – the very names of those cities evoked cherished memories for Jacques. In Buffalo, he had won the hearts of the American fans, and in Chicago, he had played his first NHL playoffs. However, he still hesitated. The contract itself was attractive, and five games did not mean a whole season, but he balked at the prospect of leaving his family and his job at Molson. Besides, even if the Rangers had definitely improved since his days in the Big Apple, he did not look back on that period with any great fondness. He had been so lonely in New York. He did not want to go through that again, even for the pleasure of measuring himself a few more times against Stan Mikita, Ken Wharram, and Dennis and Bobby Hull, who were wreaking havoc in the League.
Inevitably, with this kind of solicitation being pressed on him, the idea of a comeback gradually took shape in his mind. During a visit to Ottawa, he ran into an NHL scout who asked him, banteringly, if he didn’t want to return to the NHL on a more regular basis.
Jacques replied in the same joking manner. But when he went home, he mentioned the exchange to Jacqueline. She knew very well that her husband was longing to get back into pro hockey.
“I’m better now,†she told him. “And you’re in good condition. If you feel like trying your luck…â€
His luck! Luck hardly entered into Jacques’ analytical playing style. For every shot against him, he prepared a strategy based on his formidable memory of each players style, on his sense of the game, and on his characteristic combativeness. Every time, he calculated with lightning speed exactly how he would block a shot, how he would stretch out his leg, when he would skate beyond the goal crease to pass the puck to a defenceman, and which instructions he would shout to a teammate. He anticipated every breakaway, every pass. He knew all the tactics by heart.
To return to the rink, Jacques’ body had to be up to par. It hardly seemed worth the effort of getting back into condition to play only five games. But if, on the other hand, he could play a more reasonable number of games, dividing the task with another experienced goaltender like himself – someone whose motivation was mainly to help a team out without needlessly exhausting himself – then it might be possible. Jacques remembered that during the 1964–1965 season, when the League consisted of six much stronger teams, two veteran goalkeepers had shared the nets for the Toronto Maple Leafs: Johnny Bower, who was at least five years older than Jacques, and Terry Sawchuk. Together, they had even won the Vézina Trophy that year.
Jacques began to view the possibility more seriously; he was waiting for the right moment and a proposal that really suited him. Now, when reporters asked him about a comeback, he would answer, “Everyone in hockey has my phone number.â€
“Does that mean you’re ready to strap on your leg pads?â€
“I didn’t say that. But I am ready to hear whatever people have to say to me. Cercueil! It doesn’t hurt to listen!â€
In June 1968, the draft session took place at the Queen Elizabeth Hotel in Montreal, as usual. Jacques came to have lunch with a few of his former teammates and adversaries, but he couldn’t attend the main event, as he had to go back to work. He had barely entered his office when he received a telephone call with some startling news.
“You’ve just been picked by the St. Louis Blues.â€
Jacques couldn’t believe it: the Blues, the best team in the Western Conference, the team that had barely been edged out for the Stanley Cup by the Canadiens the previous spring! This was an interesting development, even more so because the Blues already had Glenn Hall, Jacques’ long-time competitor for the Vézina Trophy – a seasoned veteran like he was, and one who had won the latest Conn Smythe Trophy for best player in the playoffs.
But even better than that, the Blues were managed by a man for whom Jacques had the highest degree of admiration and esteem: none other than Scotty Bowman. Bowman, like Jacques, was an intelligent hockey analyst. He had observed the effectiveness of Punch Imlach’s system of having two veteran goalies alternating in the nets on a regular basis, giving their best without tiring themselves out, and without having to compete against each other for the number 1 position. An expert in defensive strategy, Bowman still remembered Jacques’ impressive performance against the Russians. He knew that with Jacques Plante on his team, the Blues would have all the chances on their side to repeat their exploit of the previous season – in fact, he was convinced that they would do even better. Scotty Bowman rarely showed poor judgment. Neither did Jacques. Hockey was in his blood; he wanted to be able to achieve the ambitions that he had put on hold. He accepted the Blues’ offer. For sharing the goaltending job with Glenn Hall, Jacques would earn the highest salary of his career, $35,000 for the season. He wanted to be well prepared, and for that reason, he underwent another operation, this time on his right knee, which had still been giving him problems during his Old-Timer games. His “old†body would be able to catch up to him on the road of his dreams.
The 1968–1969 edition of the St. Louis Blues was a well-balanced mixture of seasoned veterans – players whose glory days were over, but who could still outrank their rivals as a team – and a few intense, young players. In the home zone were: Doug Harvey, who, for more than a decade, had
been considered the best defenceman in the world; Jean-Guy Talbot, formerly of the Canadiens; Noël Picard, who at thirty, had finally reached the major league; and the Plager brothers, Bob and Barclay. The forwards were: Red Berenson, who had also played for the Canadiens and had established a record by scoring six times in a game against the Philadelphia Flyers on November 7, 1968; Camille Henry, the ex-poison of the Rangers; Ab McDonald, Terry Crisp, Frank St. Marseille, and Gary Sabourin. And behind all these formidable athletes, guarding the fortress, were two legends: Glenn Hall and Jacques Plante.
Scotty Bowman’s solution was not identical to Punch Imlach’s: it was actually a three-goalie system. When Jacques was on the ice, Glenn Hall would be in the press box, and vice-versa. The backup goaltender, either young Gary Edwards or Robbie Irons (they also alternated), would be available on the bench. The two younger goalies, although they practised with the team, did not face many pucks that season. The team’s true goaltenders were Hall and Plante.
Proof of this came one evening when Glenn Hall was expelled from the game for having bawled out the referee who had credited a doubtful goal to the Rangers. Robbie Irons slid off the end of the bench to take his place between the goal posts. Jacques didn’t hesitate for a second: he rushed to the dressing room, put on his uniform, and went to report to Bowman behind the bench. On a timely suggestion by Doug Harvey, Irons’ ankle was “injured†by the first shot to come his way. He was immediately replaced by Jacques Plante – and the rest is history. The Rangers couldn’t get the puck past Jacques that night, and the Blues won the game 3–1. In the crunch, the Blues ultimately placed their faith in their veteran goaltenders.
Jacques Plante Page 12