J.P. Parise opened the scoring late in the first period, I fed Clarke a pass later on and he beat Tretiak to make it 2–0, and I scored at 11:58 to give us a 3–0 advantage. What a great start to the Russian leg of the series!
But it all fell apart for us. I was tripped and went head first into the boards at full speed and had to be helped off the ice. Jim Murray, our doctor, informed me I had a concussion. Against doctor’s orders I trudged back out there and scored with fifteen minutes left to play to give us a 4–1 lead after the Russians had gotten on the scoreboard – that second goal came with me suffering from a pounding headache, but nothing was keeping me from being out there!
There are so many concussions in hockey these days, and so much written and said about them. It seems that concussions, and their effects on athletes, have become the biggest single worry in hockey, especially since they’ve happened to some of the game’s greatest stars.
I have had six concussions since I started playing hockey, so I certainly know what they feel like and how bad they can be. They have happened at various times in my playing career, including the one I had right in the middle of the Canada–Russia series. I had some at the start of my career and others later on too.
The first one was in my first junior B game – I was knocked out cold in a game against the St. Marys Lincolns while playing for the Goderich Sailors. I also got one in my first game of junior A. My third concussion happened in 1966 in the NHL when I got nailed on the temple by a slap shot from Doug Barkley with the Detroit Red Wings, and that was the concussion that convinced me to put on a helmet and keep it on during my playing career.
After that concussion, the doctors made me play the rest of the year with a helmet, and it took a while to get used to. But eventually I got comfortable wearing it and I kept one on from that point after. Eleanor also really wanted me to keep wearing one and that certainly helped me make my decision.
It was a different era then, to be sure. Most teams didn’t want their players wearing helmets, and the Red Wings were one such team. Our coach and general manager, Sid Abel, made that clear to me as soon as I started wearing one the next season. Now, I had worked out a deal with CCM that paid me to wear their helmet on the ice, and when I told Sid what the deal was worth, he was surprised and at least understood my position a little better. But I had to promise him that, if the helmet hurt my ability to play in any way, shape, or form, I’d take it off.
Soon after I started wearing it, I scored four goals in a game against the New York Rangers. Sid saw me after that game and said there would be no problem with me wearing a helmet, and it was never an issue after that. Stan Mikita, one of the best scorers in hockey at the time and a future Hockey Hall of Famer, had put on a helmet the year before, which also helped relieve any stigma.
I guess it was just a sign of the times. Wearing a helmet was looked at as a sign of weakness in some quarters. The thinking was wrong, of course, especially with what we know now about concussions. Just imagine a player not wearing a helmet today. The mere idea is ridiculous. But our knowledge about concussions wasn’t what it is today, and if we knew then what we know now, our thinking would have been different – at least I hope so.
Even when I was wearing a helmet, I know I played hurt at times, but you just did back then – that’s the way it was. Everybody plays hurt in hockey, even today, but in the six-team era, if you were out of the lineup too long, you ran the risk of losing your job. With so few NHL jobs around, you just couldn’t afford to take that chance.
I would play with headaches, pounding headaches. But remember, this was a different era. We wouldn’t do that today. The concussion in game five in Moscow was probably the worst-timed of them all. I was examined by Jim Murray, our team doctor, and he was adamant – I had a concussion. He basically told me I was done. I couldn’t go back on the ice during the biggest series of my life.
Harry Sinden, our coach, came into the dressing room and conferred with him. The doctor told him in no uncertain terms that I had to sit out, at least for the rest of that game.
“Harry, don’t do this to me,” I pleaded. “I want to play, I’ve got to play.”
Harry was a good coach and a responsible man, and he didn’t want to risk my health any more than the doctor did. But when he saw how adamant I was about getting back into that game and the series, he relented.
“If you really want to play, I’m not going to stop you,” Harry said. And I was back out there for the next period – not only for that game, but for the rest of the series.
Now, again, I have to emphasize: this was 1972, when we knew basically nothing about head injuries, and we were in a dressing room in Russia to boot, so there sure wasn’t going to be any advanced medical screening. So … back on the ice I went. There is no way that I, or any other player, would be let back on the ice under those circumstances today. No way. Does that make my decision wrong? Not in my mind. There was nothing that would keep me out of that series, and since the true dangers of being concussed were not known, I felt then – and still feel now – it was the right thing to do. Fortunately for me, despite the massive pounding headache I had for the rest of the game, I suffered no real long-term effects – at least none that I am aware of! I was lucky, I guess, that none of the six concussions I sustained resulted in any permanent damage. A lot of players have had head injuries that shortened their careers, as we all know. As it is, I can afford to joke about it – I tell everybody I’d be a lot more intelligent than I am today if I hadn’t had six concussions and cancer. My illnesses have given me a good excuse for everything!
But all kidding aside, my main point is that it is not hypocritical to think differently about a serious issue in retrospect. Changing your mind isn’t a sign of hypocrisy, it’s just a sign that maybe you’ve gotten a little wiser over the years. The great Muhammad Ali once said that the man who sees the world the same at sixty as he did at thirty has wasted thirty years of his life. That is very true.
Despite our gaining a 4–1 advantage, the Russians came right back. They scored two goals eight seconds apart and wound up scoring four straight goals in ten minutes with Vladimir Vikulov notching the game-winner at 14:46 of the third period, breaking in alone and beating Tony Esposito. Tony slammed his stick on the ice in disgust, and we left the ice wondering how we could have let that game get away, a 5–4 loss.
People look back on this now and wonder how we could have bounced back from such a devastating loss. But as bad as that loss was, there were a lot of positives from that game. There were three thousand crazy Canadian fans in the stands cheering us on, for starters, and that warmed our hearts. We had begun to think the country had abandoned us after the debacle in Vancouver, so that was encouraging.
The refereeing wasn’t that great once again, but we had managed to take a three-goal lead twice with it, so we knew it was something we could overcome. Alan Eagleson was doing everything he could to look after our needs there, and although the Russians were in control in their own country, Al kept them honest and always had our backs. We never forgot him for that.
Phil Esposito was an incredible leader for us too. Phil had a remarkable NHL career, but in my mind he was never better than he was in that series in 1972. He played a ton, he led by example, he made the big plays, and he really willed us to win. Even the Russians took to calling him “the man with the big heart.”
Phil was an outstanding player for us in that series. He scored seven goals in that eight-game series, a fact I think is sometimes overlooked. We had four assistant captains on that team, and he was one of them, but right off the bat it became evident who the real leader on the team was, and that was Esposito.
Phil Esposito in 1972 was, in my mind, the best forward in all of hockey. He was at his best when he was in the slot and so dangerous from in close. He was like a bag of cement out there – you couldn’t move him. He had such a great shot, a great release, and every time he was in position and fired the puck, the goalie he was facing
had to make a great stop or that puck was going in the net.
Phil was notorious for not working very hard to get into shape – he’ll be the first to admit that – but despite that he really had such incredible stamina. I felt I was in a lot better shape than he was, but he could stay out there on a shift way longer than I could, he just had such great stamina and drive. He really was quite a workhorse.
He was a great, great player, but he would have been really scary if he had been in top shape. If I had lived the lifestyle he did, well, I wouldn’t have been able to take it! But Phil was larger than life. What really stood out about him on the ice was his presence, he just had a commanding presence, and he could do everything you asked him to do out on the ice. On a good night, he was just about unstoppable, and there were a lot of those nights in his career.
He wasn’t a dirty player by any means, but he played hard. He’s a big, lovable guy too, and anybody who knows Phil likes him. He really is a terrific guy to be around. There’s no way we could have won the 1972 series without him in the lineup. He led us on and off the ice in that series.
Harry Sinden remained the calming influence, even after the loss in the fifth game. He reminded us again of his mantra – “One game at a time, guys; one game at a time” – and that all we had to worry about was winning game six. The other games in the series would look after themselves – and that was reassuring to us.
Yes, we were down 1–3–1 now in the series and faced the daunting prospect of having to win three straight games on enemy ice to win the series, but we still had a sense of confidence, believe it or not. We were getting into shape, and we were becoming a very strong and stable hockey club. We went into game six confident that we could outplay them again and that we could win the next game.
For game six, Ken Dryden took over in goal from Tony Esposito. Rod Seiling and Frank Mahovlich sat out, and Red Berenson, Serge Savard, and Dennis Hull were inserted into the lineup. We had a game plan now; it was just a matter of executing it. And we were still loose, hard as it may be to believe. I remember kidding Dennis Hull – who was being brought back into the lineup – on the bus on the way to the rink, saying, “Come on, Moses, time to lead us out of the wilderness.” And you know, Dennis played very well for us and really made a positive impact playing with Jean Ratelle and Rod Gilbert.
It wasn’t a spectacular win in game six, but it was still a victory. Hull played Moses to the hilt by scoring the first goal, and Yvan Cournoyer and I also had goals as we held on for a 3–2 win. That was the score after two periods, and that’s the way it stayed, as we outshot the Russians 17–7 in the final twenty minutes and Dryden had what was probably his best game of the series.
We were right back in the series and we knew it. So did the Russians. And leave it to Harry to again proclaim, “Just worry about game seven now, and we’ll tackle game eight when we get there.” His philosophy was working, we were taking one game at a time and not worrying about the game after.
Securing the win in game six was great, of course. My confidence was already sky-high as a result of the way things had gone in Canada during the series, and our line was playing well. We were all contributing, our whole team was rounding into form, and we had a sense we would prevail and win the series.
One of the great things about the 1972 Summit Series was that we became teammates for life. Maybe it is politically incorrect to refer to a hockey series as a war these days, but that’s what it felt like to us. Because of the political tensions off the ice and the at-times brutal play on the ice, it was more like war than hockey in the minds of us players.
When you go to war with someone, you share a common bond forever, and as a result, all of us who were on Team Canada ’72 remain close after all these years. What got us through that series was our spirit and our common belief that we were representing our country and that we would all do anything it took to win that series.
Anything.
Of the thirty-five players on that roster, nobody was more of a competitor than Bobby Clarke when it came to doing whatever it took to win. If this was really a war, Clarke was the ultimate warrior, the one guy who took no prisoners, would never surrender, would battle until the bitter end.
He was a great teammate, and we all knew that. I respected him then, and I respect him now, for all he brought to the table and to our team. It’s now forty years since that memorable series and I haven’t changed my view of Bobby Clarke one bit in all that time.
But I have changed my view of The Slash – which is still talked about almost as much as my winning goal in game eight.
We had struggled against the Russians enormously in the series, right from the get-go. By the time we got to the Soviet Union for the final four games of the series, we knew first-hand just how tough this Russian team was to handle on the ice.
One player in particular, the great Valeri Kharlamov, was causing us fits. It was clear by the time we got to Russia that he was a player we were going to have to find a way to stop if we were going to win the series. And in game six, Clarke found a way to stop him: a vicious slash to his ankle. There can be no doubt that he intended to knock the Russian great out of the game. That’s just the way Bobby played hockey.
I didn’t see the slash when it happened, but I wasn’t that upset with it. We were all caught up in the moment. Today, a slash like that would result in an automatic suspension, that’s for sure. Could you imagine, say, the Detroit Red Wings going out and deliberately breaking Sidney Crosby’s ankle so they could have a better chance of winning the Stanley Cup? But, as was the case with concussions, it was a different era and there was a different philosophy. We all supported Bobby; we all wanted to win that much.
As I mentioned, as the years have gone by, we have remained close teammates, all of us, getting together whenever possible for special events such as anniversary celebrations. In 2002, I was at a hockey game when a reporter asked me what I thought, with the benefit of thirty years of hindsight, of the slash that led to Kharlamov’s ankle being broken. I should have been more wary of the question.
“It was the low point of the series,” I said, and my comments were broadcast widely by the media.
They obviously hurt Bobby a great deal. “I think it’s improper to criticize a teammate thirty years later,” he responded in the Globe and Mail. “If it was so offensive, why didn’t he bother to say something after the game?
“I’m surprised at him, because we were a true team. Thirty years ago, we put forth the ultimate team performance. I thought it was foolish for him to say that. It doesn’t hurt me, but I don’t understand why he would bring it up now.”
I regret that Bobby was upset by my remarks and I apologized to him profusely afterwards. But I want to take this opportunity to set the record straight on exactly how I feel on this issue.
I now feel the reporter was just looking to create some controversy and get himself a story, and he sure did. First of all, I didn’t bring the subject up. I was blindsided by his question, and all I said was that I thought it was wrong in terms of my grandchildren, who were now playing hockey. He conveniently left that point out.
I told him I would hate the thought of a coach telling a player to break the ankle of one of my grandchildren in a hockey game, for instance, or having my grandchildren doing the slashing. I answered the question in that light, and I answered it honestly. In terms of sportsmanship, I have always felt that if you can’t beat them straight up, you don’t deserve to win. Yes, emotions were stirred up in 1972, and in the heat of the moment it seems like anything goes. But when you get more rational, you have to realize that the end doesn’t justify the means.
I didn’t condemn Bobby Clarke in 1972, but I’m a very different person today than I was then. Many of us are.
I feel similarly about the concussion issue – does it make sense to think and feel the same way about concussions now as we did back then? Should we still think and feel the same way about breaking a player’s ankle in the heat
of the moment in a hockey game as we did in 1972?
Changing your viewpoint on any issue when you have new information, or when you have become more enlightened in your life, doesn’t make you a hypocrite; it makes you a wiser person. If we cannot learn in retrospect about our behaviour after four decades, will we ever learn?
I feel the same way about Bobby Clarke’s slash as I do about my decision to go back onto the ice with a concussion when the doctor told me not to.
At the time, both seemed to be the right thing to do. With the benefit of wisdom gained over the years, in retrospect, they were wrong. I ask myself the question: would I want my grandchildren to do what Bobby Clarke or I did in 1972? The answer is no, I wouldn’t.
If we cannot learn from our past, then we really have wasted years of our lives. I am very sorry I hurt Bobby Clarke with my comments, but the real point of what happened around that particular story is that I should have been more careful when answering a loaded question from a reporter I didn’t know very well, and now have little respect for.
This is one of the many reasons players today are very wary around certain writers.
For game seven, Sinden decided to put Tony Esposito in goal and inserted Bill Goldsworthy in place of Red Berenson. This one was a tense back-and-forth battle that came right down to the wire.
Espo opened the scoring, taking passes from Ellis and me to beat Tretiak just as a power play was coming to an end. Alexander Yakushev got one back for the Russians before Vladimir Petrov deked out Tony Esposito to give the Russians a 2–1 edge. Serge Savard then made a great spinarama move and fed Espo in the slot, who again fired a shot home, leaving the score tied 2–2 after the first period.
The second period was scoreless before Rod Gilbert gave us the lead early in the third period, but another goal by Yakushev on yet another Russian power play tied the game. Time was winding down in the third period with the score tied 3–3, and even though we felt we were outplaying the Russians again, we appeared headed for the second tie game of the series.
The Goal of My Life Page 8