MAY 26, 2019 – I grew up in Minnesota in the ’60s, which means I grew up on ice skates.
Though I never played organized hockey, I attended a small college where in the ’70s hockey was by far the biggest sport. By the team roster, you could tell which states (and Canadian provinces) had the best hockey programs: my home state, of course, but also Massachusetts, Ontario, New Jersey and . . . Quebec.
Not too long ago, I heard an amusing Quebec hockey story by Cliff, a character from New Jersey with whom I have spent lots of time on family and business matters and about whom I have much to write.
Cliff is a big-time entertainment producer. He seems to know darned near everyone in New Jersey. Before he became a producer, Cliff had dreamed of playing in the NHL.
In his biggest hockey year, Cliff played for a semi-pro team and won a spot on an all-star team that played other all-stars in the Northeast. Having posted impressive wins on tour, the coaches reached out to tournament organizers in Hockey Heaven—Montreal—to play an all-star team of Canadians. Soon Cliff’s team was invited to play in one of many tournaments.
Cliff was sure the trip to Montreal would create his opening; that the NHL scouts rumored to be on hand would be duly impressed by his all-star skills and invite him to try out.
As luck would have it, however, something got lost in translation. Not only was français canadien different from New Joisey English, but cell phones, email and the internet were in the distant future. When the bus of New Jersey all-stars arrived in Montreal, the coaches learned they had the wrong weekend. However, the gracious but competitive Canadians offered to “pull together a team” for an exhibition game. Calls went out, and shortly thereafter, Cliff’s team took to the ice against an odd lot of Canadian.
“How did the game turn out?” I asked.
This drew a big laugh from Cliff. “It was a disaster! That thrown-together team skated circles around us. They out-played us, out-scored us.”
“What was the score?”
Always able to laugh hardest at himself, Cliff threw back his head with more laughter. “That’s the worst part. They beat us . . . get this . . . 22 to 2!
“Here we thought we were the hottest stuff on ice, all of us. Every damned one of us thought he was headed for the NHL. And then this bunch of Canadians pretty much pulled off the street at the last minute beat the pants off us!
“Who got the two points for your team?”
“I did,” said Cliff, “but against 22 goals by the Canadians?! It was total humiliation. That’s when I knew none of us was ever going to play in the NHL.”
Cliff hung up his skates and became the lead guitar player for Arrowsmith’s warm-up band—the first step in an amazing career off the ice.
© 2019 Eric Nilsson
