ROBIN SHORT
The Telegram

Ken Dryden once said hockey was never better than it was when seen through the eyes of a 12-year-old. In 1977, the Montreal Canadiens would lose only eight times all year. I rarely missed a Saturday night game back then, when “Hockey Night in Canada” wasn’t smitten with the Leafs — “Live, from the Forum in Montreal,” Dick Irvin would deliver the intro ...
Dryden and the Big Three were my heroes. I knew each of the Canadiens’ numbers, even Bill Nyrop’s 2 (seems shameful now that Nyrop was given Doug Harvey’s old digit).
In the eyes of this 12-year-old, there was no bigger star than Guy Lafleur (years later, I would sit in his St. John’s hotel room, smoking cigarettes, talking about St-Pierre — the French Island, not Bouchard — genuinely giddy as The Flower shared old stories).
For as great as Sidney Crosby, Alexander Ovechkin and Nicklas Lidstrom are today, they mean nothing to me in comparison to Bobby Clarke, Gilbert Perreault and Larry Robinson.
Earlier this month, Mario Lemieux was in Toronto for a sports show. For a cool $179, you could have Lemieux scribble his name on a photo.
I remember a time when we would hang out at the Forum’s Atwater and DeMaisonneuve press entrance (which reminds me of one of the boys — we’ll call him “Rocky” — when we were in Montreal back in the late ’80s. Rocky came running up Atwater as Claude Lemieux was leaving the rink, asking between breaths, “Mario, can I get your autograph?” To which Lemieux replied, without breaking stride, “’E plays for de udder team.’”
I remember Bobby Hull signing autographs during warmups in the Forum, when he, Gordie Howe, Davey Keon were winding down their Hall of Fame careers with the Hartford Whalers.
Fans can’t do that anymore, not with the higher glass. As if most NHLers would even think about signing in the warmup.
And neither do the players walk to the rink anymore, instead zipping their Escalades and Hummers past fans into the underground parking garages.
Yes, hockey seemed better back then. Simpler, too.
But was it?
Watch old — “vintage” is the buzzword now — games and you come to the realization that maybe Lafleur wasn’t all that fast, or Hull’s shot was that booming. Not when you see the Ovechkins and Rick Nashes and Mike Greens skate today, or Dany Heatley or Zdeno Chara fire the puck.
There’s no question today’s athletes are bigger and faster and in far better condition than those who played yesteryear (Al MacAdam swore the Watson brothers, Jimmy and Joe, had a half-pack of beer between the seat on the ride home from practice every day when the three played for Philly).
But for all the highfalutin hockey rinks/entertainment centres and the high-def TV and the carbon fibre sticks and the six-ounce skates, is the game really better?
It’s a topic that could be debated ad nauseum.
What is not disputable, however, is the changing of attitudes amongst today’s players, a lack of respect that results in far more injuries than I ever remember.
For as tough as Dave Schultz was, I don’t recall him involved in a purposeful knee-on-knee collision a la George Laraque. And I don’t remember Tiger Williams going after Marcel Dionne — like Daniel Briere on Scott Hannon — with a flying elbow after the latter scored on the Maple Leafs (which was often).
And for all the advancements in equipment — helmets, shields, mouthguards, shoulder/chest protection akin to Marine-issued body armour — and all the attention paid to head and, generally, cheap shots, why are NHLers dropping quicker than you can say Dennis Ververgaert?
Bigger, stronger and faster might mean better, but there’s a price to pay with a game played at warp speed.
Oh, I still watch hockey, and while I’m hardly as captivated with the players as I was 30 years ago, watching Joe Thornton and Vincent Lecavalier at the top of their game is still quite a sight.
Still, there was nothing quite like a Lafleur dash down the right wing or a Robinson end-to-end rush.
It’s those memories I prefer to cling to.

Robin Short is The Telegram’s Sports Editor. He can be reached by e-mail rshort@thetelegram.com