Youngblood, Near and Far
On April 8th, 2017, in front of 19,561 fans, the clock ticks down, 7.3 seconds remaining. Toronto Maple Leafs forward Auston Matthews is on his own end of the ice in the high slot heading the other direction; Pittsburgh Penguins defender Ian Cole is backskating as the only man between Matthews and the empty net on the opposite end. From behind center ice, just outside the penalty box, about 100 feet away, Matthews shoots around Cole and into the 6-foot wide net; #34’s shot crossed the line with 3.4 seconds to go, securing the win.
There had been so much weight to the game; with 2 games remaining, the Leafs were still able to finish 2nd in their division. Granted, it would have taken the Ottawa Senators losing both games they had remaining plus the Leafs winning both plus the Boston Bruins losing their only remaining game, but the possibility was still there. At the bare minimum, earning 2 points in their last 2 games would punch their ticket to playoffs. A playoff berth would not only be their first in a full season since 2004; it would come in their first season after successfully tanking and winning the 1st overall pick for the 2016 Draft. Leafs head coach Mike Babcock had predicted before the season that, if this team was to make the playoffs, it would come in Game 82 of 82; this was Game 81.
Around the time the goal was scored, a bit over 800 miles away, 18 year old me is in Memphis, Tennessee at the Bartlett Malco — the discount theater that ran movies after they run in the other local theaters — trying to hold it together at the end of Rogue One; the thought of being obliterated in an unstoppable holocaust with nothing I could do about it was a lot for me to handle at that time. The movie ends, the lights go up, and I head out to the car with my dad and brother. I check my phone to see if anyone messaged me, and there was a notification with the final score. That was a shame; I had recorded the game because for once, a U.S. sports network had broadcasted a game with a Canadian team, so the result was a true spoiler. Eventually, I get home, and as it begins to get into the 9 o’clock hour, I finally sit to watch the game, my dad — a Penguins fan — joining me.
After the first commercial break, forward Phil Kessel scored; thing was, he was no longer a Leaf then, for the local sports media had run him out of town by the end of the 2014–15 season, so it was 1–0, Penguins. 29 seconds of play later, though, Toronto would tie it up; forward James van Riemsdyk — my favorite Leaf then — would bat a puck down out of the air near Pittsburgh’s red line, burn defender Justin Schultz, and rip it over goaltender Marc-Andre Fleury’s left shoulder, eliciting a whoop out of my dad and me.
Two minutes into the 2nd period, I would gasp along with the recording of the thousands of people present in Toronto doing the same. Penguins forward Tom Sestito would skate by Toronto’s goalie crease, elbowing goaltender Frederik Andersen in the head; Andersen had a past with head injuries and would be taken out. Backup Curtis McElhinney would enter in relief; at age 33, he was notably older than the average goalie. Leafs forward Tyler Bozak would score on the following powerplay, but the Penguins would tie it back up after forward Sidney Crosby later scored on a powerplay himself.
Again, just a bit after returning from a commercial break, a Penguins goal would be scored; forward Jake Guentzel would be awarded the point when a puck put toward the net by him deflected off Leafs defender Jake Gardiner’s skate and slid between McElhinney’s pads. I was anxious; what if the notification was a typo? What if I’d been ignorantly in bliss this whole time? I wasn’t there in person; I couldn’t verify anything!
About ten minutes later, though, the kids on the Leafs would start scoring. Forward Kasperi Kapanen would score his first NHL goal to tie the game with 5:30 to go, forward Connor Brown would deflect a puck put toward the net by Gardiner — Redemption! — to take the lead with less than 3:00 to go, and Matthews would score the empty netter; the last would be after McElhinney had a massive save on Crosby with 48.3 ticks left. All three goal scorers were rookies; it was yet another page in the story that was youth carrying this team to victory all season.
Only then would I be elated by the outcome. By then, Dad had gone to bed, but he knew the result, too. Thus, I would sit all alone in my living room: fitting for an ice hockey fan of a Candian team in the Midsouth.
I had only picked up the Leafs halfway through the season after an exciting game they had played in January to commemorate 100 years of the NHL. The Leafs had become something special to me. They were something to bond over with my then-girlfriend, something for me and my dad to enjoy together, something to help me forget about personal struggles like existentialism and depression. I was an innocent, ignorant fan of the Leafs; I didn’t know about a blown call in 1993 against the Kings, Game 7 in 2013, or the name Harold Ballard.
I did know, though, that regardless of my hometown or degree of knowledge, it felt about just as good to hear Maxine Nightingale’s “Right Back Where We Started From” — the Leafs’ victory song — on my TV’s speakers as it would on the Air Canada Center’s speakers after a win.
