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Selected by the editors of Geist
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So You Thought There Was
Nothing Left to Say About Hockey
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Don Cherry On Becoming Oneself: "It isn't easy to become Don Cherry. For starters, you need to have a mother named Maude and a father named Delmar."
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The Hockey Map of Canada: The Puck Stops Here
by Melissa Edwards
Click map to see a larger version. 
Review:
Face Off at the Summit
by Ken Dryden and Mark Malvoy
Reviewed by Barbara Zatyko
When I was in grade five in 1972, and the whole school was allowed to watch the final game of the Canada-Russia series, I fell in love with Ken Dryden, who was the Canadian goalie (and is now federal minister of social development). Ken Dryden was so poised, so solitary, so romantic and so tall: all alone in front of the net, defending his country. Between attacks, he’d cross his arms on top of his stick, watching, preparing. (I cultivated this quintessential Dryden stance and still find myself, thirty years later, waiting, watching, preparing at red lights with my hands crossed just like his, on the steering wheel.)
On my birthday I got a Montreal Canadiens jersey—in home colours: white with the blue and red Habs logo--with Dryden and 29 lettered on the back, and I wore that jersey for the rest of the year and then through grade six, grade seven and grade eight. And I read and reread Faceoff at the Summit, the story of the Summit Series written by Dryden and Mark Malvoy. Dryden describes the Team Canada star Frank Mahovlich giving the team an inspirational talk before a big game: " 'Gentlemen,' he intoned, 'please watch your Czechs.'" I blame the Canada-Russia series for at least two love affairs: one with Ken Dryden, the other with puns.
Hockey Poetry:
Howie Meeker's Secret Thoughts
by Craig Taylor
"This microphone I’m holding feels
amazing.
What kind of mike is this?
I’ve never felt anything like it.
Is Hockey Night in Canada getting these things made
by a specialist?
Smooth as the contours of a hairless breast.
Smoother.
Underlying strength, like the infants head,
when I first held him in my palm.
If I move my thumb along this microphone I shiver.
Do you believe it?
Could we take that part back
just a bit.
Bulbs popping. Electric
Sparked up, down my spine.
An old sensation, absent since Nieuwendyk at the hockey camp
that special day in Parksville.
Years since. An atom,
he must have been twelve, but his stride was pure,
blades pulling ice from under him, his legs like a thoroughbred,
muscles taped,
appearing until their purpose was done,
receding until the next stride, the next stride, the next stride.
Where am I? Are we on air?
Who is this hockey player standing next to me?
Should I ask him a question?
I love this microphone. I want to put it in my mouth. I want to
curl my
tongue around its outer hulk,
rub the fuzzy cap against my eyelashes.
Is this all right?
Does Steve Armitage feel this way?"
From Geist No. 43, and previously published in the author’s e-zine, www.anonymousejuice.com. Craig Taylor has written for The Guardian, Saturday Night, the New York Times Magazine and other publications.
Copyright 1995-2004 Muze Inc. For personal non-commercial use only. All rights reserved. Content for books is owned by Baker & Taylor, Inc. or its licensors and is subject to copyright and all other protections provided by applicable law.
