My Introduction To Hockeytown

I had pancakes. That much I remember. And more. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more of that day came back to my recollection.

It’s the curse of the sports fan. To not be able to recall when you took your last shower, or what day the meatloaf was for dinner, yet to somehow manage to rattle off, forthwith, the order of scoring in the Lions’ 1980 season opener (a 41-20 win over the Rams; 0-6; 3-6; 10-6; 10-13; 10-20; 17-20; 20-20; 27-20; 34-20; 41-20. Trust me, it’s right).

Same thing with January 21, 1973. Thirty-four years ago. My first Red Wings game in person, in the old red barn known as Olympia, at 5920 Grand River (at McGraw). It was a Sunday, just like this year’s January 21st.

There were so many oddities about that day; I suppose that’s what’s helping to oil my wayback machine. To start with, they dropped the puck at the unusual hour of 12 noon. It was the NBC Game of the Week. And in the booth that day, working the network broadcast as an analyst with play-by-play man Tim Ryan, was former Red Wings great Ted Lindsay.

Because of the noon start, my folks stopped for breakfast at Big Boy. Not sure which one, but I’d lay a bet that it was somewhere on Michigan Avenue, because this was before I-96, and that was the way my dad usually drove into Detroit from our Livonia home.

So there were pancakes, for sure, along with the anticipation of seeing the players who I’d only known as small, red-uniformed figures moving around our television screen. But they’d be larger, much larger, and in their home whites. The home games from Olympia weren’t televised locally back then – just the road contests. I wolfed down my breakfast, wishing my parents would do the same so we could get there, already!

There was the escalator ride. I remember that. Olympia had this ridiculously steep, narrow escalator that must have risen toward the heavens at an angle of at least seventy degrees. I think if you rode the escalator at Olympia and leaned back even a smidge, you just might fall backward and topple everyone behind you like dominoes. And it was about three feet wide, it seemed. It was like taking a playground slide in reverse.

The day only got more odd, and more memorable.

My folks bought me a game program, and I was thumbing through it, milling about before we took our seats, when I spotted him. He was unmistakable – a pudgy, button face, but also with one arm missing, the result of a WWII injury. Budd Lynch, at the time the Red Wings’ radio and TV man, sharing those duties with Bruce Martyn. And only the best hockey broadcast team EVER, thank you very much.

I alerted my dad that Lynch was nearby. Either he or my mother approached him and asked if he’d sign my program (defenseman Larry Johnston on the cover; I remember that, too). I stood there, dumbfounded, dangling the thin book before him. It was evident he’d need help due to his disability, so I remember my mother snatching the program from my nine-year-old hands and placing it on a nearby bistro table so Lynch could sign it easier.

And there was that rich, baritone voice. I don’t recall what he said, but I remember how it sounded: why, just like on TV. Funny how that works. So he signs it and he’s gone. All these memories, and we’re not even to game time yet.

We took our seats, which seem to have been somewhere in the upper bowl, but not bad, kinda around center ice. The Red Wings started a goalie named Andy Brown, who was one of the last netminders in the NHL to play without a face mask. The opponents were the Minnesota North Stars.

I remember my dad kept telling me – on the way to the game and in our seats – that after pregame warm-ups, and just before the ice was cleared for the Zamboni machine, the players were going to skate around the perimeter of their end really fast. So I watched for that. He was right.

The game started, and Brown was awful. He gave up three goals in the opening minutes, and the boobirds were out. But they were replaced by cheers when coach Johnny Wilson lifted Brown for Roy Edwards, who I wanted to see play anyway. Edwards was one of my favorites.

The Red Wings chipped away at the deficit, and got to within 4-3, though I don’t remember any of their goals, strangely. In fact, most of my memories from that afternoon have nothing to do with the game itself. I remember Brown letting in a soft goal just before being replaced, and I remember the final moments.

The Red Wings pulled their goalie, and the puck squirted into the neutral zone. One of the North Stars players fired it toward the Detroit net, and I can still see, to this day, one of the Red Wings diving head first to stop it. But he was too late, and the puck found the open net. Game over. 5-3 North Stars.

The memories weren’t finished. On the way out of the stadium, in the concourse, there was a commotion. Some sort of a fight. The kind with flailing fists, the whole shot. A woman was consoling a child, saying something about getting “Uncle so-and-so out of there.” I figure the game ended around 2:30 p.m., on a Sunday. But obviously not too early to have consumed a few pops, which I’m sure led to the fracas.

My folks had bought me a commemorative Gordie Howe magazine from a couple years prior that they were still selling at Olympia. And I remember flipping through it as we edged into traffic, trying to find Michigan Avenue.

Oh, and Ted Lindsay and Johnny Wilson? Still around, and co-panelists with me for a hockey Roundtable in the November 2006 issue of MCS Magazine. Budd Lynch? Still the public address announcer for Red Wings games at Joe Louis Arena. The team won’t let him retire. Andy Brown? Not sure, but I shudder. To play goalie without a mask?

I’m pretty sure the pancakes were good, too. They had to be. They were seasoned with bursts of anticipation, which always makes food taste better. Especially for the fourth grade tummy.