Okay, the Buds haven’t won the Cup since ’67, and even Doug Gilmour’s reign is a distant memory. But being a Leafs fan isn’t as ludicrous as it seems.
My five-year-old son, Colum, and I went to see the Stanley Cup this past weekend—to touch it, to stand in the physical presence of its glory and feel the light reflect onto us from the polished surface of the sports world’s greatest trophy.
We lined up for close to two hours at Central Arena in Etobicoke, our hearts bleeding Maple Leafs blue amid a sea of Montreal Canadiens sweaters. The Habs-fan domination of the place was explained by the presence of Ken Dryden, who played as a youth at Central Arena and was a six-time Cup winner in the 1970s as the goalie for Montreal. Colum and I had brought along a copy of Dryden’s seminal hockey book, The Game, in case he’d consent to an autograph.
“Hey, Dad,” Colum said, “do you think I should have brought The Hockey Sweater instead?” Heh. Roch Carrier’s classic is the second-best hockey book ever written, after Dryden’s. It’s about a boy who is shamed and cast out by his society of Habs disciples because his mother forces him to wear a Maple Leafs sweater. That Colum loves it despite (or because of) his allegiance to the Leafs means he already understands something fundamental about hockey in our city, and about our city itself.
Finally, we inched our way along the red carpet to the Stanley Cup. Colum reached out and touched it. I stood behind him and did the same, running my fingers across the names of heroes who had hoisted it above their heads. We asked a stranger to use my camera to take some shots of us standing there. In the photos, I’m looking at the camera and smiling, while Colum is staring at the trophy, concentrating.
Afterwards, on the way back to the subway, while I drank coffee and he sipped hot chocolate, Colum asked, “Hey, Dad, did you see the names of any Maple Leafs carved into the Stanley Cup?”
Toronto’s victories were marked on the Cup’s upper bands, in my line of sight. I had reached out to feel the engraving that commemorated Toronto’s 1967 championship, our last.
“I didn’t see it,” he said. “I saw the Montreal Canadiens, Calgary Flames, Pittsburgh Penguins and Tampa Bay Lightning. But no Leafs.” I explained that because it had been a long time, our victories were marked too high for him to see. “Well,” he said, “I hope they win again soon and get their names on there again.”
“Me, too,” I said.
Next page: why do Leafs fans keep the faith?
