If you've lived in British Columbia for any length of time, and followed the Vancouver Canucks, you will undoubtedly have a favourite I-remember-it-like-it-was-yesterday moment. It might even be a good one.
Mine takes me back to a springtime 21 years ago. The scene is a crowded local bar with the lone television set above the bar tuned to Game 7 of Vancouver's first-round playoff series against the Calgary Flames. The Canucks had been down three games to one in the series and had bravely fought their way back to force a deciding game on the road.
It goes into overtime. Vancouver goalie Kirk McLean makes "The Save" against Flames forward Robert Reichel – taking away what looked like a sure goal to keep his team alive. But that wasn't my remember-it-like-it-was-yesterday moment. It came in the second overtime when Pavel Bure got sprung on a breakaway and scored the game winner. I can picture him throwing his stick in the air and jumping into the arms of his jubilant and grateful teammates even today.
It is arguably the most iconic goal in Canucks history, so I'm sure it's a favourite memory for many who have followed the team. But for me it wasn't the goal that I recall most vividly, or that I enjoy reminiscing about the most, it was the reaction to it. All around me people were hugging and dancing in delirious celebration of this improbable victory. A man beside me in a Canucks jersey had tears streaming down his face. In a single instance, complete strangers were brought together by this shared experience of unmitigated joy. That is what hockey in this city, in this country, can do to us. Playoff hockey in particular.
The Canucks are in the playoffs again after a one-year absence and you can feel people's emotions beginning to swell in anticipation. The fact that their opponent will be Calgary only makes it more intoxicating, given their playoff history. The past three times the two teams met in the opening round of the playoffs, the winner has gone on to the Stanley Cup final.
Wouldn't it be ironic if this was the year the Canucks ended their Stanley Cup drought. Few gave them a chance of even making the playoffs at the beginning of the season. The team was coming off a dreadful year that left its fan base grumpy and disillusioned. The Sedins were said to be over the hill. The rest of the forward group was said to be mediocre. The defence just as bad. It was time to tear the whole thing down and start over again, railed the talk-radio chorus.
And then owner Francesco Aquilini made Trevor Linden the team president.
It may turn out to be the single best hockey decision Mr. Aquilini ever made. Mr. Linden has a destiny with this team, one that was established the moment he first pulled a Canucks jersey over his head as an 18-year-old prairie teenager. He is beloved. He is the sole reason many fans – but not all – decided to give the Canucks a chance this season when their instincts said the team had broken their hearts enough.
Of course, Mr. Linden doesn't deserve all the credit for the team's success this season. He brought in people like GM Jim Benning and coach Willie Desjardins, who can take bows for the job they did. The Sedins defied just about every prediction about the state of their game and once again rose to NHL prominence, making plays that people will still be talking about decades from now. Every player on the team picked up his game over last year and new additions, like rookie Bo Horvat, played vital roles.
And now the Canucks are in the playoffs and Vancouver, a famous bandwagon city, is abuzz again. Hopes are more muted than they were a few years ago, when the Canucks had the best record in the NHL and were considered Stanley Cup favourites. This is a good thing. It will make every victory that much sweeter.
Back in 1994, the Canucks also entered the playoffs with few expectations. Mr. Linden was the captain and led his team to the Cup final, where Vancouver suffered a heart-breaking Game 7 loss to the New York Rangers. Mr. Linden has always wanted another crack at it. It seems like something he's destined to one day get.
Gary Mason