If you believe in forever then life is just a one-night stand

If there’s a rock’n roll heaven

Then you know they’ve got one helluva band.

-The Righteous Brothers

They say that only the good die young. And one of my fondest wishes, that as well as an out-of- this world rock band playing continuously up there, is that there’s also a never-ending shinny game. Because that game has just been blessed by two of the all-time greats.

The first time I heard the name Mike Bossy was in 1973 when I was playing Junior ‘B’ hockey for the Dorval Jets. Bossy was a year younger than I was, but he was already playing for the Laval National, his hometown team in the Quebec Major Junior Hockey League, one step up from me. Bossy was a scoring phenomenon, filling the net and getting recognition as a can’t-miss prospect. A teammate of mine played with him the year previously and he told me that like a lot of Junior hockey players at that time Bossy had already quit school, but instead of watching tv he’d spend his time at the rink all day, shooting pucks.

Sounded like a great lifestyle to me. I remember thinking that maybe I could convince my parents to let me quit school so I could shoot pucks all day and become a scoring phenom like Bossy.

Wrong on both counts. Both my parents were former teachers so that was the end of that. And sad to say that my best goal-scoring only happened years later, playing in the beer leagues.

I still blame my parents for that !

Even a casual hockey fan (and it mystifies me how anyone can be casual when it comes to hockey) knows the rest of the story. How Bossy, despite being passed up in the draft by his hometown Montreal Canadiens and twice by the Toronto Maple Leafs (twice!… take that Leaf fans!) Bossy produced nine fifty-plus goal seasons in a row and helped his New York Islanders’ team to four consecutive Stanley Cups in the early 1980s. A bad back brought on by lesser-talented foes who were more adept at crosschecking than skillful play ended his career at the age of thirty. I remember watching him in his last playoff series and he could hardly skate a lick on the ice. I remarked to my brother, “Bossy’s done.”

Of the thousands of confident predictions that I’ve made in my life, this is one of the very few that I got right. And thirty five years later, my prediction really came true; Mike Bossy died of lung cancer.

And just last week, so did Guy Lafleur. I can totally understand the too-early deaths. Both guys grew up in Quebec during my era and at that time it was hard to take a smoke-free breath. Both my parents smoked, my high school had a smoking room and many would light up right in the hockey dressing room as well. None of us would bat an eye. I remember one of my brothers telling an older relative that studies showed that his addiction could shorten his life. The relative took a long drag, exhaled the smoke out his nose and replied that that was okay, he’d rather die young than exist in an old-folks ‘ home with pablum dribbling down his chin.

No one does ceremonies like the Montreal Canadiens. Hockey was a religion when I was growing up in Quebec and I worshipped at the shrine of the Montreal Canadiens. And to watch the memorial ceremony at the Bell Centre, with the voice of the incomparable P.A. announcer Michel Lacroix in both French and English constantly being interrupted by the fans reenacting that old time Forum chant of “Guy, Guy, Guy” brought me back to my younger self.

And a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes.

That hadn’t happened since my mother died twenty-one years ago.

Both Lafleur and Bossy hearken back to a time when NHL stars arose out of the working class and both remained true to their roots, humble and unpretentious to the end.

My most vivid memory of Guy Lafleur’s hockey magic was the 1979 Stanley Cup Playoff series versus the Boston Bruins. The Habs were trailing by a goal with slightly more than a minute remaining. I was working on road construction in Vegreville, Alberta and I was the only Habs’ fan in the bar watching as time ran down and I braced myself for the inevitable .But when Lafleur had the puck anything was possible. His slapshot from the right wing boards passed a flailing Gilles Gilbert I have watched and re-watched literally hundreds of times I was the only one in that Alberta bar celebrating, pounding the counter and accidentally knocking over my quart bottle of beer. I only escaped with my life by joyfully buying a round for the house.

Rest in Peace and join the game going on up there. Merci beaucoup vous deux gars .