The Goal

         My pal Randy called last week. He had a question every Canadian could answer.“So where were you when The Goal was scored?” he asked.
The Goal. I didn’t have to ask which one. It was the shot heard across North America. When Syd the Squid popped in the winner in the gold medal game against the US, 80% of our nation was watching and the rest were listening with the TV in the other room, unable to stand the tension. Even with The Goal fresh in my mind, my first reaction was to recall what was known as The Goal before Syd claimed the name for his own. It was, of course, The Goal Paul Henderson scored back in 1972. I will never forget it as long as I live.
I was in Grade Seven at the time, attending the old Calmar Junior/Senior School building. It was a creepy place with a basement that housed broken desks, old files and, intermittently, the Calmar Cadet Corps (where I rose to the lofty rank of “latrine detailer”). It was during my favourite part of the day; lunch time, and hockey was far from my thoughts. It would be long over when school finished so I focused on more scholarly pursuits, like lugging around five tons of books in a time before backpacks were cool.
As I neared the stairwell to the basement, however, I was surprised to hear noises emanating from the depths. I followed the sound down and found about twenty kids and a few teachers watching the game on an old TV someone had rigged up on a high shelf. I stood in awe at my good fortune, and the fact it was getting far too crowded to sit on the floor as more and more people jammed into the cavernous basement.The action was intense and when the bell rang to signal the end of the lunch break, no one moved including, most importantly, the teachers. A ripple of heightened excitement moved through the crowd but no one mentioned classes as not to break the spell. More teachers had joined the throng and we all watched the rest of the game with the joy of having something really terrific, added with guilty pleasure of getting out of school to do it. Being 12, it was more thrilling than girls.
When Paul Henderson scored The Goal, cheers shook the concrete pillars of the basement. Jet engines at a metal concert create less noise. Then we all sang “Oh Canada”. It amazed me it mattered so much to us all. But it did.
My experience with The Goal Syd scored was very different. I had play practise that day. They had considered cancelling rehearsal due to the game but with opening night of Devon’s talented East of 60 Players presentation of ‘Moon Over Buffalo’ less than two weeks away, a compromise was struck. Those not actively involved in rehearsing a scene could follow the action on the assistant director’s laptop. Finally the pretend curtain came down and we huddled around the 14 inch screen groaning loudly when the determined US team scored the tying goal.
“I gotta go,” I said. “I want to watch the rest at home. If I hurry, I can catch the overtime period.” My plan was to speed like mad knowing most cops would be watching The Game back at headquarters under the guise of ‘doing paperwork’. Common sense prevailed however and I kept it under 110 as I consoled myself by flicking on the radio to listen to the game.
Unfortunately, none of the buttons on my radio presets had the game on. I frantically fumbled for the ‘search’ feature on the radio but don’t ‘dial surf’ and had no idea how to figure it out and still avoid the ditch and/or oncoming traffic. As far as the game was concerned, I was in ‘radio silence’ mode and it sucked.
As I jounced up the driveway, I hoped the period hadn’t started.  I felt confidant I was in time. Slamming the car door, however, I heard a roar emanate from our neighbour’s backyard that sounded like a throng of people just matched all six numbers in Lotto 649.
“At least we won,” I sighed. “There won’t be another revolting ‘Miracle On Ice’ movie made.”
Cam and Cec next door had set up a TV on their washstand to watch the game and still be outside in the long-awaited sunshine. I spied Cupcake and the boys in the group and as I walked over to join the celebration, my buddy, Grant thrust a beer in my hand.
“We won!” he crowed.
“That’s my boy!” Cec enthused in her tell-tale Cape Breton accent. “I knew Syd would do it!” We all cheered some more and hugged and slapped each other on the back and then broke into a passionate, if not out of tune rendition of Oh Canada.
“Another precious moment for the memory bank,” I marvelled. “What is it about Canada and hockey?”