Breakaways, battle lines and bragging rights.
And other thoughts from a Saturday night in Montréal.
Downtown Montréal.
5:32, local time.
One hour and forty-eight minutes before puck drop.
As one navigates the duality presented to them on the path to the Bell Centre: from the snow-slick cobblestone streets of Old Montréal, to Chinatown, to becoming apart of the quickly gathering crowds in downtown proper, it is to feel history come alive.
And if they wished, just hard enough - closing their eyes, wiping the flurries from their brow, pulling their toque down, tight, around their ears - they just might hear the whispers calling out to them, from the close but increasingly distant past.
Perhaps it is René Lecavalier, granting Maurice Richard and Jean Béliveau a stark physicality, his colourful delivery, that which was a hallmark of the Quebec airwaves for decades. Could it be Danny Gallivan? He, who legend goes, could talk a pack of wolves into a vegetarian breakfast. A spiritual successor to Lecavalier for which Le Canadien faithful embraced with a zeal few could match.
Or maybe it is, in unspoken, sophomoric defiance, Foster Hewitt.
Imagined, only now in the mind’s eye, nestled into his long-forgotten perch high above Maple Leaf Gardens. Speaking to the anxious listener far beyond Toronto way, from the United States to Newfoundland.
It is that, you see, such a deep reverence for their respective histories that is perhaps the most visible similarity between fans of the Montréal Canadiens and Toronto Maple Leafs (that, the very definition of “begrudging”).
For this rivalry, that between the NHL’s two oldest clubs, a fire that has burned for well over one-hundred years, it runs further, drives deeper, than just championship counts or box score posturing.
Seemingly so, to the outside observer but it is not wholly stretching the limits of hyperbole to suggest that some portion of the broader back-and-forth battle that was apart of defining the Canadian identity during the mid-20th century was (of course) fought on the ice.
The Leafs, Anglophones, in one corner, the Canadiens, for French-speaking Canadians, in the other. Toronto, cavalier and occasionally, smug, Montréal, defiant, unrelenting.
The torch bearers of the NHL’s Original Six Era, winners of nineteen of twenty-five Stanley Cups during that, hockey’s first formative age, those years of which saw some of the game’s greatest players wear their colours.
There is a bluntness, a harder animosity, that has faded for many yes but a certain bitterness, well, it has never left and probably never will. Any small measure of respect counterbalanced with light ribbing that, depending on the line towed (and number of adult beverages consumed) can only stay polite for so long.
Though as the snow falls outside the rink wet, chilled and we’ll below zero, there is one writer, who, despite their inherent unease so deep behind enemy lines, finds themselves apart of a larger group, one of many: friends, family and friends like family. Bound together with a current that sees that infamous division straining to support its weight, as Leaf jerseys and Hab toques both mingle with such casual revelry you can bet a young Roch Carrier would be eating his heart out.
But then, the doors open.
And that joviality, it cedes into something else entirely. A nervous excitement, where battle lines are drawn and the curtain, as it were, quickly comes up.
No matter the standings, the personal angst, the bigger picture?
Toronto versus Montréal, Hockey Night in Canada, seven o’clock, right to the tick of your watch.
It is the stuff dreams are made of.
Section 422.
7:16, local time.
Six minutes before puck drop.
It is a test of both endurance and faux-cordially (after a late breakfast of lox and later, strawberry crêpes, BLTs and no small amount of beer) in ascending to the upper limits of the Bell Centre.
Proudly-worn blue-and-white, clashing against the relative majority of bleu, blanc et rouge, which, as others joyfully point out in a manner that sees no expense spared.
So as Montréal flies out of the gate, it seems to be something that will bear fruit.
Coming into tonight’s showdown, the Habs are fresh off a 8-1-1 stretch over their previous ten, tops in the NHL and almost immediately parley that momentum into running roughshod over a sloppy, slow and disorganized Toronto effort. Easy break-outs and crisp zone control, punctuated with two goals in just nine seconds to close out the final minutes of the period.
It is (depending on your perspective) poetic in a way, with Montréal’s Patrik Laine leading the offensive charge.
The number-two pick in the 2016 Draft, behind Toronto’s Auston Matthews, while Laine, through injury and fit, for one, has never reached Matthews’ individual heights, he has scored at a blistering pace during his brief time on the ice this season. And off a set, tic-tac-toe play with the man advantage that sees him left open below the dot? Laine makes no mistake in absolutely hammering home his eleventh of the season past Toronto’s Joseph Woll, his second point, already, of this early-going.
3-0 Montréal.
Michel Lacroix, the team’s longtime PA man, can hardly be heard over the roar of the home crowd and even Canadiens’ defensemen Arber Xhekaj gets in on it - challenged to a fight by Ryan Reaves, Xhekaj, instead, points to the scoreboard to the delight of the masses.
The Hockey Gods though, they’re a different case altogether. Overconfidence, time-and-again, their most punished vice.
And sure enough - nine minutes into the second period, corralling the puck in the defensive end, Toronto’s Bobby McMann (using teammate Matthew Knies’ stick) leads a 2-on-1 from his off-wing which ends with McMann wiring his thirteen of the season past an unprepared Sam Montembeault.
3-1.
The Leafs have life… and a little more besides.
Section 422.
9:11, local time.
24 seconds into the third period.
3-2 Montréal.
Much in part to Woll having found his rhythm, the Leafs, having firmly stopped the bleeding throughout the course of the second, return from the intermission with a swagger that is immediately apparent.
Case in point, not even thirty seconds in the frame, never to be doubted for his offensive instincts, William Nylander peels up just as the play shifts in the Toronto end: collecting the puck at the blue-line, he barrels down the ice with speed to burn, splitting the Habs defence open like a Cadbury Creme Egg left unattended on Easter Sunday.
It is one of those plays, near routine in its simplicity, that Nylander, as he has his whole career, can’t help but add a little flair too (“Willy Styles”, a name well-earned): shrugging off Montréal’s Lane Hutson, who is in hot pursuit, he fools Montembeault with a classic forehand-backhand deke and buries his 27th of the year with a surgeon’s precision - pulling into a tie, League-wide, with four other players for second in the goal-scoring race behind Edmonton’s Leon Draisaitl.
The travelling Toronto contingent, seen far-and-wide from the upper bowl, can’t help but mirror his resulting celebration in near-defiance of those around them.
3-3.
Section 422.
9:28, local time.
Eight minutes into the third period.
4-3 Toronto.
With the Leafs having pulled into the lead via an Oliver Ekman-Larsson power-play marker, any early-game bravado that remained for the home side has completely evaporated, replaced with a nervous quiet that has each and every Leaf fan in the building circling, à la, snowbirds around a bad sunburn.
And right on cue, here comes Auston Matthews.
The Toronto captain has been, expectedly, on the receiving end of Montréal boos all night but caught on the ice at the end of a 4-on-4, shorthanded, he sees a window and putting on his best Bill Fagerbakke impression, firmly grasps it.
Picking up the puck at centre ice, he passes it off to Mitch Marner, takes two strides past the Montréal blue line and the big man, most famous for his guard handles, flexes his raw power off Marner’s one-timer pass in promptly unloading a massive slap shot that whistles past Montembeault with a “how about that?!” defiance.
The first shorthanded goal of his career, it is too, his eighteenth of the season, following his two-goal effort against New Jersey on Thursday. After fighting through a string of injuries in the early months, including a second-opinion stopover in Germany, no, it seems unlikely he will make up enough ground to compete for the Rocket once again.
That to be, a quieter encore to his history-making, 69-goal, 2023/2024.
But he has reminded everyone, over the past few weeks, that to count him out, either way, is to disregard one of the best goal scorers on the planet. Four more tallies this season will see him pass the great Darryl Sittler for sole possession of second on the team’s all-time leaderboard - and his celebratory scream, as he jumps into Marner’s arms, is akin to a battle cry heard all the way back on Bay Street.
Even the Leaf fans can hardly believe it as they respond in deafening kind. The walls of the second-biggest ice hockey arena on Earth, just about to come down.
5-3 Toronto.
Suspense then, is in short supply over the final stretch: Steve Lorentz will add another goal, an insurance marker if their ever was one, followed by an empty-netter that sees many-a-Canadien-fan begin making their way to the exits.
The Leafs, with seven unanswered goals, complete their comeback with a dominance, befitting their talent, that often feels sporadic in its execution. Per Global News, tonight is just the third time, ever, they have turned the tables on a three-goal Montréal effort and came away with victory in hand.
But to rest on their laurels, well, is not a gift given.
With the win, they maintain their spot atop the Atlantic but on Monday night, they will return home to face Tampa Bay who are openly making up ground behind them. Montréal, in kind, will rebound on Sunday night, dissuading the tired-legs notion of a back-to-back as they defeat the Rangers in overtime courtesy of more Laine heroics (even as they’re still on the outside looking in, regarding the playoff picture).
Though wherever the rest of the their seasons take them, as they trade both barbs and polite handshakes, there is an understanding amongst the larger fan collective: the Leafs may now hold the lead in the season series, at 2-1 but they will meet once more, in April, for all the proverbial marbles.
Bragging rights, if nothing else.
As is tradition.
And as the crowd disperses into the snow, to eventually be lost amongst the larger metropolitan din, that excitement for what was and what could be, lingers.
A soundtrack to a fight that never grows old.
Awesome Ryan! I was thinking of your gang there when it was 3-0 Montreal ☹️ and then it all turned around ☺️ Loved the article and the game!