A HERITAGE CLASSIC
Last Sunday, the 2022 Heritage Classic was held in Hamilton, Ontario between the Toronto Maple Leafs and the Buffalo Sabres. The Heritage Classic was the first in outdoor games to be hosted during the NHL regular season, a tradition that has kept on and has since grown to include the Stadium Series and the New Year’s Day Winter Classic, bringing hockey back to its roots as a sport that began on frozen lakes and ponds.
One of the greater attractions to this year’s Heritage Classic was the inclusion of the NHL’s greatest player, Wayne Gretzky, as one the commentators during the game. While most hockey commentating includes feverish and passionate play-by-play calls and insightful color commentary about a recent play on the ice, this was an opportunity to spend 2.5 hours with the greatest there ever was (the all-time scoring leader in points, assists, and goals).
Like a cherished storyteller sitting around a campfire, Wayne Gretzky told stories about what it was like playing in his early days, how his father collected every piece of memorabilia – not with the intention of auctioning it off, but just because he loved his son. He spoke about how flat the curve of his hockey stick was, that he found it easiest to pass without having to worry about shooting wrist shots or snap shots; everyone else could score if he could pass them the puck, he figured. If he had to shoot, he preferred a slap shot, something that was easier with a flattened curve. He spoke about players of the past, ones that have since passed away like Dale Hawerchuk, and stories of playing on that legendary Edmonton Oilers team in the 1980s that included the likes of Mark Messier, Jari Kurri, and Paul Coffey.
Even his co-commentators (that included Eddie Olczyk, Kieth Jones, and play-by-play commentary of Kenny Alberts) took the opportunity to turn away from the scheduled game – which was a fairly entertaining matchup between a playoff-bound/struggling Toronto Maple Leafs team and a near-bottom-of-the-standings Buffalo Sabres group – to become fans themselves.
By the first intermission, I think most of the Heritage Classic viewership thought the game was secondary to the man on the microphone, and we were all fine with it.
I think what was the most astounding about Wayne Gretzky on Sunday was just how humble and heartwarming he was throughout his stories. He had a genuine care for the players and the game, was happy to share any story asked of him. Two and half hours flew by and, if it wasn’t for the frenzied final 3-minutes of the hockey game, most of us would have forgotten about the final horn and that the game was over.
I was thankful the NHL scheduled an official hockey game in the background while we all listened to campfire conversations with Wayne Gretzky. Hopefully, next time the guest commentator isn’t someone considered the GOAT. You know, a regular player, maybe someone like Mario Lemieux, just in case we wanted to watch the outdoor game instead.
Jeez, there’s always next year.
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SOFT STONE
While sitting for my haircut, the stylist talked about her daughter selling chakra bracelets. I’m never assigned the same stylist twice (because I’m a beatnick when it comes to scheduling haircuts and simply call a day or two before in order to schedule one), and the conversations that start with these complete stranger always mystify me—not so much in what comes about, but in what people are willing to share with complete strangers. So, as I sat in the chair, being pumped to the correct height for a scissor cut, my stylist spoke about her daughter’s latest business venture selling these bracelets.
“They’re made of a soft stone,” the stylist kept telling me, which was a point she made sure was emphasized. “I didn’t believe in all that spirituality stuff, but then it started to rain and the evil was coming out of my bracelet.”
I blinked. “The evil was coming out of your bracelet?”
“Yeah. My daughter warned me not to get it wet because I was a wearing a soft stone, but I didn’t believe her. All the sudden, my wrist started feeling funny, and my daughter ripped off the bracelet and told me it was the evil coming out.”
Baffled, I asked, “What evil?”
“Oh, I don’t know, but you don’t want to know. Anyway, my daughter ripped it off because I couldn’t get it wet.”
“The soft stone?”
“Right, the soft stone.”
“So, why wear the bracelet if the evil comes out of it?”
“It only comes out when it gets wet. It’s a soft stone.”
The conversation died here as I wished her daughter luck on her venture, but I think I was defeated by this point in my day.
You see, three hours earlier, I was in another chair, this one an optometrist at an eyeglasses chain store (once again, I chose this establishment to get an appointment on the quick). While examining a throbbing pump on my eyelid with her robotics (which is what medieval torture dungeons must have appeared as long ago), the lady optometrist turned my head in the light and reached her naked fingertip towards my eye.
“Umm,” I protested, “shouldn’t you be wearing a glove if you’re going to touch my eye?”
“I just washed my hands,” she said, as if this sufficed for reason to touch a complete stranger’s eyeball. “Why, would it make you feel better if I wore a glove?”
“Yes,” I said.
And with a unabashed harrumph, she put on Latex and continued the operation, much less diligently than I had liked—she prodded my eye like a squishy fidget toy for children.
Back in the present, I looked to my stylist in the mirror, silently Clip, Clip, Clipping my hair. Here were two capable adults, a stylist employed to use a pair sharp sheers and an optometrist in charge of tending to one of the more sensitive and complex of human organs (the eyeball), and yet I was nearly poked with a purely-manicured finger and told about the evil that spawns from a wetted Chakra bracelet.
I looked at myself in the mirror, my hair seemed to be cut uneven on one side. I might have protested, but instead I sighed and looked to my stylist snip, snip, snipping away and said, “It was a soft stone?”
“Oh yes, a soft stone.”
“I’ll take one,” I said.
“Oh, she’s all sold out.”
“Just my luck.”
“Oh, they’re not for luck. It’s a–“
“I know. A soft stone.”
I’m not sure what that lesson is here, but I feel it is important to state that I learned one.
Whatever it was.
And I’ll be sure to call ahead in the future, just in case that helps, too.
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Wishing everyone as well as you can be. You’re not alone out there,
