Saturdays were packed with the usual order of events. It wasbath day, and we took turns griming up the bathwater for the next kid in line.Mom washed and waxed floors, and we stayed out of the way until she was done.We watched Bugs Bunny while she cooked chop suey or baked beans for supper. Dadtended to his tasks early in order to free up his evening. The whole day feltlike we were preparing for something important.

“Is that Mahovlich gonna give our team a hard run thisyear?” Talk around the supper table would naturally turn to hockey.

“They should sic the Pocket Rocket on ’em.”

“To do what? Bite him on the kneecap?”

“He’s tough for his size. Don’t be surprised.”

A kid would interrupt the discussion with a question: “Kin Ihave s’more beans?”

“Put some beans on Mitchy’s plate there.”

They opined about the new guy, Yvan Cournoyer. Perhaps hewas the ticket to getting the team into the playoffs. The fans were somewhatdivided on the topic. The season was only about halfway done.

“Think Montréal can take the Cup this year?”

“If they can slow down Keon and keep giving Bélliveau thepuck . . . maybe. Leafs are pretty cocky with the last twoCups under their belt.”

“I just like watching Eddie Shack play.”

“Whose turn to help with dishes?”

“Not me!”

Once cleanup was done, all the sports fans moved to theliving room to watch the game. Mitch and I got the run of the kitchen. We linedup chairs and draped blankets over top. We occupied inside the tent-fort whilethe hockey game on TV engaged the rest of our family. Sometimes, during ahockey game, we heard shrieks and cheers coming from the living room. Thecommotion tapped our curiosity and sometimes pulled us in. We watched as ascoring frenzy erupted or a particularly nasty fight broke out. We were carefulnot to get caught up in all the hype. Watching hockey was addictive, and wecould easily get hooked.

https://www.brotherbroken.com/

Follow me on: