This Ain’t 1980

You better offer some resistence.  You better give up on my insistence.  Ba-ba-banana, this ain’t Havana.  Do you like bananas, ba-ba-bananas.  This ain’t Havana.  -The Ramones

Public Service Announcement:  Ok, here we go!  I’ll make this quick.  I’ll speak loudly and hit you with a brick.  No time for the carrot, so it’s the stick.  Lickety-split.  Mike Lupika got this one right.  Mike Lupika said, “If the U.S. wins this game, in Canada and against Canada, it will be a real good upset and an even better story.  It’s just no miracle.”  You can say that again Mike.  It’s nothing against this young US team.  In fact there are a lot of similarities.  Both this team and that team revolve(d) around speed, defense, and hot goaltending.  But Senator, I served with the Miracle on Ice.  I knew the Miracle on Ice.  The Miracle on Ice was a friend of mine.  Senator, you’re no Miracle on Ice.         

You have to understand, this is not a knock on this year’s hockey team.  This is a sign of the times.  Things are very different now.  At least, for me they are.  In 1980, in Boston, hockey was king.  King I tell you.  “A” number one.  Top of the list.  The city was still not that far removed from the Bobby Orr era.  An era that had kids from Dorchester to Dedham skating in their yellow and black Rally Pro Bobby Orr Skates.  An era of which Jack O’Callahan himself said, “When Bobby Orr came to Boston, and the Bruins were competing after having so many down years … he lit New England up, drove a lot of people into hockey.”  Correction Jackie boy.  He drove all of us into hockey.

So there was that.  And there was this.  Russia was the enemy.  The en-ah-me.  Enemy with a capital E that rhymes with C that stands for commie bastards.  This is a team that in the not so distant past was known as the Red Army.  A team that featured legends.  A team that featured names like Vladislav Tretiak.  Names like Alexander Maltsev.  Names like Vladimir Petrov, Vasili Vasiliev, and Valeri Kharlamov.  Names that had struck fear in the heart of men, nevermind boys, which, no matter how good, was what our team was.  Boys.

The day of the 1980 game is one of those “Where were you?” days.  John F. Kennedy days.  John Lennon days.  Space Shuttle Columbia days.  Only good.  I’ll tell you where I was.  I was down my friend Ronny Manning’s basement.  I was playing strat-O-matic baseball and waiting.  Anticipating.  Gyrating with excitement.  The game was on tape delay.  My friends and I made sure we didn’t know what happened until we saw for it for ousrelves.  So we played strat-O-matic and we waited.  Like Larry David at the handicapped bathroom, we waited.  We waited and we finally saw team USA fall behind 2-1.  Then we saw Ricky Manning, Ronny’s older brother walk into the room.  Then we heard Ricky say, “Why you watching this?  We win.  4-3.”  I never forgave Ricky for that.  I never will.  But I will always remember it.  This game?  I’m not so sure.

Peace out homies.  Six two and Even!

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