1972 Summit Series: A September to Remember

The following article was written by Andy O'Brien in his book: Superstars: Hockey's Greatest Players. I have only posted the first half of the article. He continues to talk about the Dawson City Klondikers' challenge for the Stanley Cup - a fascinating story in itself.

The night of September 30, 1972 saw Prague's hockey fans jam the Fucik Park Stadium for what was billed merely as an exhibition game between the Czechoslovakian National Team and an array of National Hockey Leaguers playing under the banner Team Canada.

But suddenly it had developed into much more than a "nothing" game.

The pros had just emerged from the long-awaited, interna- tionally ballyhooed series against Russia's best. The experts had almost unanimously predicted a "laugher" sweep by the star- studded N.H.L. force. Instead, they had to fight for their lives to squeeze out the narrowest of wins with 34 seconds to go in the eighth and final fray. From the four games played in Canada (Montreal, Toronto, Winnipeg, Vancouver) and the four in Moscow, the pros ended with four wins, one tie and three losses. To do so they had to win their last three games in Moscow, which they did by one-goal margins.

The cliff-hanger finish caused the three thousand exuberant camp followers from Canada to raise an uproar unmatched since Hitler's guns were thundering in the suburbs. The weary players had little chance to sleep but their celebration was curtailed by the nearness of the 1972/73 N.H.L. season openers, a bit more than a week away. What's more, they had a plane to catch the next morning for Prague.

It had been planned originally as a courtesy gesture. The Czechs had actually won the 1972 International Ice Hockey Federation championship by nosing out the Russians in the overseas tournament a few months previously. Little trouble had been expected against the Russians, little against the Czechs in the original script. The Russian phase hadn't exactly followed script but the first period in Fucik Park Stadium seemed to see normality return as the invading pros barely raised a sweat in taking a 2-0 lead.

The pep talk in the Czech dressing room must have had an atomic charge; the home team roared into action in the second period, took over the offensive to tie the score, 2-2, and carried momentum into the third period. Within three minutes of that final stanza they were leading the Team Canada, 3-2, and looking for more as the rink rocked.

It was another Garrison finish.

In the final minute, the Canadian goalie, Ken Dryden, was yanked for an extra attacker and the pros literally bulled the equalizing puck into the net with only four seconds to go!

The supposedly hardboiled National Hockey Leaguers - most of whom would be knocking heads against one another during the coming winter - exploded into schoolboy demonstrations of hugging glee. They looked and acted like winners of a world title series.

Yet the joy unconfined had been fired by a 3-3 deadlock, a no-decision game and merely an exhibition game against Czechoslovakia at that.

My mind flipped back to another European scene of sixteen years earlier during the Winter Olympics at Cortina d'Ampezzo. A group of press people were sitting in the Majestic Miramonti sipping Italian chicory coffee, taking frequent glances at Sophia Loren a table away and pretending to be giving Dr. Joser Gruss our undivided attention.

Dr. Gruss was the International Olympic Committee delegate from Czechoslovakia and he was telling us how he came to enter his distinguished career as an obstetrician.

"I owe it to the hockey players of Canada," he said. "Back in 1924, I was recognized as the greatest goalkeeper in Czechoslovakia. Then, in the Chamonix Olympics of that year, we Czechs faced a team from Canada. They beat me for 30 goals. I decided to give up hockey and turned to medicine."

Now, in 1972, I was watching our National Hockey League greats cavorting on Czechoslovakian ice as if they had won the Stanley Cup - whereas they were, in fact, unashamedly happy in simply staving off defeat.

Indeed, the challenge is widening.

No longer can the National Hockey League remain serenely King of the Castle and regard the Stanley Cup, emblematic of world hockey supremacy, as immune to challenge from beyond the league's confines. Suddenly, almost eighty years after the trophy came into being, the original terms of its donation come back to haunt the trustees thereof.

This most famous, most treasured, most exalted of all hockey trophies was presented in 1893 by Lord Stanley, Earl of Derby, then Governor General of Canada, as a "challenge cup" in perpetuity to denote hockey supremacy in the "Dominion of Canada."

Canada, of course, no longer retains the colonial classification of dominion and the Stanley Cup - with the evolution of the superior professional brand of hockey - has passed on to the pros. And, as professional hockey spread across the border into the United States, the Canadian identity of the trophy became international.

International?

Until the autumn of 1972 that meant only North America. But the showing of the overseas clubs in a full-fledged test of strength - not only opened eyes that had failed to see beyond the continent but left them uneasy about the future of the Stanley Cup.

What if cockiness born of the 1972 revelation prompts Russia, Czechoslovakia or whomever to recall how the late Lord Stanley had shelled out $48.66 for the storied mug on condition that it was to be a "challenge trophy?" A trophy for the team proven best in hockeydom. Not just up to 1972 but in perpetuity. What if an upstart team from across the Atlantic blithely beats the Stanley Cup holders of a future year? And then demands custody - until beaten - of the trophy?

That, indeed, will test the spirit of sportsmanship that the pros insist they never lose.

	The Widening Challenge The following article was written by Andy O'Brien in his book: Superstars: Hockey's Greatest Players. I have only posted the first half of the article. He continues to talk about the Dawson City Klondikers' challenge for the Stanley Cup - a fascinating story in itself. The night of September 30, 1972 saw Prague's hockey fans jam the Fucik Park Stadium for what was billed merely as an exhibition game between the Czechoslovakian National Team and an array of National Hockey Leaguers playing under the banner Team Canada. But suddenly it had developed into much more than a "nothing" game. The pros had just emerged from the long-awaited, interna- tionally ballyhooed series against Russia's best. The experts had almost unanimously predicted a "laugher" sweep by the star- studded N.H.L. force. Instead, they had to fight for their lives to squeeze out the narrowest of wins with 34 seconds to go in the eighth and final fray. From the four games played in Canada (Montreal, Toronto, Winnipeg, Vancouver) and the four in Moscow, the pros ended with four wins, one tie and three losses. To do so they had to win their last three games in Moscow, which they did by one-goal margins. The cliff-hanger finish caused the three thousand exuberant camp followers from Canada to raise an uproar unmatched since Hitler's guns were thundering in the suburbs. The weary players had little chance to sleep but their celebration was curtailed by the nearness of the 1972/73 N.H.L. season openers, a bit more than a week away. What's more, they had a plane to catch the next morning for Prague. It had been planned originally as a courtesy gesture. The Czechs had actually won the 1972 International Ice Hockey Federation championship by nosing out the Russians in the overseas tournament a few months previously. Little trouble had been expected against the Russians, little against the Czechs in the original script. The Russian phase hadn't exactly followed script but the first period in Fucik Park Stadium seemed to see normality return as the invading pros barely raised a sweat in taking a 2-0 lead. The pep talk in the Czech dressing room must have had an atomic charge; the home team roared into action in the second period, took over the offensive to tie the score, 2-2, and carried momentum into the third period. Within three minutes of that final stanza they were leading the Team Canada, 3-2, and looking for more as the rink rocked. It was another Garrison finish. In the final minute, the Canadian goalie, Ken Dryden, was yanked for an extra attacker and the pros literally bulled the equalizing puck into the net with only four seconds to go! The supposedly hardboiled National Hockey Leaguers - most of whom would be knocking heads against one another during the coming winter - exploded into schoolboy demonstrations of hugging glee. They looked and acted like winners of a world title series. Yet the joy unconfined had been fired by a 3-3 deadlock, a no-decision game and merely an exhibition game against Czechoslovakia at that. My mind flipped back to another European scene of sixteen years earlier during the Winter Olympics at Cortina d'Ampezzo. A group of press people were sitting in the Majestic Miramonti sipping Italian chicory coffee, taking frequent glances at Sophia Loren a table away and pretending to be giving Dr. Joser Gruss our undivided attention. Dr. Gruss was the International Olympic Committee delegate from Czechoslovakia and he was telling us how he came to enter his distinguished career as an obstetrician. "I owe it to the hockey players of Canada," he said. "Back in 1924, I was recognized as the greatest goalkeeper in Czechoslovakia. Then, in the Chamonix Olympics of that year, we Czechs faced a team from Canada. They beat me for 30 goals. I decided to give up hockey and turned to medicine." Now, in 1972, I was watching our National Hockey League greats cavorting on Czechoslovakian ice as if they had won the Stanley Cup - whereas they were, in fact, unashamedly happy in simply staving off defeat. Indeed, the challenge is widening. No longer can the National Hockey League remain serenely King of the Castle and regard the Stanley Cup, emblematic of world hockey supremacy, as immune to challenge from beyond the league's confines. Suddenly, almost eighty years after the trophy came into being, the original terms of its donation come back to haunt the trustees thereof. This most famous, most treasured, most exalted of all hockey trophies was presented in 1893 by Lord Stanley, Earl of Derby, then Governor General of Canada, as a "challenge cup" in perpetuity to denote hockey supremacy in the "Dominion of Canada." Canada, of course, no longer retains the colonial classification of dominion and the Stanley Cup - with the evolution of the superior professional brand of hockey - has passed on to the pros. And, as professional hockey spread across the border into the United States, the Canadian identity of the trophy became international. International? Until the autumn of 1972 that meant only North America. But the showing of the overseas clubs in a full-fledged test of strength - not only opened eyes that had failed to see beyond the continent but left them uneasy about the future of the Stanley Cup. What if cockiness born of the 1972 revelation prompts Russia, Czechoslovakia or whomever to recall how the late Lord Stanley had shelled out $48.66 for the storied mug on condition that it was to be a "challenge trophy?" A trophy for the team proven best in hockeydom. Not just up to 1972 but in perpetuity. What if an upstart team from across the Atlantic blithely beats the Stanley Cup holders of a future year? And then demands custody - until beaten - of the trophy? That, indeed, will test the spirit of sportsmanship that the pros insist they never lose.