A Great Game (18 page)

It also follows that the pace of the game would not be nearly as fast as with the twenty-man NHL lineups of our era. As in a marathon street-hockey game, players would rotate positions to preserve their energy, forwards dropping back when exhausted. However, it should be noted that the top-level pros were much younger. It would be very rare indeed to find a man over thirty playing against twenty-somethings for a full sixty minutes. This hour was played in just two thirty-minute halves (stop-time at the elite level), with a brief ten-minute rest in between.

The more variable tempo—much like soccer matches to this day—also gave penalties less importance. The lack of analysis of power-play or shorthanded situations in game reports of the period is quite striking. An individual penalty was not seen as a significant disadvantage, although an accumulation definitely was—and there was no limit to the number who could be sent off. Penalties, though defined similarly to today, were also variable in length. A player was assigned one to four minutes (but usually two or three) for a routine offence, while serious fouls would receive five or ten minutes, or more.

As the game unfolded, the biggest difference a modern spectator would immediately grasp was the lack of forward passing. Hockey in that era was an “onside” game, meaning a player had to be on his own side of the puck to join the play. If not, the resultant “offside” would lead to an immediate faceoff wherever the infraction occurred. Then again, the Ontario Hockey Association—which, despite its extreme conservatism when it came to amateurism, was otherwise a remarkably innovative organization—had developed two important exceptions to the offside rule.

First, taking the puck off a save by one's goalie within three feet of the goal line did not constitute offside in Ontario hockey. In other provinces, such a situation would lead to dangerous faceoffs in front of the goal, or worse, an inability to clear rebounds. This 1905 innovation—first proposed by W. A. Hewitt—was rapidly adopted by other leagues, including the new professional circuits. Soon, an actual three-foot line was put
across the ice surface (again in black)—the earliest forerunner of today's blue line.

Second, in the OHA a puck carrier could move the disc to a receiving teammate, provided he had drawn even with the teammate before the exchange. This was deemed to bring the pass receiver onside. This deviation was not widely accepted, leading to considerable confusion when Ontario clubs played against those from outside the jurisdiction. Among the early Ontario pros, a hybrid version was frequently employed, although no one seems to be able to describe precisely how it was supposed to work.

Although deliberately “loafing” offside in order to rest could earn a player a penalty, there is no doubt that offside rulings still led to more stoppages than we experience now. Conversely, there was also no such thing as icing a century ago. “Lifting” the puck down the ice to relieve the pressure was considered a legitimate, if somewhat archaic and boring, tactic. In the semi-darkness of many rinks, a high lift could disappear from sight, becoming stuck in the rafters or, quite plausibly, dropping unexpectedly into the net behind the opposing goalkeeper.

The goalie had a particularly tough job. He could not hold the puck with his hands and had to remain standing at all times. Falling or kneeling to block a shot constituted a penalty—which had to be served by the goalie himself. Unsurprisingly, then, games were generally high-scoring by today's standards. The goalkeepers' inability to bounce up and down also explains why many of the time were large, even fat, men. As in lacrosse, where the goal nets were narrower, they were often sought more for their size than their athleticism.

Many of these differences are interrelated. For example, the absence of substitution eliminated the need for the modern coach. Teams had managers, but nobody behind the bench. If anyone served a position akin to today's coaches, it would be the playing captain of the team. Likewise, the nonexistence of icing, fixed faceoff locations and offside zones are consistent with the lack of markings on the ice surface.

The approach to the game was quite unlike today's version of the sport. Offensive styles were limited. Emphasis was put on tight teamwork among the forwards, who ideally would exchange the puck back or laterally in a method more akin to rugby than modern-day hockey. The
player who could move up quickly and pass in this manner was considered the key man. Indeed, the playmaker (often the rover) was the star of the team. Much less importance was attributed to the goal scorer (often the centre).

Given a hockey culture that valued playmakers over goal scorers, it is ironic that assists were seldom noted. In truth, individual statistical records—even goal-scoring records—were rather paltry in this era. For example, historians have made much note of the fact that Toronto's Newsy Lalonde led the Ontario Professional Hockey League in scoring in 1907–08. However, these records were compiled decades later. There was never any “scoring race” mentioned in the newspapers that season.

Nevertheless, those watching the games would have little trouble conversing with twenty-first-century fans. Hockey jargon was already moving into recognizable territory. Earlier lingo of “games” and “bulls” was giving way to “goals” and “faces” (faceoffs). Both would quickly understand that “combination play” meant “passing” and that a “hockeyist” was really just a hockey player.

Even then, the principal official was the referee, but he usually carried a bell instead of a whistle. After all, in a frigid rink, a metal whistle might freeze to his lips. The referee would put offenders “on the fence” rather than in the penalty box. In some jurisdictions (but not the OHA or OPHL), the referee would be assisted by a “judge of play.” He would focus on penalties while the referee looked after offsides. (Obviously, there could be no linesmen, since there were no lines.) At the side would be two timekeepers—one from each club—carefully watching each other as well as their timepieces.

Around the rink sat and stood the fans—people made of sterner stuff, watching in tougher conditions. Except for a stove in the dressing room,
rinks were not heated. With buildings housing “natural” ice made meticulously from buckets and shovels, it could not be any other way. Huddling under blankets and unsupported by sound systems,
³
fans sang and cheered not just to encourage their team, but to keep warm enough to stay alive. Many would also smoke, defying management and often creating clouds so thick they obscured the action on the ice for those higher up in the stands.

Hockey, beyond any doubt, was already the nation's passion. A team's followers did not just come to their own rink draped in the colours of their club. They would often attend practices, especially the preseason tryouts. Mascot in tow (a child or a pet, rather than a team employee in a costume), they would also follow the boys when the squad went on the road. The vehicle to do this was the “special train,” set up by enterprising railways.

Again, the societal changes that followed the explosion in rail transportation cannot be underestimated. Train travel was critical to the rise of professional sports teams and leagues all over the world.

The supporters' expenses did not end with the train or game tickets—as much as $3 total for a road trip within Ontario. A team's true follower would invariably feel the need to lay down wagers against opposing rooters. Somehow, whether “toasting their winnings” or “drowning their sorrows,” the fans of a century ago managed, one way or another, to end up at the bar—much like their descendants.

Those headed to the bar after the game of December 28, 1906, would have been feeling a sense of anticlimax. Despite a vigorous contest, the Canadian Soo had walked away with a 7–0 shutout.

Yet the defeat was not as bad as the score would indicate. The score had been only 2–0 at the half, with the Torontos clearly in it. Conditioning had unquestionably been their undoing in the late going, when the Algonquins netted most of their goals. Although the ice surface was
not yet fully hardened, the play had been intense throughout—notably more physical than was typical in the OHA.

There was a fair range of reaction to that first professional game. The
Mail and Empire
thought the Professionals showed real promise and that with more practice and better conditioning, “it will take a speedy aggregation to put the kibosh on them.”
⁴
Billy Hewitt's
Star
was the most persistently hostile to the new club, calling the game “of an inferior quality”
⁵
and the crowd a product of “a sucker born every minute.”
⁶

The OHA was sending a message: the war against pro hockey in Toronto had only just begun.

For now, though, things were clearly looking up for the paid men in the Queen City. Nearly 1,500 people had shelled out for admission on that opening night. The best seats went for seventy-five cents—a 50 percent increase in price from OHA senior games. Half that number had attended the OHA's first headline act of the year, a contest between the Marlboros and the defending intermediate champion from Peterborough. Despite the ongoing boosterism of OHA matches by the
Globe
,
Star
and
Telegram
—and frequent sarcasm towards the Torontos—interest in further professional matches was high.