Learning the Pain of Being a Maple Leafs Fan
I come by my Toronto Maple Leafs affliction — I mean affection — honestly.
My dad, a World War II veteran, was a Maple Leafs fan to the core. Every Saturday night, he would park himself in front of our black-and-white television and complain that Don Messer's Jubilee was preventing him from watching the first half hour of Leafs hockey. This from a man who loved country music and was known for randomly blurting out lines from songs like “Make the World Go Away” and “Put Your Head on My Shoulder.” Don Messer’s Jubilee was probably his favourite TV show — it just shouldn’t have interfered with hockey.
From the time I was born until I was about 11 years old, I had absolutely no interest in Don Messer, country music, or the Maple Leafs. I liked playing hockey, but never in an organized league. Once the game started, somewhere near the end of the first period, I would drift off to the corner of the living room with toy soldiers or little cars until bedtime.
Then one night, I started wondering who this “Stanley” guy was that the announcers kept talking about. I was the only Stanley I knew. Nobody else around me had that name. That curiosity was what first pulled me into hockey.
In 1967, the Toronto Maple Leafs won their last Stanley Cup.
Turns out they were talking about Allan Stanley, the longtime Maple Leafs defenceman. He played in Toronto from 1956 through 1968. Every other kid at the outdoor rink wanted to be Dave Keon wearing No. 14. I wanted to be No. 26 because I was already Stanley. If names on jerseys had existed back then, I could have worn my own name on the back of a Leafs sweater.
Then came the spring of 1967.
My dad was never a quiet hockey fan — another trait I inherited. He cheered loudly when the Maple Leafs scored, covered his eyes and groaned when they got scored on, and I’m sure the neighbours heard every complaint directed at the referees. As his excitement grew through that playoff run, mine did too. Before long, I was sitting beside him every game, riding the exact same emotional roller coaster.
That was also when I discovered there was another Stanley in hockey — the Stanley Cup itself. Hockey’s holy grail. Winning “a Stanley” suddenly seemed like the greatest thing imaginable, especially with my name attached to it. Naturally, I wanted Toronto to win it. And somehow, they did.
The Maple Leafs beat the Canadiens in six games.
The Maple Leafs defeated the Montreal Canadiens in six games to win the 1967 Stanley Cup. There was even an unexpected bonus to my newfound love of hockey: bedtime disappeared. Before that season, once the clock hit 8 p.m., I was done for the night. Suddenly, I was allowed to stay up until the final buzzer. Game 3 of the Final went deep into double overtime before Bob Pulford scored the winner. I honestly thought I might never have to go to bed again.
Of course, being a Maple Leafs fan also taught me my first life lesson almost immediately.
After the 1967 Cup, the next season marked the beginning of the Maple Leafs’ decline.
The very first season I truly followed the Leafs, they won the Stanley Cup. I naturally assumed this would continue forever. Instead, the following year, Toronto finished second-last in the newly expanded NHL. I thought I was signing up for a lifetime of the 1966-67 Maple Leafs. What I actually got was everything that came after.
Little did I know that first season would also be the last time I would ever see the Maple Leafs hoist “Stanley.” It’s been downhill ever since.
[We’re excited to welcome Stan Smith to the writing team at Professors Press Box. He’ll be covering the Maple Leafs.]