If you could hold the spirit of hockey in your hand, what would it look like, and in your heart, how would it feel? I think I have some idea. It was crafted by Loyalist descendants, whose ancestors had arrived to Cape Breton from Rhode Island, via New York only a couple of generations before. Their roots were strong and deep, all the way to Scotland. Stick and ball games on land and ice were part of their cultural traditions. Shinty, shinny and later hurley on ice, was a common winter wonderment, especially during the festive season and particularly for boys who were the son's of the affluent, for they had the means to pursue fun and frolic. The less fortunate of this era, would spend waking hours, toiling to survive.

 Cape Breton would mean starting over for many new arrivals, as their material possessions were confiscated in the name of freedom, by colonial raiders to the south. However, those of hardy Scottish stock, were resillient, and their land grants, would provide opportunity in the form of old growth timber for settlement and as raw material for trade and commerce. This back breaking labour, would present both challenge and reward. Shipbuilding would infuse the local economy with further investment opportunity. Once families were again settled, young boys in this region of the early 19th century, would enjoy stick and ball games on ice.

The First People of this region also had stick and ball games, on land and ice. Conditions would help create the context for skating and stick and ball games would soon gain popularity. British, Irish, Scottish and Mi'kmaq stick and ball variations were practiced by military garrisons and children on the many frozen waterways of the Maritimes.  These precursors to the modern game were often defined by the region and its predominant culture in both rural and urban settings. Variation would evolve into more common hybrids, and by the 1st quarter of the century, hurley on ice, would capture the imagination and enter the lexicon of young boys in many communities of Nova Scotia

A "boy's prized hurley," would mean many things to him. Pride of ownership could be exemplified by the expert crafting of the hardwood timber, or by the initials carved on to the blade, so there would be no doubt who owned which prize. Paints to protect and preserve the implements, were made from ingredients available near their homes. Oxblood, milk based, oil based, gypsum, crushed clays and coal, all creating the rich, warm hues. Graceful, flowing lines on select hardwoods of maple, ash, hornbeam, oak, were the raw materials of choice.  Carefully selected for the fortuitous angle or lie of the blade, then cut down by hand, then hand hewn with a draw knife, perhaps a spoke shave also, then smoothed out using the edge of glass. Boys would prepare their hurley, all the while wishing the pond, lake, bay, or creek...to just freeze over.

They could move faster than running, on those blades of steel, "this is what it must be like to fly", they thought. Clack, clack, thud, knock, whack and clack some more, protecting shins when required, swatting the ball as far as they might. Laughter, and smiles, rosy cheeks, winter's breath and frozen fingers, noses and toes, and there was never ever, enough sunlight. There was so little time in the brief glimpse of childhood, soon real life beckoned, chores, responsibility, community, church, travel, education, career and family. However, for a little while every winter, as a nation grew, as a game became a sport, but before it went indoors...you could, if it were cold enough, and you were among friends, and home was not too far,...you could hold the spirit, right in your hands and feel it in your heart.

I had imagined no better feeling, wondered if it was the same for a nine year old, 175 years ago, as it had been for me. When I embraced and researched the gift that emerged from the shadows and mists of Cape Breton's past, it was indeed a boy's prized hurley. It is called the Moffatt stick and it has spoken to me, for when I hold it, I am nine years old again with the spirit of the game in my hands and heart.

Yes, I remember the Summit Series of '72, but the Canada Cup of '76 remains crystal clear. I remember the WHA.  I remember Bobby Orr, but Guy Lafleur, I idolized. I still hear Danny Gallivan, when the winning goal is scored. I remember boards and ice without advertising and watching the game in black and white on Saturday night. Playing minor hockey without a cage, and only a mouthgaurd. I remember clearing the ice with shovels before our games, outdoors. I remember trading hockey cards, sleeping over at a buddies, all while watching Sittler and his 10 point night. I remember really knowing, Montreal would find a way against Boston in 1979. I felt "cursed" about never finding Lafleur in my packs of hockey cards. I remember putting at least 15 pieces of gum from the packs, into my mouth, at once, only to find the flavour still only lasted 30 seconds. My hockey gloves were made mostly of leather, and my stick, completely of wood. I remember walking a couple of miles to get my skates sharpened, for $1.25. I remember "Showdown" and "Peter Puck" between periods. I still have my 1st trophy, from the 75-76 season, I started playing late, at age nine. I had an NHLPA lunchbox and thermos, with those fascimilie autographs, the thermos glass liner broke with milk inside, and I didn't tell mom for weeks...the smell, I will never forget. I had a Canadiens toque, that matched my "skate-a-thon" team jacket, and I had skated so many damn laps, it was nearly free. I dreamed of playing like Lafleur, but I knew, I looked more like Risebrough. I hustled hard, all the time. In the brief moments of our childhoods, everything seemed simpler and everything would be all right...after all...Montreal would win again.     Cheers to our glorious yesterdays, and may we never forget.   Mark Presley

North-South vs. East-West, give me a break ! Is this the best the NHL brass can muster? Speaking their language for a moment. The players are the leagues "commodity", would you not protect them in every way possible? We are aware that "head shots" of any description are plain and simple dangerous to player's health. I can not fathom the age old argument that the game is faster, players bigger, stronger...blah, blah, blah. Look, once upon a time, tripping and slashing were deemed infractions, and thusly penalized. Any hit to the head can also be deemed accordingly. I am sickened by the hesitation to act by the league and repulsed by the notion that dangerous "head shots" can be categorized, and even acceptable in some instances. The NHL powers that be, can and are capable of doing the right thing, but resistance is strangely a typical response. Do not mistaken my stance on this issue as advocacy for "no hit hockey."  Clean, hard physical play is a requirement of the best league in the world, but what do owners stand to lose by eliminating a pervasive, debilitating and irresponsible act.? I do not have the answer...I am not sure who they are trying to please or more aptly, appease. Why not make the new rule, if one is implemented, plain and simple. How about this NHL "BRAINTRUST," -No intentional hits to the head are permitted, end of story. The frightening fallout to the league may mean they would have to explain putting their players health first instead of say, potential growth and expansion. Can they handle the truth? We'll soon see.    Sincerely Mark Presley

Here we go again...Olympic hockey conjuring up the, "what if", with regard to the issue of fighting in hockey. Is the answer to this perplexing question as simple as, we allow it, therefore, condone it. I believe this is indeed the case. Especially in light of the Olympic hockey tournament and the terrific hockey we have been exposed to. I love hard, physical play, it is required of the Canadian game, it can be an equalizer to faster, more skilled opponents.  It could be argued that physicality in hockey is the thread to the fabric of our game. I would have it no other way.

However, fighting is not required, it is allowed...therefore, it happens. Many who have played the game at the highest level, feel indebted to the pugilists who have infused the game with intimidation, that has in turn, created more space and time for them to ply their trade. I contend hard and physical play creates the same enviroment for the more skilled player. Yes many have created fiscal opportunity for themselves, their families and the leagues that condone fighting, but at what cost?  Physical injury not withstanding, we have paid a price. I believe the rest of the world catching up to Canada, came at a time when our best players were being used to expand the game into the U.S, by making it a spectacle of violence and intimidation.(late 60's through the 70's)  I witnessed this metamorphisis first hand, and it has created what proponents to fighting would define as "traditional" or "required" aspects. The notion that fighting has a history in hockey, does little to underscore the benefit to the game. Had we focused on skill and speed as an impetus for our deveoping players, our game would reap the full benefit, then and now.

When the world looked to Canada as a leader, they took the best parts of our game, and honed their game accordingly. Fighting was not one of these components. I look to the Olympics/World Championships as real opportunities to showcase what we are capable of, in terms of embracing a sport in it's best, purest form...not it's basest. I hope this post is cause for readers to pause and reflect on what matters most. I believe hockey should base its guiding principals on sportsmanship and skill...like other sports do. Cheers to effort and integrity, perhaps a golden moment, also! 

Sincerely Mark Presley

Today, I purchased some 1930's hockey material that resulted in pure joy. Yes I am a Montreal Canadiens fan, but I am truly enamoured with the heralded ghosts of Habs past. 

The key item in the purchase was a signed, group 1 Beehive photo of the great and grisled "Hainsworth",(wonderful flowing fountain pen signature from the mid-30's). My only pang of discontent, was the classic blue and white Leaf sweater, but alas, a treasure, nonetheless, and the black and white photography dulled my pain. 

The second item of my purchase was the sleeper - an 8 x 10 black and white vintage photograph of what at first glance, I believed to be the fedora wielding, zoot suited, train waiting, Toronto Maple Leafs. 

You see, I had only looked at it briefly, and had recognized Hainsworth, but asssumed it also to be of mid-30's vintage.  When I arrived home, I began to immediately collect team portraits of Smythe's boys from my library.  As I began to cross reference material to the photo, I was disheartened with the lack of matches.  That was until, out from under a smart felt derby, I noticed the impish, yet contented grin of the great Morenz!  My mid-30's improptu railway team portrait, was not of Dillinger and his henchmen, nor the Kid Line and the rest of the Leafs gang, it was my beloved, "Habitant sont la!" 

Morenz, Joliat, Gangon, the Mantha's, Munro, Leduc, Lepine, Larochelle, Hainsworth among others, and from the 1931-32 season.  No, their attempt to maintain Stanley's mug for a 3rd time was thwarted, but my evening of discovery and reflection was as sweet as a "train on time!' 

Sincerely, Mark Presley