The Impossible Boy

With about ten minutes left to go in the first period, the puck jumped then fell to rest near centre ice like a fishing bob hitting the water. Almost immediately, it was scooped up by the red-helmeted Paul Henderson, who’d scored Team Canada’s two previous game-winning goals. If a lot of his teammates had seemed cement-ankled and heavy-hipped next to the skating-on-air Soviets, Henderson — and perhaps, his Leafs accomplice, Ron Ellis, as well as Yvan Cournoyer — played as if he’d stumbled upon a game he’d always been looking for: one driven by perimeter speed and puck savvy rather than a shoot-it-in offence designed to return the puck to the slot. From Game Five to Game Eight, Henderson moved about the ice with his tongue wagging and, more than any other Canadian player, he actually looked like he was enjoying himself, having fun despite the intense pressure and challenging conditions. History tells us that Henderson did what no player in any sport has ever done, at least not at this level of play — score three consecutive game-winning goals in three must-win games — but there was something beyond the benchmarks. He played like a kid on Saturday morning ice, oblivious, it seemed, to the intensity of the circumstances. He also reminded down-at-the-heels Canadians that their game, in the right hands, was about spirit and aplomb and riding the roar of the crowd, too. If the Russians had focused their attention on Espo and Peter Mahovlich and Gilbert and other alien forwards, Henderson’s abilities were less threatening because they most resembled theirs. In a way, not only would Team Canada’s impossible boy defeat Team Russia almost singlehandedly, he would beat them at their own game, too.