Stanley Cup remains most cherished trophy in sports
When he isn’t being fined for his antics on the ice, goal sniper Brad Marchand of the Boston Bruins sometimes pontificates about hockey-related subjects.
This is what he said about the Stanley Cup, the ultimate prize at the end of the hockey rainbow: “If you are not playing for the Stanley Cup at the end of the year, what’s the point? If you don’t win, you may as well not make the playoffs, because you are a loser just like everybody else.”
Marchand grew up playing the game on frozen ponds in Nova Scotia. Perhaps you would expect that to be his viewpoint.
But even if you spent formative years busting rhymes in Atlanta, you eventually become aware of the Stanley Cup’s mystique and almost mythical power.
“They let me put the Stanley Cup in my car,” the rapper Lil Jon said about the most famous trophy in sports, which the Golden Knights will pursue for the fourth time in four years of existence. “I got hookups.”
The Stanley Cup is so revered that the Hockey Hall of Fame appoints a man to guard it. His name is Phil Pritchard — the Keeper of the Cup. The last time I saw Pritchard, he was on the loading dock at T-Mobile Arena during Game 5 of the 2018 Stanley Cup Final. He was wearing white gloves (so as not to leave his fingerprints on the Cup) and looked concerned.
Ovi’s Cup runs over
Pritchard was taking the cherished chalice into the arena, where it soon would be handed to Washington Capitals star Alex Ovechkin, who had a wild look in his eye.
As one hockey writer would write about Ovechkin: “He’s been drunk since the playoffs ended, and in an inebriated state, depth perception is one of the first things to go.”
But the Stanley Cup survived whatever Ovi and the rest of the Caps had planned for it. Just as it had after supposedly being dropped-kicked into the Rideau Canal by one of the Ottawa Senators in 1905; having had geraniums planted in it by a photographer’s mother in 1906; was left on the side of the road by members of the 1924 Montreal Canadiens as they changed a flat tire; was stolen from a Chicago Stadium display case during the 1961 finals by an irate Canadiens fan.
Fold, spindle and mutilate only scratches the surface (hopefully not literally) when it comes to the Stanley Cup, which also was:
Dropped into a bonfire by the 1962 Toronto Maple Leafs; urinated in by the infant son of the Leafs’ Red Kelly in 1964; repaired by an Edmonton body shop after being bent by Oilers fans whom Mark Messier let drink from it; filled with oats by the 1994 Rangers, who then had Kentucky Derby winner Go for Gin eat from it at the Belmont Stakes; defiled by the infant daughter of the Red Wings’ Chris Draper, as she sat in it apparently sans diaper.
Did Draper drink from the Cup afterward? Of course, he did. But only after it had been disinfected.
A day with the Cup
But the best thing about the Stanley Cup is the pleasure it brings all who have their name etched upon it in silver if they are fortunate enough to win it.
After Canadiens star Guy Lafleur “stole” the Stanley Cup so he could show it off to family and friends, the tradition of winning players spending a day with it became an official edict.
And so it was that on the day that Summerlin resident Max McNab was selected to retroactively hang out with the Cup, so did I.
I sensed his son, Peter, who had scored 363 NHL goals to his dad’s 16 with Gordie Howe’s Red Wings during the late 1940s, had something to do with it.
“This is fantastic for the league to do this. It’s just a wonderful tradition, and for Max to see his name on the Cup for the first time after 55 years, to have his day in the sun, how special is that?” Pete McNab told me.
Two years later, after Max McNab died, I received a poignant letter from his widow, June.
She thanked me for writing about Max’s day with the Cup, and how it made for a fitting final clipping for his hockey scrapbook.
Should the Knights be the ones who go all the way, my fervent hope is they at least consider the reverence June McNab’s husband had for the Stanley Cup before placing their little one inside of it with a full tummy of Gerber’s applesauce.
Contact Ron Kantowski at rkantowski@reviewjournal.com or 702-383-0352. Follow @ronkantowski on Twitter.