JB's Warehouse & Curio Emporium

The WHA! The original Jets! Willi Plett! Some people treasure pristine mint editions of old books and magazines. I treasure ragged copies that were well-loved, which display the repeated wear-and-tear of an owner who regularly flipped the pages (just as long as none of those pages are missing). This is one of the most worn items in my collection: The Hockey News 1978 Yearbook , previewing the 1977/78 NHL and WHA seasons. Part of its weary appearance is due to little Jamie's use of it as something to press down upon while scribbling maps, fake hockey cards, or whatever else entered my brain. Part is my childhood fascination with a season just slightly before I followed pro hockey, spotlighting a league (the WHA) which was gone by the time I started watching Hockey Night in Canada and collecting sports cards.

Click image for larger version of the front page of the May 2, 1993 edition of the Toronto Star . I expected to run into honking cars galore. Given last night was do-or-die time for the Maple Leafs, I figured there would be mass celebrations if they managed to survive the first round of the playoffs. In the checkout line at the Vic Park and Gerrard FreshCo, the customer ahead of me asked the clerk if she had heard any game updates. She had—it looked like the boys in blue were headed to victory. Mentally noting that the game was almost over, I anticipated running into happy, honking fans spilling onto the streets. Drove west along Danforth. Nothing. Deciding I wanted to discover the result organically, the dial on my radio developed an allergy to hockey games. The streets were still quiet when I reached home. No honking in the distance as there was when the Leafs won their first match in the series. Overtime, perhaps? A quick glance at social media told me all I nee...

Growing up, the only professional sporting events I went to were major league baseball games. The closest I ever came to seeing an NHL match was the occasional oldtimers game that passed through Amherstburg, where Dad was happy to see the odd player he remembered watching as a kid and roll off the story of how he wound up using a pair of Alex Delvecchio's skates while playing rec games in Leaside in the late 1960s (another player snatched them from a practice, the skates made the rounds of whoever had the same size feet as the Red Wings hall-of-famer). These stories amused me, since the only evidence I ever had of Dad on skates was a faded photograph or two—I don't remember him strapping on a pair during my lifetime. Factors that prevented us from ever going to a Red Wings game? My guesses would be cost, quality of the team (the franchise underwent the transition from the "Dead Things" to contender during my childhood) and possibly my never making a fuss about...