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Apr. 8, 2005 When I was a kiddo hockey was very important. Borje Salming played left-defence for the Toronto Maple Leafs. He was my first hero. I've had many since but they have mostly been literary, musical, or spiritual heros. Borje Salming was from Sweeden and playing our game and his position as if he was born for it. I have no doubt that he was. He was tall, comanding, confident. On paper a centerman would have more control of what went on during a shift, but it seemed Salming made things happen by the force of his presence. There were and are many great defencemen, like Bobby Orr, Dennis Potvin, Brad Park, and more recently Scott Stevens. But to me, nobody compares to Salming. He'd stand with the puck behind his own net waiting for the right time to move. He looked so relaxed. I could swear by watching him time and time again that he was almost using the moment to straighten out his back and stretch. He owned the space around him. He never hesitated to sacrifice his body to get in front of the puck. Towards the last few years he got stepped on with a skate while doing this and the skate cut his face open from top to bottom. When are beloved number twenty one played his one thousandth game for the fans of Toronto, I watched on proudly to see what presentation would be given to him. In Montreal when such milestones occurred, there was a little ceremony with a red carpet and a few family members and some words of thanks. Montreal had class. I was astounded when all Salming seemed to get was an announcement over the loudspeaker saying it was his thousandth game. Oh well. In grade eight a nice girl told me on a Friday afternoon that Borje Salming would be at a sportstore at a local mall that Sunday signing autographs. I went. He seemed even bigger than he did on the ice. At the end he spoke to me for a minute. A touch with greatness. In the end the Toronto organization showed its lack of style again when after about fifteen years as a player, and with only a season or a few at most to go, they traded him to Detroit. By then I had new heros but I still kept an eye out you know, in homage to my youth and to his golden years. I think in the end he went back home to play for a bit and then came back here and retired but possibly elsewhere. No matter though. Number twenty-one is still standing behind the net, straightening out his back, looking ahead at the rink, feeling out which way to move and where to go. All with a coolness and ease you just can't fake or purchase. Toronto's third strike was not retiring his number. But to me there is only one player that ever wore number twenty-one. He was a tall Sweed with plenty of stiches on his face that played defence. His name was Salming. ------------ About the author: Brian Michael Barbeito is a struggling poet and free lance writer from Aurora, Ontario, Canada. He spends all his spare time worrying about very many things including existential angst and the problem of why chewing gum loses its flavor too fast. He is determined to try and make the world a bit of a better place some way, somehow, some day. Visit: http://paradigmpoet.blogspot.com http://paradigmpoetry.blogspot.com http://www.writers-network.com/Brian1750 Email: Brian1750@Hotmail.com Tell a friend about this site! ------------ All articles are EXCLUSIVE to Useless-Knowledge.com and are not allowed to be posted on other websites. ARTICLE THIEVES WILL BE PROSECUTED! |
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