What’s that they say about “age being a state of mind?”
Just a few weeks away from that magical Medicare birthday, I once again experienced that concept last weekend playing in the Spokane Oldtimers Hockey Tournament at Eagles Ice-A-Rena.
As I lined up for a faceoff with Team Grey (how appropriate) at my preferred right-wing position, there came a gentle tap of a stick on my shin pads and a smile from inside his helmet visor. Next to me was a guy pushin’ 80 — Gordie Turlik.
Behind him on defense was Don Scherza, and in goal for the Team Blue in the Over-60 Jamboree division, among the nearly 30 teams in the tournament, was Davey Cox, or “Dooxie” as he’s referred to in the locker room.
Little comes to mind about one’s physical age and body during these games — just afterwards. A cold beer quenching some thirst, and later, perhaps, there’s some over-the-counter pain remedies to make the muscles not ache as much.
What was maybe more remarkable in the moment was I used to watch “Turk” 50 years ago this month as a member of the Spokane Jets. He and his teammates would race up and down the ice on Saturday nights at the old Spokane Coliseum in front of 5,000 screaming fans.
They won like nobody’s business, too, capturing a pair of national championships, coveted Allan Cups in 1970 and 1972.
It was the trophy tag-lined as “emblematic of senior amateur supremacy in Canada.” At the time, the Allan Cup was second only to the Stanley Cup in hockey hardware hierarchy.
And God forbid if competition ever ventured south of the 48th parallel. Talk about nationalism, the rivalries may not have been that far removed from international soccer.
In 1972, a dog show previously booked in the Coliseum took precedence to 5,500 hockey fans. It forced moving a couple of Allan Cup games back across the border to nearby Kimberley, British Columbia — the only place still with ice in its town rink in May.
Spokane, a United States-based team, stocked 100-percent with a roster of Canadians, was largely booed as Kimberley fans cheered the Barrie, Ontario Flyers as if they were their own Dynamiters.
How good were those Jets is debatable, the decisions many made to make Spokane a home, not at all.
A number were right on the cusp on rosters of what were then the “original-six” teams in the NHL. Displacing a “Rocket” Richard or Gordie Howe or Jacque Plante on the 18-man roster, however, just wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.
The options were endless bus rides and playing 72 games a season in the American, Central or Eastern Hockey leagues, then likely ending up in some menial job since you quit school to play junior hockey.
Or come to places like Spokane, Trail or Kimberley where the hook was to still play part-time and either work in a job tailored to hockey or finish college.
But back to the present.
Today, just a handful of people gaze from behind the plexi-glass that rings the dasher boards, hopeful that their 60-somethings all survive the rigor of playing three games in 48 hours. Truth be told, the games are ONLY 40 minutes long.
Arguably, the best part of the weekend was hanging around the museum-like Oldtimers locker room at Eagles where photos and tattered old hockey “sweaters” bring back memories of those glory days a half-century ago.
And the stories flow, better the more postgame brews, but never swerving from the truth.
Turlik had the proverbial “cup of coffee” in the NHL with the Boston Bruins as a fresh-faced kid out of junior hockey in Prince Albert, Sask. He played just two games at Boston, but did so on a line with Bronco Horvath and Johnny Bucyk, both members of a variety of hockey halls of fame.
He settled here the year JFK was struck down in Dallas and has laced ‘em up periodically ever since. Almost every Wednesday, Turlik is out on the ice getting out the kinks, well before the rest of the over-50 skater group.
I still have either the fortune of playing with him, accepting his pristine passes, or against, careful so neither of us crash.
It’s one of those fantasy camps some pay thousands to attend to be with their boyhood sports idols. Mine comes in at 10 bucks a pop.
Paul Delaney can be reached at pdelaney@cheneyfreepress.com.
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