Orr: Ending at the Beginning

Boston Garden never looked better. Every seat in the house was filled and discs bearing the names and retired numbers of Eddie Shore, Dit Clapper, Milt Schmidt and Lionel Hitchman hung in the rafters among the numerous Bruin and Celtic championship banners. Boston would play the Soviet Wings in a lopsided exhibition game later that evening, but Tuesday night belonged to Bobby Orr.

He had come home again, after persistent knee problems aborted his comeback attempt with the Black Hawks this season and ended his glorious career much too early for himself and for the 14,654 who stood and cheered and screamed for a long, loud time while his former teammates banged their sticks in appreciation. The top brass--Harry Sinden, general manager of the Bruins. Schmidt, whose #15 was retired in 1955, Clarence Campbell, president of the NHL from 1946 to 1977, John Ziegler, his successor, Alan "Eaglebird" Eagleson, head of the NHL Players Association, and Ed King, whose current title I have forced from memory--took a back seat for a change as Orr stood at center ice.

When the deafening roar subsided, and the Gallery Gods stopped chanting, "Bob-bie! Bob-bie!" he told the crowd he loved them and Boston, and always would. But the most poignant moment came when The Chief, Johnny Bucyk, presented the eight-time Norris Trophy winner with the uniform he wore in his 1966-67 rookie season.

Orr apparently couldn't make out the screams of "PUT IT ON! PUT IT ON!" but obliged the crowd when Eagleson leaned over and passed on the message. He removed his suit and replaced it with the sweater he wore so well, ending his career in proper fashion: Boston black and gold instead of Chicago black and red.

Mere recitation of the countless awards and records that are his could not do justice to the admiration, affection and just plain awe Orr inspired during his decade with Boston. While Orr's No. 4 now appears majestically over the ice, the number of fellow former Bruin Phil Esposito, whose statistical achievements are just as impressive, can be found on the jersey of Bill Bennett, a rookie just sent down to the minors.

Though Espo could convert rebounds with his eyes closed, it was Orr whose spectacular rink-length dashes, beautiful set-ups and wicked slapshots captured the hearts and minds of hockey fans everywhere as he led Boston to the title after 29 years of cellar-dwelling and frustration.

Orr's best remembered moment, of course, came at the Garden on May 10, 1970, when he wristed a Stanley Cupwinning shot past Glenn Hall of St. Louis after 40 seconds of overtime, and then sailed gleefully through the air, his stick upraised and his mouth opened in a shout of happiness as the arena erupted.

But, since I lived near New York during the Orr Era, a different goal of his is frozen in my mind, rather painfully in fact. Then a Ranger fan (the Islanders didn't exist yet), I was incredibly psyched on the evening of May 11, 1972 for game six of the Cup finals between Boston and New York. Though the Bruins led the series three games to two, the blueshirts had two nights earlier grabbed a tight contest on Boston ice and hopes were high that the New Yorkers could return the series to Beantown in search of their first Cup since 1940.

"No way," said Orr at 11:18 of the first period. With the game scoreless and Boston on a power play, the puck drifted out towards Orr at the right point as a Ranger (Bobby Rousseau?) closed in. When the rubber reached him, Orr immediately grabbed it and, as his opponent skidded out of the play, spun completely around to close in on New York netminder Eddie Giacomin. Giacomin tensed for the shot, but Orr's wristed bullet found net so quickly that, as slow-motion replays later showed, the goalie had barely reacted before the puck sped by low on the short side. Even dejected Ranger fans had to applaud as Orr, followed by his teammates, later paraded around the ice with the trophy held above his head.

Number Four would have the knees and energy for one final burst of glory, leading Team Canada to victory in 1976. But never again would he control a game the way he used to, or casually stun crowds with his brilliance. Nor will anyone, because there's no such thing as "another Bobby Orr."