
It was a Friday, the 21st day of February, just like today. The U.S.A. was in the doldrums as the hostage crisis dragged on (fortunately, the U.S. and Iran no longer engage in hostile sword-waving). And this was a time when America was so much more in love with the Olympics than we are currently.
Speedskater Eric Heiden was the unquestioned Greatest American Hero, in the midst of winning a then unprecedented five gold medals at one Games. Team U.S.A. was about to face the juggernaut of juggernauts, the Russians, in hockey later that day. The same two teams had faced off a month or so earlier in New York City and the C.C.C.P. had won by a score of, I believe, 12-1. We viewers were anxious but not at all hopeful.
Here are the two things that anyone who was alive that day and remembers will tell you about it: 1) America was watching this hockey game on tape delay (it had taken place at 5 p.m. local time) in prime time and most of us had no idea who’d won as we watched (and didn’t want to know). And remember, this was taking place in Lake Placid, N.Y., not overseas and 2) It is the most exciting sports event we’ve ever watched. I know this still holds true for me.
My mom had been listening to the radio (most likely KTAR 620 in Phoenix) and she knew who’d won. But she wouldn’t tell us. And we didn’t really care to know. There was no Twitter. No Facebook. No computers in anybody’s home. Almost no cable television to speak of and most of us did not yet have it. You could’ve turned on the radio, but why spoil the drama?
I remember my entire family sitting in the den on 2115 W. Del Oro Circle, Mesa, enraptured by what we were watching. We didn’t understand hockey all that well but knew enough to recognize that USA goalie Jim Craig was playing out of his mind and that this dude Eruzione was the heart of the team, if hardly the most skilled player.
At the time, the Soviet Union seemed the greatest threat to world stability and democracy (again, funny how times have changed). Fans were aware that the Russian team had enough talent to beat quite a few NHL teams. The American team was made up entirely of college kids or recent grads. No NHL players. None.
Russia was in hockey what the USA was in basketball. And the loss in 1972 in Munich in hoops was still relatively fresh in people’s minds. This night might be payback.
The U.S. trailed 3-2 entering the third period and I imagine most of us thought, Oh, well, we gave it a good try. But then two goals in the first 10 minutes of the 3rd put the U.S.A. up 4-3. What do I remember? I remember the arena in Lake Placid chanting “U.S.A.” non-stop. I remember how agonizing it was to sit through those final 10 minutes as Craig repelled shot after shot after shot. I remember Al Michaels’ and Ken Dryden’s excellent call. I remember seeing the camera close-ups of Herb Brooks, who looked intense but confident. I remember thinking, Will these 10 minutes ever end?
“Do you believe in miracles?” Michaels shouted as Eruzione, I believe, tossed his stick into the air. “YES!”
Euphoria. Ecstasy. Like a drug.
Thinking of the most thrilling sports events I’ve ever watched, on TV or in person. Catholics versus Convicts. The Eli Manning-to-David Tyree Super Bowl. Duke-Kentucky Elite Eight. Valvano versus Houston. I’m sure there are others; these came to mind first.
Nothing tops the Miracle on Ice. Nothing. Maybe it was the fact that I was a 13 year-old boy. Maybe it was where this country was and how desperately we needed a pick-me-up (again, how times change). But that Friday night in Lake Placid, which became a magical Friday night in homes all over the United States, may never be topped.
The world will never be that remote again. Everything today is so close and also so immediate. A bear roams through a neighborhood in Monrovia, Calif., and it’s up on my computer in a matter of minutes. Forty years ago Lake Placid, N.Y., may as well have been on Mars for all we knew. And it was cool.
The icing on the cake, after the obligatory win over Sweden Finland on Sunday (an anti-climactic gold medal game and yet, again, another game in which the Americans were playing way over their heads; I challenge you to name another single weekend in which one team won two games against such superior opposition fueled primarily by adrenalin), was the Sports Illustrated cover. It was perfection. No words. No headline. Just that magical, miraculous shot by Heinz Kluetmeier.
An aside: Heinz is ailing pretty badly these days. A stroke and Parkinson’s. A week or so ago a bunch of SI photo department alums went by his place here in Manhattan to visit him. Some visit him often. Keep him in your prayers.
Anyway, SI closed on Mondays so that magazine did not appear in most of our mail boxes until Thursday or Friday. I didn’t care. I knew that issue was as gold as the medals themselves. Like most young boys of the time, I still have it.
*****
This site will always be free but we’ve decided to try a new wrinkle: more frequent posts, no daily Starting Five, and we’ll add a PayPal address for any and all who’d like to donate.
PayPal: trumansparks88@gmail.com