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| Team USA players mob Jim Craig after the Miracle win |
You need only wander down the picturesque main street of the
sleepy village of Lake Placid, nestled high and rather remotely in the
spectacular Adirondack Mountains that dominate upstate New York to see that,
for a village that was unknown to most of the world prior to February 22 1980,
the legacy of the Miracle on Ice remains a major draw. Fittingly, the village
will host a reunion of every living member of the 1980 team this weekend.
There are few towns in America that are more of a hockey
mecca than Lake Placid. Yes, Eveleth on the Iron Range of Minnesota, home to
the United States Hockey Hall of Fame, is important, but the defining moment –
and, to this day, most extraordinary – of United States hockey history happened
in Lake Placid on a snowy February afternoon when US President Ronald Reagan
was considering boycotting the 1980 Summer Olympics to be held in Moscow.
Lake Placid proudly memorialises it’s place in hockey history.
You can’t go around town without being reminded of it. Shops offer all sorts of
merchandise: DVDs, books, posters, clothing, everything. People come to see the
rink. It’s often all they come for. I visited all the way from Australia,
curious, and went away fully understanding the magnitude of what Team USA
accomplished in February of 1980. I’ve been back since with other hockey fans,
a pilgrimage of sorts. Aside from anything else, Lake Placid is a beautiful
spot.
There’s a reason that Sports Illustrated slotted the Miracle
atop it’s 1999 list of memorable sporting moments of the 20th
century, and why the International Ice Hockey Federation, during it’s centenary
celebrations in 2008, labelled the USA vs. USSR contest the century’s biggest
hockey story.
People remember where they were when they heard about or
watched that game, just as they do for less pleasant occasions, like John F.
Kennedy’s assassination or the September 11 attacks. It’s a part of the
American psyche.
It would be a mistake to label the Miracle just a game. It
was far more important than that, an us versus them moment in the midst of the
Cold War, at a time when American morale was way down, and fuel prices were way
up. The contest transcended hockey. It was a rare chance for two countries who
had been at odds for years, coming close to war on a handful of occasions, to
meet on a different sort of battlefield to decide not just who would progress
to play for a gold medal but to decide four years’ worth of bragging rights.
The highly fancied USSR squad were basically professionals
in an age of amateurism at the Olympics. Their ‘government jobs’ left them
plenty of time to practice, and the team had mostly been together since pee wee
hockey. They knew their teammates like they were extensions of themselves. They
had the best coach in the world in Viktor Tikhonov and they had Vadislav
Tretiak, recognised as the best goalie at the time minding the net behind
ridiculous offensive talent.
By contrast, the Americans had a squad of true amateurs,
mostly college kids, who had been cobbled together the summer before by a
divisive coach Herb Brooks, whose game plan was considered controversial, and
who had to foster team togetherness in a squad of guys, many of whom went to
rival schools, and who openly hated each other, right to the point of brawling
in NCAA tournament games previously. They were young and inexperienced, with an
average age of just 21. Brooks painted himself as the bad guy, drawing the team
together, united against their common enemy: their coach. In retrospect, it was
a masterstroke.
The USSR had no such problems. They had defeated the
American squad 10-3 at Madison Square Garden in a pre-Olympic friendly, and had
taken all before them in the tournament, recording victories of 16-0, against
Japan 17-4 over the Netherlands and comparatively tight victories against
Poland, Finland and Canada to breeze into the medal round.
To play an American squad who had struggled to a 2-2 draw
with Sweden, and followed it up with a 7-3 victory over fancied Czechoslovakia,
before wins over Norway, Romania and West Germany. All the momentum was with
the USSR squad. Indeed, they were heavy favourites.
What happened in the Olympic Centre – now known as the Herb
Brooks Arena – was like nothing we have seen before, or since. It’s a David vs.
Goliath story for the ages. The USSR dominated. They outshot the Americans 39-16
and were it not for the superhuman efforts of Boston University’s Jim Craig
between the pipes for the Americans, the game would have been a whitewash, a
total rout.
Craig was everywhere, playing out of his mind. It is still
one of the most brilliant performances the game has ever seen. Perhaps not the
most technically proficient display, but as far as defending his net against
overwhelming pressure, you’d go a long way to find a game more stunning than
Craig’s was that day.
The American goals are etched in hockey folklore: Buzz
Schneider’s tally to even the game at 1-1 in the first period. Then Dave
Christian’s in-hope shot from centre ice with just a handful of seconds left in
that same period. Tretiak gave up a sloppy rebound, spilling it right onto the
stick of Wisconsin’s Mark Johnson, who moved between two defenders and scored
with 0:01 left on the clock.
At 2-2 after one period, Tikhonov made perhaps the most
fateful decision in hockey history, inexplicably benching Tretiak, the best
goalie in the world, for unproven back-up Vladimir Myshkin. It is a decision
that haunted Tikhonov. He called it “the worst decision of my career,” and not
many disagree.
The second period was dominated by the Soviets, who outshot
the USA 12-2, and took a 3-2 lead into the final frame, off a power play goal by
Alexsandr Maltsev. A period of 27 minutes passed before the Americans fired
their first shot at Myshkin. In contrast, the Soviets were peppering Craig, who
fought off shot after shot. Johnson, the son of the famous coach ‘Badger’ Bob
Johnson, Herb Brooks’ long-time adversary, scored his second to tie the game at
3-3.
Then came arguably the single most defining moment in US
hockey history. It came just a few shifts after Johnson’s goal. Mark Pavelich
found his captain Mike Eruzione alone in the high slot, having somehow snuck
onto the ice undetected. Pav to Rizzo. Shot. Score. Bedlam. Myshkin never saw
it, screened by his own man in front. Those who were there say there was a roar
like no other. It was bedlam. Al Michaels just about had to scream to be heard
on the ABC broadcast.
Suddenly, Craig’s goal was besieged. The Soviets came again
and again, but the Bostonian stood tall, making save after save as the crowd
chanted “USA! USA!” Tikhonov never pulled Myshkin late to get an extra attacker
on the ice, and as the crowd began to count down the remaining seconds, Al
Michaels cemented himself in history (and set up his brilliant broadcasting
career) with these immortal words:
“Eleven seconds, you’ve got ten seconds, the countdown is going on
right now! Morrow up to Silk. Five seconds left in the game. Do you believe in
miracles?” YES!!”
Game over. The USA had triumphed 4-3, and as players mobbed
Jim Craig in front of his net, the usually-reserved Herb Brooks left the bench
and ran back to the locker room, where he cried. It was that sort of night. His
game plan had worked, his team had united under Eruzione’s leadership. They had
persevered, and they had done the unthinkable, beaten the unbeatable, winning a
game that they really had no business winning, and would probably have lost 99
times out of a hundred.
And thirty five years later, they still remember it. It is
still a part of Lake Placid. It was such a giant occasion that people tend to forget
that the Americans went on to win gold, defeating Finland. The gold medal
decider matters less than the semi that preceded it. You can walk through what
was once the Olympic Centre and is now the Herb Brooks Arena, visit the museum
and watch the game on a TV in the corner of the small room. Those last few
seconds, and Al Michaels’ momentous words, are spine-tingling in the extreme.
That game made people believe in miracles, at least of the
hockey variety, and it’s unlikely we’ll ever see one quite as miraculous as
what unfolded in Lake Placid.
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