Blackhawks Breakfast Buffet.

* This memory is a continuation of the 'My Last Game At Maple Leaf Gardens' memory.

Sunday February 14th, 1999 was Valentine’s Day. I woke up that Sunday morning at the Harbour Castle Westin Hotel in downtown Toronto and little did I know when I awoke, this Valentine’s Day would be one that I would never forget.

The previous night had been the Toronto Maple Leafs last game ever played at Maple Leaf Gardens so naturally I was in attendance. The iconic Gardens had been such a special memorable place for me over the previous three decades. Ever since I attended my first Leaf game back in February of 1972, the building has held so much mystique for me. Over the years I attended hundreds of hockey games as well as concerts, circuses, ice shows, tennis matches, religious assemblies and the Harlem Globetrotters at Maple Leaf Gardens.

When I walked out the front doors after that final game, I never knew then it would be the last time that I would ever set foot inside the Gardens again. After sitting dormant for over a decade the Gardens was now slated to become a Loblaw’s supermarket. I vowed to myself I would never go back inside the building now known as The Mattamy Athletic Centre. Even out of sheer curiosity, I have never set foot back inside the former Maple Leaf Gardens.

I just could not fathom how a place that held so many special memories was now selling four hundred different kinds of cheese from all around the world. There was even a big red dot on the Loblaw’s sales floor letting shoppers know the exact spot where center ice had once been.

How sacrilege.

Just the thought of shopping carts filled with fuck’n cheese being pushed over the exact spot where every Leafs home game faced off since 1931 still irritates me even to this day.

I think I’ll pass Loblaw’s, thank you very much.

Back in 1998, my wife Bonnie had been the top fundraiser for the United Way at her place of employment. She was awarded two nights at the Harbour Castle Westin Hotel. We decided to use one of the free nights after that final game and that would be the only reason why I was waking up that Sunday morning in a hotel. The previous night had been a late night and we had slept in a little later than usual. The first thing I did when I got out of bed was to retrieve the complimentary newspaper each guest room received just outside their door. At the exact same time Bonnie had received a phone call from a work colleague asking her if I had taken a sign to the game the night before.

I had indeed taken a sign to the final game which read “HOCKEY IS MY RELIGION AND I’M IN CHURCH.” Bonnie told her friend that I had taken a sign and asked her why. Her friend told her to just make sure she looked at page two in the Sunday National Post. I had just picked up the Sunday National Post from outside our door and I had the paper right in my hand so she didn’t have to go far. We quickly flipped the front page over and page two had a large coloured crowd shot with me proudly holding up my sign. The angle of the photo had the large sign covering my face completely, but Bonnie was not so lucky, she was clearly visible and recognizable. She was a bit miffed and not too impressed after seeing her picture in the paper beside me holding my sign.

Even before the game she had told me how taking a sign was very juvenile and something a grown man doesn’t do. I had now been relegated to David Puddy status from the Seinfeld episode 'The Face Painter'. To her there was no difference between holding up a large sign and painting your face.

“Yeah that’s right, you gotta support the team". Both Bonnie like Elaine just don’t get it.

Before we went down to the lobby to check out we decided to have a late breakfast in the hotel before heading back home. We were both starving so we decided on the all you can eat buffet. We grabbed a table and headed over to the buffet line where I could not believe my eyes. The last person in the lineup, the person right in front of me was Bob Probert.

Bob Probert was the toughest motherfucker in the National Hockey League.

The Chicago Blackhawks who had defeated the Leafs 6-2 the night before were also staying at the hotel. I had already known this, but I did not think they would still be in the hotel. Back then almost all of the professional sports teams visiting Toronto stayed at the Harbour Castle Westin and they are usually at the airport or on a flight to their next destination that late in the morning. The Blackhawk's next game would be the following night in Ottawa and as I looked around I recognized many other players who were also eating breakfast.

“Nice game last night,” I said to Bobby.

“Yeah thanks” he replied.

I could tell Bobby was a man of few words.

I was also surprised how Bobby did not seem as large a man as I thought he would be. Standing right beside him, I was taller by a couple inches, but Bobby was heavier by about twenty pounds. The buffet line was moving slowly and I clearly saw Bobby's mangled knuckles as he reached in to spoon himself some scrambled eggs. It would be a safe bet that Bobby’s knuckles would look like they did on that morning all season and every season throughout his sixteen year NHL career.

No one was tougher than Bob Probert.

It was at that moment when I realized the man who was standing beside me also scored the last goal ever at Maple Leaf Gardens the night before.

“Congrats on scoring the final goal at the Gardens,” I said.

“Yeah thanks,” Bobby replied while grabbing a couple strips of bacon.

“Bob would you please sign my program from last night… the last goal,” I asked.

“Yeah sure.” Bobby grinned.

I put my plate down, excused myself and immediately ran back up to my room to retrieve my program. Bonnie was already eating a bowl of fresh fruit at our table. I was back within five minutes and presented the program to Bobby who was now sitting at his table eating breakfast with a couple other teammates.

“Thank you so much Bob, this one will be a keeper,” I said as he handed me back the now signed program.

I went over and sat with Bonnie and told her I had just gotten the player who scored the final goal in the final game ever at Maple Leaf Gardens to sign my program. I showed Bonnie the autograph, “Last goal Bob Probert #24”. I don’t think she was that impressed with my amazing one of a kind forever keepsake, she was still brooding over my childhood sign antics.

It is what it is get over it.

Shit!

I then realized I had grabbed the wrong program. I grabbed the program I had already gotten Vladislav Tretiak to sign the night before. Tretiak was the Blackhawks goaltending coach that year. I met him while he was just standing all alone in the lobby where he was not at all being recognized, but I knew who he was. I had meant to grab a clean program for Bobby to sign, but I was not about to bug Bobby again and risk being on the receiving end of his bloodied knuckles.

After we ate breakfast we went upstairs to grab our stuff so we could check out.

Harold 'Mush' March had scored the first ever goal at Maple Leaf Gardens on November 12, 1931. He had presided over the previous night’s opening ceremonial face-off with the exact same puck he had scored the first ever goal with. He too was staying at the same hotel. I told Bonnie how incredible I thought it would be if I could get Mr. March to also sign the same program Bobby had signed. It would have meant that we'd have to hang around a bit longer to search for him, but I knew I could find him.

My mission would now be to find 'Mush'.

There was not a snowball's chance in hell that my now grouchy, moody wife was interested in hunting down an almost ninety year old hockey relic. I didn’t push my luck, I settled for the treasured memento I now had in my hand and we checked out. God, how I now wish that I ignored my wife and found 'Mush'. I could have had both the first ever and the final goal scorer’s signatures on the same program.

How cool would that have been? I am pretty sure there would not be many, if any of those programs in existence.

Sadly, it will never happen.

In January 2002 Harold 'Mush' March passed away at the age of 93.

In July 2005 Bob Probert passed away at the age of 45.

As I write this story I have yet to see another program hand signed by Bob Probert from that final game acknowledging he had scored the final goal. My 'The Final Game' program is unique; it is framed and sits on my wall where it will always be displayed. It truly is a one of a kind item signed by a truly one of a kind player.

R.I.P Bob Probert #24 you were the toughest motherfucker of them all.

*Update: Bonnie and I had just one more Valentine's Day together in 2000 before she split for darker pastures. I still have and always will have my signed 'The Final Game' program from that night. And yes, you gotta support the team.

I know I always will.

*Update: In 2020 I did indeed see another 'Final Game' program where Bob Probert had also signed the same inscription he had signed on mine.