It was tough for a young guy to make an NHL roster in the 1950s when there were only six franchises and about 120 players.
While watching junior hockey phenom Connor Bedard’s brilliance at the recent world junior hockey championships in Halifax, I was reminded of an old, frequently used idiom.
As I write my journey through the early months of my 69th year in newspapers, the question comes up more and more frequently: Why keep working so long?
As most die-hard hockey followers have known since birth, there are good times and bad times on the sports calendar. There are high points and low points wherever games are played.
John Soosaar and I have crossed paths many times during the last 65 years – from our school days in New Glasgow, through our decades in the journalism world, to the publication of his riveting book about his family’s escape from war-torn Europe.
One hundred years ago – in October 1922 – a group of sports-minded individuals from Antigonish, Pictou and Colchester counties put their heads together and created a regional hockey league.
During the last two weeks, I was devastated and heartbroken, passing through the whole gamut of human emotion while one of my dearest friends was losing a brief battle against a dreaded medical foe in a hospital on the other side of the ocean.
With a scheduled Canadian Football League game at Acadia University this weekend – the Toronto Argonauts hosting the Saskatchewan Roughriders – I’ve been thinking about one man.
It’s time to call Blayre Turnbull what she is, what she affectionately became as a member of Canada’s gold medal women’s hockey team at the 2022 Olympic Games in Beijing.
Every springtime, for almost half a century, my thoughts focused back on my native Pictou County – and it has nothing to do with my personal memories of warm weather and walking barefoot on the sands of Lighthouse Beach in Pictou Landing.
I was having lunch recently with a group of old hockey fanatics when one of them asked a question that got me laughing to myself. I didn’t want to laugh in his face.
There’s an annual custom in the sports writing fraternity that, in the final days of any given calendar, you place your reputation on the line by casting a vote for the year’s best sports team.