Making It Up As I Go Along #451

Gloves in the Basement
He was one of my heroes. A hockey player… a masked man… Pelle Lindbergh. With a plain white mask, ghostly, an angry brow with black eyes.

I was thirteen and, to that point, the only loss I knew was that of pets. My favourite snail, crushed beneath a neighbour’s foot. My roommate newt, gone of old age after six years. And my first dog, tough as nails but unable to overcome cancer.

I’ve known people to pass on by this age, but these are those on my fringe. For young me, hockey players are immortal. Cards bought with gum show them in snapshot… speeding down the wing, blasting a puck on net, or stretching out to make acrobatic saves.

Lindbergh cards sit pinned against my wall. Lindbergh magazine pictures mingle with a montage of other favourites on another bedroom wall. His masked face staring out at the ongoing action.

Hockey players, for thirteen year olds are immortal. Lose a few teeth. Sprain an ankle. Holding white towels on bleeding foreheads while sitting on the bench between shifts… not even willing to go to the dressing room.

The idea that a hockey player could die never even dawned on me.

Yet while visiting my grandparent’s on a long weekend, Pelle Lindbergh died.

Not understanding the circumstances, I held hope that couldn’t exist. The newscasters say that the car accident left him brain dead. And hearing the distinction… hearing them not plainly saying he has died… I hope. I ask my parents… almost pleading… “Could they fix his brain? Keep his body going until the brain is good again?”

My hope is this injury isn’t much different than those sprained ankles, lost teeth, and bleeding foreheads. If the heart is still pumping and the lungs still breathing, well… he’s alive. And there’s hope.

But brain dead isn’t the same as a few lost teeth. And it’s years later that I find out people in his condition then are kept alive not because of hope of recovery, but to give time for family and friends to come to his side and say goodbye.

And when the final word comes down… that Pelle Lindbergh has died… my image of the indestructible hockey player is gone. And my purchasing of packs of hockey cards changes some… going from collecting those with the best snap shots of action… or of my favourite goalies to search out Pelle’s last card.

And when I get it, I keep it apart from all the rest. In easy reach. Seeing him hunched over, staring intensely at an unseen faceoff. With the haunting difference that sets his card apart from all the rest… a black band across the bottom, displaying the year of his birth followed by the year of his death.

And that’s where it ended. Hockey players became human and Pelle Lindbergh became a distant image of memories on the TV, cards upon my wall, and poster pictures in memoriam.

Until this past year.

This year, Lindbergh returned to me. A book about his life and death, translated from Swedish and bought on Amazon. Written in a back and forth manner. One chapter of his youth in Sweden, followed by a chapter of his final season. A return to happy times of Junior Hockey. Then back to a few weeks before his car accident. His first days as a Philadelphia Flyer. Followed by his last days with the team. Always, I’d make sure to end my night of reading with a happy chapter. Those chapters of his end being too sad to close the book on.

And then the unexpected connection. At Montreal’s Bell Centre on a summer’s day… almost 25 years after his death. Drifting through the basement museum, looking at memorabilia with my father and brother-in-law… there in a corner sat the blocker and catching glove of Pelle Lindbergh. Pieces of equipment I used to stare at on cards and within pictures as a kid. There they are, worn from use, propped up within a glass case. His jersey hung behind them.

Hockey has been a favourite game for me. A pastime watched on TV or played on streets or frozen ponds. I’ve watched some each step of the way through their twenty year careers. Lindbergh was one I never actually watched play often. Philadelphia games rarely came on Newfoundland televisions. Pictures of him peaked my interest and games in which he played on my TV were events. I’d sit and watch quietly and intently… wanting to see the live movements of the goalie who captured my imagination in frozen images on cards and within magazines.

While I’ve seen more of the lives of many other hockey players, the passing of Pelle Lindbergh affected my life more than most anything else that’s happened in hockey. It was my first real lesson in mortality.

I’ve often wondered, even these 25 years later, what kind of career he could have had. Where he would have ranked among the great goaltenders of hockey? How many wins and shutouts would he have had? Would he have won a Stanley Cup?

There are greater hockey legends in the history of the game. But none have meant more to my life than Pelle Lindbergh.



SUNDAY…
--- Take the day off work. Around the house… some TV… then ball. We win 6-5 scoring the winning run with two out in the bottom of the 7th in a 5-5 tie… and it’s the first time I’ve driven in the winning run in such a situation. After some 25 years of ball, you’d think I’d have done that prior to now. But it was fun enough. And played well in the field again.
--- End watching Sons of Anarchy tonight. Good show… all three seasons now complete.

MONDAY…
--- Off work again today. Lots of video games and a bit of TV. Some computer time and not much else but a nap. Six day weekends are nice things.

TUESDAY…
--- Some TV and a nap during the day. Work the night. Pretty steady work.

WEDNESDAY…
--- Work the night shift. Get some Wendy’s on the way in and we get about 15 cm of snow through the day.

THURSDAY…
--- Some TV and cleaning once I’m up around noonish.

FRIDAY…
--- Up early to go get the boys at the airport. Del and Dave arrive on time and we do breakfast at Cora’s. MEC for some shopping… get Shannon for lunch at Dick’s… some groceries and more shopping after that followed by some computer baseball at home and the 67s vs. the Pete’s in Junior hockey. More computer baseball with some drinks end off the night.

SATURDAY…
--- Busy day. Downtown for lunch at the Heart and Crown. Walk over the bridge to Museum of Civilization for 3D Imax. Walk back across for Beavertails and a trip to the mall… then to Louis’ Pizza and bring the goodness home for a meal, some drinks, some video games, and a movie.

SUNDAY…
--- Easy going morning then off to the movies. 127 Hours is good… one scene being quite hard to watch but still very good.
--- Drop Shannon after the movie and grab a bite to eat and watch some hockey at home with Del and Dave. Bring them to the airport and talk to mom and dad during the drive home. Some TV tonight… the update will be posted tomorrow instead of today. Too busy… time to unwind.