Finnie Walsh by Steven Galloway Page B

hawk, but he didn’t say anything.
    While I was sitting in the kitchen recovering from my ordeal with the help of a couple of cookies and a large glass of lemonade, Finnie came in and sat down next to me. He picked up a cookie and ate it before speaking. “You were spying on Louise?”
    “Yes,” I said, wondering how he knew that.
    “So you saw the stuff.”
    “You knew about it?”
    “Sort of. Well, I was pretty sure she’d kept some of it.”
    “How come you never told me?”
    “I thought you’d be mad at her.”
    “I am. I had to give up hockey and she didn’t have to give up anything.”
    “You didn’t have to give up hockey. Why do you think she helped me build the rink?”
    I was speechless. Later, I went down to the basement to apologize to Louise.
    “Don’t worry about it,” she said.
    “I really am sorry, Louise. And thanks.”
    She looked at me vacantly. “Thanks for what?”
    “For building me the rink.”
    She laughed. “Oh, right. Sure. Well, you’re welcome.”
    I left the room more puzzled than ever about what went on in Louise’s head. I resolved to stick to things that I understood, hockey, for instance.

    That fall a young Swedish goaltender named Pelle Lindbergh entered the NHL. He was the first big-name European goaltender. In the 1982–83 season, his rookie season, he had three shutouts and let in an average of only 2.98 goals per game, making him the league’s fourth-best goalie and earning him a spot on the all-star team at the age of 23. Finnie and I saw himplay early in the season and, even though neither of us liked his team, the Philadelphia Flyers, we were taken aback by how good he was.
    That year, when our hockey season started, we were permitted to choose our own numbers for our sweaters. Finnie chose 31, Lindbergh’s number, and I chose 5, Bill Barilko’s number.
    Bashing Bill Barilko was born in Timmins, Ontario, in 1927. He entered the NHL as a defenceman with the Toronto Maple Leafs in the 1946–47 season and gained a reputation as a real grinder who made up for what he lacked in talent with enthusiastic physical play. In the 1951 Stanley Cup finals, in the fifth straight overtime game against the Montreal Canadiens, Bill Barilko fired a desperate shot from high in the slot and scored, winning the Leafs the cup. He had never scored more than seven goals in a single season and he certainly had never been considered for a spot on an all-star team. But that goal in overtime, one of only five he ever scored in the playoffs, was his last. Two months later Barilko was killed in a plane crash. The Leafs, who had won the Stanley Cup five of the previous seven years, wouldn’t win it again until 1962, 11 years later.
    Even though I had never seen Barilko play and didn’t like the Leafs more than any other team, I had an unexplainable connection to Bashing Bill. I wore his number proudly and secretly; I told no one but Finnie of its significance.

    By the time I celebrated my 13th birthday in September 1985, it had become apparent to everybody but Finnie that Peter Stastny and Wayne Gretzky were not the same calibre of player. The season before, Gretzky had scored 208 points, 73 more than his closest competitor. Peter Stastny had scored only 100 points, half as many as Gretzky and not good enough for a top-10 finish.Finnie remained undaunted; although Stastny was slipping, Finnie stuck by him.
    Meanwhile, Lindbergh led the Philadelphia Flyers to the Stanley Cup finals and, even though they lost to Gretzky and the Edmonton Oilers in four straight games, Lindbergh earned his second spot on the all-star team and was awarded the Vezina Trophy for the most valuable goaltender. In Finnie’s opinion it was in no way Lindbergh’s fault that the Flyers were swept in the finals; it was the rest of the team who screwed up.
    Only a few games into the new season, the Flyers were first in the league and it looked as though Lindbergh would have another banner year.
    Things at home