My father has always been a fan of the Canadiens, I remember as a child seeing him in his pajamas in the living room in front of the black and white TV with a bag of gummies and a Labatt 50 at the time of Yvan Cournoyer, Guy Lafleur and the other legends. The house shook when the Canadian scored a goal, THE BUUUUT! ! ! !
In March 1993, he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. The cancer was already advanced and incurable. My father was only 50 years old. My sisters and I are now his seniors. After an operation in April and all the preparations for my mother to be safe after she left, he hadn’t really followed the season, but we had followed the playoffs together.
I had two young children and my youngest was born at the end of May. I tried to spend as much time as possible with him. I often stopped after work, helped around the house. We were talking about series and a bit of everything.
On June 9, I came to watch the game with him. He had lost nearly half his weight. Cancer was on the power play. Early in the game, I realized this would be the last hockey game I would share with my dad. It was a mix of emotions and I was trying hard to keep smiling. Since the diagnosis, I had put all my emotions aside to be strong for the family, I was in combat mode.
My father died two months later. The Canadian has not won the Stanley Cup since.
I had lived in Virginia Beach for two years and was very bored of hockey. In Montreal, I played hockey five times a week, so needless to say, I missed it incredibly. Also, there was no arena to play my favorite sport. Finally, there, the Canadian was unknown to everyone. Eventually I was able to find a bar where they were showing the final game. Yaaay, I was the only one to show up, without embarrassment and with all my insatiable and jubilant passion. After the game, I returned home on my motorcycle with my CH jersey on my back, honking my horn. It felt weird celebrating alone when no one else cared. Well… what a joy it was for this Cinderella team we had. What beautiful and distant memories.
Montreal, rue Cartier, at the corner of Sherbrooke. After a long and harsh first winter on the Plateau, spring was looking very good for my roommate and myself with this famous course of our Glorious.
That evening of June 9, 1993, the old 20-inch TV generously donated by a friend showed obvious signs of fatigue that certainly betrayed its age. Never mind, we have a backup plan with the even older and smaller TV, in black and white at that. Fingers crossed that we won’t have to resort to this one. The game begins, the TV unlocks, a few moves to the right of the case, another move to the left, here is the image that stops jumping and allows us to witness in peace, we hoped, the magic of this ultimate part which turned out to be in fact the last of this thrilling series.
The memory is still very present, I remember all these people arriving from the stadium by Sherbrooke Street heading downtown celebrating and shouting for joy. From our balcony, my roommate and I were jubilant on this warm, euphoric evening. We never would have guessed that the CH would not win another one afterwards.
Game 11 at the Forum in the playoffs was the Stanley Cup victory. $15 standing tickets! I was 15 at the time, and my friend and I would go to the Forum two hours before games started to be the first in line, since when the gates opened it was a race to find each other. standing room behind the red section. Otherwise, you had to fall back on places behind the whites, or worse, at the very top behind the blues.
We went to see several playoff games that year, including the Stanley Cup victory, which obviously remains an unforgettable memory. But my fondest memory is Game 10 at the Forum, Game 2 against the Kings. That evening, we couldn’t get to the game early, we had to watch the first two periods standing at the very top back of the blues section. The railing was higher there, and I was barely tall enough to see over it, even on tiptoe.
During the intermission between the 2nd and 3rd periods, a couple of good Samaritans appeared in front of us and offered us their pair of tickets sitting down in the red section! They had to go, and you can be sure I didn’t ask why! We were able to witness Eric Desjardins’ famous equalizer at the end of the 3rd period (during the penalty to Marty McSorley by virtue of his illegal stick), then the hat trick of number 28, in overtime, to give at CH its first victory in the final.
I had to be present at the match, I had my season tickets, unfortunately, I was on a plane to Paris. Normally I would have been in the locker room after the game to celebrate with the team, I was so unhappy… I painted this picture of this Stanley Cup conquest and it was the Canadian’s Christmas card that year .
Spring 1993, I received my series tickets numbered 1 to 16, because there would be a maximum of 16 games played in Montreal. Then comes the final against Wayne Gretzky’s team, the Los Angeles Kings… Small detail, I share my ticket with my brother Yvon and we alternate games in Montreal.
First part to him the ticket, second part it’s my turn, and the third fateful part, the CH can win the Cup at the old Forum… but I don’t have a ticket! What can I do to attend my Glorieux match? It is now 5 p.m., I venture to scratch the next note, numbered 14, which I scratch with a razor blade and I round with a grease pencil to make a zero to attend the standing part between the whites and the reds . I get to the arena early so I have time to get home in case my evil plan doesn’t work. My turn comes to the door, I hold my ticket with my fingertips, I look the ticket clerk in the eye and tell him loudly, “I hope we win tonightrrr.” »
BINGO! I am in sanctuary to see MY club win the Cup in a heated Forum in the final five minutes. I wish a new generation to relive such an exhilarating playoff race and parade through the streets of the city.
For me, the last Stanley Cup won by the Montreal Canadiens reminds me of a fond memory of my father, so proud to have been there that night. He was a fervent admirer of the Canadiens, and never missed an opportunity to see a game when he was in Montreal. He was originally from Lac-Saint-Jean and had lived his active life on the North Shore. Proud father of five children, he liked to follow the games on television with the whole family, with all the passion and outbursts that the Montreal Canadiens made us experience on television, live.
That year, he was at the start of his young, well-deserved retirement. And that year too, a few months later, life wanted him to die suddenly of cardiac arrest, on December 2.
We keep a precious memory of this victory for the Canadian, because it reminds us of the sweet memory of a loving father loved by all.
Our father worked for a big company that had season tickets for the Canadiens. The whole company was in an annual meeting in Quebec City on June 9. So, our father calls us during the day, to offer us hockey tickets for the 5th game of the final, in the reds! At that time, we were only 16 and 19!
The atmosphere at the Forum was completely crazy. We felt it would happen tonight. We had a cardboard Stanley Cup with us. The last five minutes of the match, everyone was on their feet, it was total euphoria. The people behind us offered us glasses of beer. Coming out, everyone was giving each other high-fives and hugs. It was party time and joy! Coming home, on the subway, the driver was singing, “Na na na na, Na na na na, hey hey hey Goooodbye!” Fifteen years later, at the centennial of the Canadiens, we bought ourselves a brick to immortalize this evening. It remains to this day one of our fondest family memories.
Thank you dad !
My memories of the ultimate conquest of the Stanley Cup in June 1993 are tinged with great joy, but also with deep sadness. At that time, I was diagnosed with a cancerous tumor in my right breast. It was obviously a very difficult ordeal for me and my family. As luck would have it, I was hospitalized precisely during the week the Canadiens got their hands on the precious trophy. I remember listening to the final part on a small black and white screen of a portable television. I also remember seeing all the players parade around the rink, especially Patrick Roy with all the pride we know him to be.
At the same time, I heard the cars parade along Rosemont Boulevard, honking their horns. What great emotion!
Since that time, the Glorious have failed to get their hands on the ultimate trophy. But the beauty of the matter is that the cancer never came back.
On June 9, 1993 in the morning, my boss gives me two tickets in the red for the evening game and asks me to find a client to accompany me. After a few unsuccessful attempts (let’s say I didn’t overdo it…), I found the perfect person to go to the game, my 10-year-old son, hockey player and Habs fan.
Throughout the game, we knew the series would end that night and the atmosphere was electric. Spectators spent the last five minutes on their feet cheering on our team. When Patrick Roy lifted the Cup, I said to my boy, “Watch this scene carefully, because we won’t be seeing this again in Montreal anytime soon.” I didn’t think the scarcity would last this long…
