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Friday, July 14
Final Fantasy: The NHL's Best?

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Toronto needs it for national pride. Eric Lindros needs it for personal salvation. St. Louis needs it because it's the new Titletown? Warner-Bruce, make room for Pronger-MacInnis. And nice guy Ray Bourque's Avs need it so Ray doesn't have to be remembered as hockey's Dan Marino. Sixteen teams have a chance at the Cup, but if you're looking for a really good story, root for this Final Four.

Philadelphia Flyers
Redemption
Ripping the C off, now that was cold. That was gutless. That was the last straw. Eric Lindros is out with a concussion, recuperating at home in Toronto, and he finds out from his father--who finds out from a media guy looking for a quote--that he is no longer captain of the Flyers. Eric Desjardins is a "top-quality person," Flyers GM Bobby Clarke says in a press release announcing his team's new captain. Desjardins is "important" to the team. He's very "competitive." Lindros is not mentioned in the release. Brrrr.

It is true that Eric Lindros came into the NHL as the Next Great One, expected to dominate the league like Wayne Gretzky and Mario Lemieux did. He was the NHL's version of Shaq, a 6-foot-4, 240-pound man playing with boys. He was a skilled skater, shooter, goal scorer -- the second coming of Gordie Howe. That is all true.

It is also true that in his eighth season, Lindros, who was traded one-up for eight players before he ever laced his skates for an NHL game, has not delivere a Stanley Cup to Philadelphia. Lemieux won it in his seventh season. Gretzky won it in his fifth. Howe in his fourth. Lindros made it to the Finals once and was swept. But while we're talking about truth, you should know this, too:

In 486 career games, Lindros has 290 goals and 369 assists for 659 points, an average of 1.35 points per game in an era when 100-point scorers in an 82-game season are rarer than good 'N Sync albums. The career numbers from Lemieux (2.00) and Gretzky (1.92) are better, but they didn't play the game like Lindros does-full of collision and brute force. Lindros can be a wrecking ball on the ice. He takes no crap. He has 946 penalty minutes. He shies away from no one. Gretzky and Lemieux had enforcers assigned to their flanks. Lindros clears his own path.

His knees have been mangled. He has had three concussions and a collapsed lung. All the injuries may have caused the friction between Lindros and Clarke. Lindros has missed a ton of games in his career-nine in the playoffs. In Clarke's day, you played hurt. He has called Lindros a "baby." When Lindros criticized the club's training and medical staff, Clarke interpreted it as insubordination and punished Eric. He ripped the C off. That was cold.

In Philadelphia these days, they don't talk about the Phillies much. No one seems to be all that interested in what the Eagles will do at the draft. Thank God for Allen Iverson and the Sixers because the radio airwaves are filled with hysterical talk of the Flyers. The black ink on the pages of the sports sections fairly quivers. If ever Bobby Clarke, the victim in this blame game, was thinking of running for mayor, now would not be the time. But confusion hangs in the air too. Last summer, defenseman Dmitri Tertyshny was killed in a boating accident. Broadcast legend Gene Hart died. A few months into the season, coach Roger Neilson announced he had bone-marrow cancer. No one was quite sure if the Flyers were good enough to overcome all that. Now Lindros loses the C.

The Flyers deserve to go to the Final Four because John LeClair and Mark Recchi and Desjardins play well despite ridiculous distractions. They deserve to go so John Vanbiesbrouck beats back Brian Boucher for the starting spot and shuts up those who say it was a mistake to sign him over Cujo. They deserve to go because the longer they play, the closer Neilson is to returning to the bench this season. They deserve to go, hell, they deserve to win it all because Lindros will be back for the second round, and he would make a great story-leading the Flyers to the Cup, holding it aloft, burning the image, the final image of him as a Flyer and a champion, into the memory of Bobby Clarke. Where it can haunt forever. -- Al Morganti

St. Louis Blues
Heavenly Gateway?
You can take this to the bank, or more aptly, to church. The St. Louis Blues are going to the Final Four and are odds-on favorites to win it all. This is not a prediction, but a matter of divine fact: The Gateway City is now Titletown USA. Why? Because St. Louis teams have God on their side.

It all started in January 1999, when Pope John Paul II hit town and packed the Trans World Dome with faithful worshippers. Evangelist Billy Graham was only slightly less popular under the dome last fall. Result: The Rams, the NFL's worst team of the '90s, beat 100-to-1 odds and won the Super Bowl. The winning pass, from Kurt Warner to Isaac Bruce, was touched by an angel. Warner, the former Iowa stockboy and refugee from indoor football and NFL Europe, praised Jesus to start every postgame interview. Bruce, who rolled his car before the playoffs, said he was able to walk away unscathed because he invoked His name in midflip.

There is more:
While in town, the Pope held a youth rally in Kiel Center, also home of the St. Louis University basketball team. The Billikens, barely a .500 team this season, miraculously toppled four higher seeds in four days in early March to win the Conference USA tournament and earn an NCAA dance card. One of those higher-seed upsets was over Cincinnati, then the nation's No.1 team, in a game in which Bearcat star Kenyon Martin, the nation's best player, slipped and broke his leg.

Since the Pope bunked a couple of miles down the street from campus, the Washington University women's basketball team has finished off back-to-back unbeaten seasons, won their second and third straight Division III national titles and pushed their winning streak to 68 games.

At Kiel, the Pope met Mark McGwire, who kissed the Pontiff's ring and then kissed 65 baseballs goodbye. Then Big Mac's off-season prayers were answered: three starters (Andy Benes, Darryl Kyle, Pat Hentgen), a closer (Dave Veres), a leadoff man (Fernando Vina) and a centerfielder (Jim Edmonds) became Cards.

Also at Kiel, youngsters presented the Pope with a Blues sweater and a stick, which he then swung. The Blues, in chaos after Mike Keenan's devilish regime, had a great postseason run last year, then soared to first overall this season.

If God likes those who help themselves, he must love these Blues. This summer, almost every one of the NHL individual awards could go to a Blue. Coach Joel Quenneville, who showed how to beat the trap with speedsters and puck-movers, is the favorite as top coach. Chris Pronger (plus-46) is a lock for best defenseman honors (won by teammate Al MacInnis last year). And Pronger is gaining on injury-prone Jaromir Jagr for the league MVP. ("Is God on our side?" asks forward Kelly Chase. "God is on our team--Pronger.")

Roman Turek took the best stats portfolio (41-14, 1.92, .914) into Vezina voting for top goalie. If hockey writers are doing their jobs, center Michal Handzus will win the Selke as best defensive forward. Fit wing Pavol Demitra with the Lady Byng. And create the best newcomer award and give it to Stephane Richer.


	Toronto's Sundin has plenty of scoring around him.

With all of that, the Stanley Cup Finals should be a blessed event in St. Louis (which is, after all, named for a saint). Maybe even at the Vatican, where his Holiness can catch the playoffs on station REI SAT, Italy's version of public television. Having God on their side has clearly been a boon to the Blues. But as forward Craig Conroy sees it, it's a win-win situation.

"Now every team is going to want the Pope to come to their arena," Conroy says. "The Church is going to make a fortune in appearance fees." -- Tom Wheatley

Toronto Maple Leafs
Canada's Divine right
Native son Jim Carrey denied an Oscar nomination. The nation's flag-carrying airline forced to merge to survive. Guilty of both Celine and Shania. Oh, poor Canada! Grizzlies and Raptors and Expos and Blue Jays, combined, muster less mystique than a dish of flan. Meanwhile, the hockey scene -- unkindest cut of all -- is worse, and worsening. The map keeps sliding farther south from hockey's birthplace until soon there'll be more teams closer to Mexico than to Canada. Staunch Canadian hockey towns like Winnipeg and Quebec City have been dumped in favor of nowheresvilles like Columbus and Raleigh-Durham, where not even Arena Football deigns to tread. A puny dollar and the citizenry's thumbs-down on financing 21st century arenas with taxpayer money leaves Canadian franchises with crumbs in the big-money free agent era. Ask not why Lord Stanley's Basin has come home to Canada just twice in the past decade. It's the economics, stupid.

This is sickening. All Canada has by way of a unifying national idea is hockey. For it to be perennially absent from the Stanley Cup hunt is like Italy shut out of opera, or Paraguay missing Helsinki Watch's 10 Worst Human Rights Offenders list. So please, God, for the sake of justice and humanity, put a Canadian team at least in the Final Four this year. And psst: Could you make it Toronto?

The Maple Leafs are as close as there is to Canada's Team. The Canucks, Flames, Oilers, Senators and Canadiens are at best regional darlings; by ancient custom it's still Maple Leaf blue they bleed up north. In the NHL's formative decades -- when the only other Canadian franchise was Montreal's Club Habitant, standard-bearer for the fierce French-Canadian minority--the Anglophone majority made sure every nationally broadcast Hockey Night in Canada was a night at Maple Leaf Gardens. It helped that the Leafs' Way radiated an un-Canadian vibe. The full-house crowds in the spotless Gardens amiably complied with management's no-smoking-no-drinking-no-rudeness edicts. Between-periods entertainment was Strauss waltzes by a military band under a giant portrait of Her Majesty the Queen. Fair-minded to a fault, Toronto fans applauded brilliant play even if it was an opponent's -- to the point that playing on home ice, an ex-Leaf once said, was like playing on the road. The Leafs won eight Stanley Cups in the 20 years before expansion, the old-fashioned way -- farm teams, shrewd deals, hockey smarts.

Then Leafs founder and spiritual leader Conn Smythe died, followed by his sleazeball son and heir, Stafford, and the franchise fell into the hands of a singularly repulsive petty tyrant, Harold Ballard. An almost biblical plague, the Ballard era reduced the mighty Leafs to a laughingstock. Then the Anti-Leaf died in his turn, and under new ownership, a new president came to the rescue: Hall of Famer Ken Dryden, who even looks like Clark Kent. The sun came out of hiding.

Meet Canada's Team, circa 2000: seven Russians, including sharpshooters Sergei Berezin and Igor Korolev, plus Steve Thomas are members of a flock of 20-plus goalscorers led by captain Mats Sundin. Backed by prize free agent Curtis Joseph. Spines stiffened by hockey's Thurman Munson, Wendel Clark. Supported by a cadre of young legs and steady journeymen, not to mention everybody's favorite enforcer, Tie Domi. Stability and honor restored, the Leafs have vacated the doldrums (and the once hallowed, now haunted Gardens) and even got back their classy old uniforms. It's a new Era of Good Feeling and strong teams. Strong enough to reach the Final Four? With a little divine nudging, why not? A swig of victory champagne -- what a way to cap the restoration and rinse the lingering bitter taste. For the Leafs, for hockey, for long-suffering Canada. -- Bruce McCall

Colorado Avalanche
Ray's Last Best Chance
We love sports, and we love hockey. We root not for the perennial powers or representatives of home city, state or province. We root for the best action, the best guys, the best stories. We want the Colorado Avalanche to make it to the Final Four.

The 'Lanche make us want to put out the cheese balls and grab some sofa when the NHL goes deep into spring. They wear cool uniforms, play in the shadow of the Rockies and, best of all, hate neutral zone traps and dump-and-chase hockey as much as we do. The Avs have speed and talent and attack the net.

They also have star power. The best big-game goalie of all-time, Patrick Roy. The best wrist shot in the game today, Quoteless Joe Sakic. The best center who was traded for -- and turned out to be better than--Eric Lindros and who is immortalized on a postage stamp in his native Sweden, Peter Forsberg. And that kid who pitched Trumbull, Conn., to the Little League World Series championship over Taiwan in 1989 and, oh by the way, was top rookie last season, Chris Drury.

And now they've got Ray Bourque.

Ray Bourque. Hockey's Cal Ripken Jr., or merely a ringless Dan Marino? In his 21st year with the moribund Bruins, the old man with the C was shipped to Colorado for the final 15 games of the season. Like Roger Clemens, Wade Boggs and Babe Ruth before him, Bourque is a Boston icon who must win his championship elsewhere.

At 39, Bourque has shown there's plenty of mileage left in his sequoia thighs. (Bourque's legs are so big, he's still wearing tattered Bruins shorts, the only ones that fit.) His arrival in Colorado sparked a six-game winning streak and put the underachieving Avalanche back on track for the playoffs. After scoring only 10 goals in 65 games with the Bruins, Bourque had seven in his first 11 games with his new team. He is the only defenseman in NHL history in the 400-goal club.

Bourque made two Finals appearances more than a decade ago, but Boston didn't come close to winning. So here's what we want: Bourque to morph into John Elway, come to the mountains and put his name on the Cup. "There's no guarantee we'll win it," he says, "but this is an opportunity to compete in the playoffs."

That's all he asks. An opportunity. That's all we want. A chance for the old man to win it all. "Everybody wants to see Ray win a Cup," says Dave Reid, who played with Bourque in Boston and now dresses next to him in the Colorado locker room. "You always want to win it for the guys beside you, but now there's even more incentive to make guys dig a little deeper."

It has been a feel-good year in American sports. David Robinson, Joe Torre and Kurt Warner, good guys all, won championships. So Bourque could be a Cup carpetbagger in John Elway country. Anybody have a problem with that?

"I know a lot of people became Avalanche fans when I moved here," Bourque says.

But would there be anything cheesy about winning it all in Colorado, after playing 99.9% of his career in Boston? "I don't think so," he says. "If we win, I think I'm going to have a big part in it. I hope I get to answer that question."

The Avalanche have engendered some bad will in recent years -- the consequences of pilfering such icons as Roy, Theo Fleury and now Bourque. They reinforced the theory that life's not fair when they won a Cup in Colorado in their first season after skating in slush for 16 years in Quebec. But we don't care. They don't trap, and they stay away from dump-and-chase. They have big stars, that Little League kid and cool unis. And they've got Ray Bourque.

And everybody loves Raymond. -Dan Shaughnessy


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