The Boston Garden was a hallowed destination for fathers and sons in the 60s. The pride of the city was the Celtics, who were NBA champs year after year. I was a basketball fanatic and my father brought my older brother and me to several games after our move from Maine to the South Shore of Boston, but coming from that northern clime my father’s preferred sport was hockey.

Every winter he flooded an improvised rink in the backyard of our suburban lawn on frigid nights. The next morning the ice shined like a silver mirror. We played hockey before and after school. The Bruins were our team; American-born Tommy Williams, the Uke line of Johnny Bucyk, Vic Stasiuk, and Bronco Horvath along with Don McKenney and Fleming, however in the early 60s the Bruins ruled only the basement.

Their cellar status didn’t deter my father from taking his sons to the Boston Garden and on January 31, 1963 we watched the Chicago Blackhawks play the home team. For decades I thought the game had been close and that Bobby Hull, the fearsome scorer, had tied the game with his third goal.

A Google search wiped the amnesia from my memory, for the Bruins had been annihilated by 1st place Chicago.

9-2

Stan Mikita trifectaed the Bruins three goals.

Back then men wore hats and the Garden ice was deluged by a homage of homburgs and borsalinos.

My father kept his hat in his hand.

“That was nothing special.”

Bobby Hull changed his mind with wicked slapshot with his curved banana stick. The goalie never reacted to the blast and # 9 scored his 8th career hat trick at 16:25 of the third.

My father flung his wide brim onto the rink.

“Now that was special.”

The Golden Rocket was special and then some.

Just like my father.

Thankfully Bobby Hull won’t be playing for the Blackhawks in the Original Six Stanley Cup Championship this week.

There were few better.