Coach: The Pat Burns Story (25 page)

In Toronto, Burns convened a meeting to address leadership, dismissing the idea that Clark was guilty of leaving a void in that area, pointing fingers instead at veterans who’d won the whole enchilada elsewhere. “The guys with Stanley Cup rings have done (bleep). But I’ve talked to them about it and I made them talk a bit too. If we believe we’re beat, then we’re beat.” Team psychologist Max Offenberger was tapped to make a dressing-room house call. Of more direct influence was Burns’s decision to neutralize the distraction of Ciccarelli. Simply put: Ignore him. Let the guy chirp and harass Potvin. Render him invisible. Potvin signed on to the strategy. “I’m not going to touch him. I won’t let him bother me. I’m going to try to see through him.” Potvin says Burns made a point of bucking him up. “He came to me in the room saying, ‘I don’t want you on the ice today for practice. Make sure you rest and are ready for game three.’ Right away, that cleared any doubts I may have had in my head.”

Following a brisk practice, assistant coach Mike Kitchen booted a garbage can in anger when he saw the media swarming around Clark’s
stall. The captain was his usual stoic and straightforward self when queried about whether he still had a leadership role on the club that extended beyond the ice. “I don’t know. I’m not that deep. I’m a farmer, for God’s sake. I show up and play, and that’s the only part that’s in my control.”

The team’s psyche was fragile, and its big guns had gone silent. Gilmour had two goals in two games, one on the power play. Dave Andreychuk, saddled with a reputation as a playoff vanishing act from his years in Buffalo—“Andy-choke”—had yet to score. Gilmour suggested the squad had been too uptight in Detroit. “We’ve been nervous. We’ve been scared out there because we didn’t want to lose.” Crucially, as Burns emphasized, they needed to wise up, avoid being drawn into taking penalties that were killing them. “We have to be smart and keep our energy for when the clock is ticking, not for the scrums and the fights. We can’t worry about out-toughing them.”

In the third game, Toronto came out flying and banging bodies. With a little more room to operate and the advantage of the last line change, Gilmour and Andreychuk cranked up production. Although the Leafs wasted three consecutive first-period power plays, the extra-man situations gave them the momentum needed to jump into a 2–0 lead. But it was Clark who silenced his critics with a commanding, muscular performance. Several Wings were nearly quartered by his bone-crunching Clarkian body slams. He scored the goal that gave Toronto a 3–1 lead—parked at the edge of the crease, taking a pass from Gilmour behind the net and stuffing a backhand between the legs of Tim Cheveldae—and shoved the Leafs back into the series, Toronto winning 4–2. In the locker room afterwards, the unassuming warrior made a press pack wait for twenty minutes while he had a long chat with a young fan in a wheelchair. Then Clark stood in the media circle, braces still latched around both gimpy knees, and offered only a gentle retort. “You know the media is going to throw things at you. I just put my skates on, play the game.”

Burns spread around the praise. “The fans were just great. The guys on the bench were just jumping. It was the first time I’ve seen everybody on the bench just jumping.” A series of tactical coaching moves had
contributed significantly. Using last line change to his advantage, Burns deployed ten different line combinations in the first period alone. “And be sure to leave Dino Ciccarelli alone in front of the net. Why get into a wrestling match with him?” The pest was not a factor. “It took us two games to get used to playoff-style hockey, but we’re in control of our emotions now and we still don’t feel like we’ve played our best hockey.”

The yapping between opposing coaches, each trying to secure a psychological edge, was bordering on silly. Murray even whined that Burns had a leg-up because of the eight-inch riser behind the Leaf bench. He complained that it gave Burns a better view and made him more imposing to game officials. Burns sniped right back, noting that the visiting coach’s office in Detroit was in the men’s washroom. “That’s not bad, except when a security guard came in to use it. The place smelled for half an hour.” By the start of game four, Murray had his own riser.

It was another chippy affair. While Gilmour and Andreychuk performed superbly, it was the supporting players who stepped up, Burns issuing kudos in particular to his ferocious checking line of Peter Zezel, Mark Osborne and Bill Berg for containing Detroit’s top troika. Zezel won three crucial faceoffs in the Leaf zone with a minute left in regulation, goalie pulled, Toronto up 3–2. Raised in Toronto’s Beaches neighbourhood, Zezel spoke reverently about donning the blue and white. “Every time the sweater is put on, there’s a price. As soon as that sweater goes on, guys go for their guns.”

With the series tied at two games apiece, Burns was jubilant. “It could have been the hardest I’ve seen them work. There is a lot of pride on this team.” Andreychuk had potted the winner and was asked if he’d finally shed the “Andy-choke” handle. “Not by any means. I’ve still got a long ways to go.” Little did he know.

Everybody was banged up and bruised, none more than Gilmour, with several stitches threaded to close an inch-long cut below one eye and a crescent-shaped cut above the other eyebrow. That owwie occurred when Steve Chiasson drove Gilmour’s head into the boards in the second period. Later in the game, Mark Howe tomahawked his left wrist, at the base of the thumb, sending Gilmour straight to the Gardens medical clinic cupping
the hinge, Dr. Leith Douglas in pursuit. He returned to action a minute later, taped up. “Your heart stops,” said Burns. “But he’s tough. He came back.” No worries, said Gilmour, the wrist wasn’t broken. “I’ve got X-ray eyes, so I can tell you it’s only a bruise.”

“It’s a new series now,” Burns crowed. “That’s what happens in the playoffs. Things go from hot to cold and from cold to hot. That’s the fun of the playoffs, what makes it exciting. This could be a long series. We’re an ugly team to play against.” There were smiles of delight, too, when, contrary to predictions, Borschevsky suddenly returned to practice. Gilmour assured inquisitors his wrist wasn’t busted, even joked about doing pushups and lifting weights. Stepping off the ice after practice, he feigned a severe limp. There were serious concerns, however, about what the hard-smashing series was costing Gilmour. Burns was constantly double-shifting his go- to guy and Gilmour’s weight was dropping dramatically, despite all the pasta carbs he was ingesting. “After games, they just laid me down on a table and threw IVs at me,” Gilmour recalls. “With all those electrolytes, I’d walk out of there feeling like I hadn’t even played a game. Then I’d walk home. At the time, I was living right next to the Gardens on Wood Street, so it was a short walk.”

Returning to the mosh pit of the Joe, Toronto purloined a game they probably had no right winning, overcoming a 4–1 deficit. They exploited Detroit’s weak link in goal, beating Cheveldae twice on long shots by Dave Ellett. A fluke goal by Clark midway through the third sent it into overtime. Hero of the night was Mike Foligno, who’d begun his NHL career as a Wing. Clark dug the puck out from a scramble at the left boards and passed to Foligno, who fired a shot through a maze of bodies from between the circles, winning the game 5–4. Then he executed his joyful victory hop, jumping so high in the air his knees almost touched his chin.

“It was jubilation on a number of counts,” says Foligno. “One, obviously, was that I hadn’t even known at the start of the season if I was going to be able to come back and play again. Two, I used to play for Detroit and felt like I had some unfinished business there. And then, to have scored that
overtime goal, oh man. I remember Wendel’s work on the wall and Mike Krushelnyski’s screen in front of the net. When I scored, I threw off my gloves. It’s funny; I don’t even know why I did that. Then a whole bunch of other guys threw their gloves in the air, Todd Gill and Peter Zezel. Oh my God, it was like a Stanley Cup championship game. There was so much emotion. Everybody was happy we’d won the game, but I think the guys were happy for me as well. It had been such a tough grind I’d gone through. That win in overtime was so much
fun
. And you know what? The feeling we had that night, we wanted to get it again. That’s when we really got a taste of winning, for the feel of winning, and wanted to taste it again.” Burns was thrilled for Foligno. “The old guy bopped one in for us.” In overtime—and there would be many more OTs to come that spring—Burns had unshakeable confidence in his players, harking back to the harsh workouts he’d put them through in practices throughout the year. After one such gruelling session, he’d barked: “There’ll be a night next April, in overtime, when the work we do now will pay off for us.”

The Red Wings were aghast. Toronto had put itself in a position to clinch at home in game six. The city, gaga with hockey fever, welcomed the Leafs back with full-throated gusto at the usually mausoleum-hushed Gardens. But they left the arena in distress. “We got our asses kicked,” says Gilmour. Surrendering five unanswered goals in the second period—two of them shorthanded—Toronto was drubbed 7–3. At the start of the third frame, Burns replaced Potvin with Daren Puppa. “He told me on the bench, ‘Just take a break, because you’re going back in for game seven,’ ” says Potvin. “That showed he still had confidence in me.” Burns could find little that was positive to seize on in the rout. “We can’t be any worse than we were tonight. That’s the only good thing.” A concussed Zezel left the building leaning on his father, Ivan, with instructions that he be awakened every two hours. Reporters took to their computers, chiselling a headstone in advance for the Maple Leafs. Burns shielded his players. “A lot of experts around here said we’d be out in six and we’re still here.” He did reclaim the underdog stance that was always a favourite posture, telling the players: “Nobody believes in us. It’s poor little us
against the world. However, you men can show them all how wrong they are. It all comes down to determination and desire.”

Who would have bet on the Leafs at that point? They’d stolen one in Detroit, but to do it again, in a game seven? Dream on.

“We were still learning how to win in the playoffs as a team,” Foligno says. “Detroit had come back with barrels a-blazing in our building. I remember us getting scared but saying, ‘You know what? We’ve still got a chance here.’ Pat warned us we might not have the lead to start in game seven, but ‘Let’s learn from our last game, don’t quit no matter what the score is.’ And we did learn. We let them get the lead [in the second period] and we battled back and we were able to take the game into overtime again, and the rest is history.”

Burns had pulled out all the clichés: backs against the wall, do-or-die, no tomorrow, when the going gets tough … Yet it was the Wings who looked more tightly wound, nursing a one-goal lead through half the game. Before the third frame, Burns addressed his troops, keeping the pep talk short and focused. “It’s there for you, guys.” In the third, Detroit was up 3–2 after an exchange of goals. With just two minutes and forty-three seconds left in regulation time, Clark pounced on a loose puck in the corner and passed to Gilmour in the slot, who beat Cheveldae to even the score, sending the game into overtime. “All of a sudden,
boom-boom-boom
, we were back in it,” says Gilmour. “When I tied it, I felt in that moment, the pressure hit Detroit.”

During the OT intermission, in the corridor outside the dressing room, Burns smacked his palms together. “I love this. This is the kind of hockey I get off on. This is great!” What he told the players was, “Just throw everything at the net.” In fact, Toronto mustered only two shots in OT, but Borschevsky—“Nik the Stick” to his teammates—made one of them count. Gilmour, who’d been centring Andreychuk and Glenn Anderson, had just got back to the bench with his wingers. Burns turned him right around, sending him out again with Clark and Borschevsky. At 2:35, the little Russian with the broken orbital bone who’d not been expected to heal quickly enough to rejoin the series, wearing a plastic shield,
redirected Bob Rouse’s goalmouth pass, stabbing home the winner. Yowza.

As the Leafs swarmed over Borschevsky, jumping and dancing in an orgy of celebration, Burns and assistant Mike Murphy shared a bear hug. Up in the press box, Cliff Fletcher buried his face in his hands. Then Burns turned and pointed to Fletcher with an outstretched arm. “Except for that first game back in Montreal, that was the most emotional I’ve ever seen Burnsie,” says Gilmour.

In the dressing room afterwards, Borschevsky was besieged by reporters. “The doctors told me ten days. But I say I play today.” Then he raised his arms in surrender. “I’m sorry. I no speak good English. Maybe tomorrow I talk better.” In another corner, Todd Gill wept tears of joy. Burns, making his way to the interview podium, got in one zing: “So much for the experts.” He said the win was “almost like an apology to our fans” for game six. “For the past few days, I’ve been telling everyone who would listen that this series would go seven games and that we’d win it in overtime. Of course, I also said that Glenn Anderson would score the goal.”

Changed into street clothes, the Leafs straggled towards the bus that would take them to Windsor, across the Detroit River, and the flight home. Wendel Clark carried a case of beer under each arm.

Bring on the St. Louis Blues … and all that jazz.

With Detroit relegated to postseason footnote, the Norris Division final loomed as the Tale of the Cat and the Dog: Félix and Cujo. For his part, Burns was annoyed to be denied the underdog role, even as he pointed to such big-game St. Louis horses as Brett Hull and Brendan Shanahan. Toronto held a 4–0–3 edge in regular-season play, but Curtis Joseph, from Keswick, Ontario, held the hotter hand, standing on his head when the Blues swept Chicago. Solving the Cujo riddle was now Toronto’s challenge. Burns allowed the Leafs one optional practice before the series opened at Maple Leaf Gardens, but otherwise granted them no rest to savour the Detroit triumph. “He didn’t give us a chance to breathe and enjoy the win because he said we hadn’t achieved anything yet,” says Gill.
“To be fair to Pat, he was hard on everybody. Usually, your best players get away with a little bit. One thing I loved about Pat is that he was as hard on Dougie as he was on the rest of us.” (At the time of this conversation, nineteen years later, Gill was coaching the Kingston Frontenacs, the junior team managed by Gilmour.)