<TABLE cellSpacing=0 cellPadding=0 width="100%" border=0><TBODY><TR><TD class=headline colSpan=2>A FANtastic perspective of Cam Neely</TD></TR><TR><TD style="PADDING-BOTTOM: 4px">Bob Snow | NHL.com correspondent
</TD><TD style="PADDING-BOTTOM: 4px" vAlign=bottom align=right>September, 2006, </TD></TR><TR><TD class=blckTopBord style="PADDING-TOP: 2px" colSpan=2><TABLE class=leftTable cellSpacing=0 cellPadding=0 width=194><TBODY><TR><TD>
</TD></TR><TR><TD class=caption>Cam Neely was one the the NHL's top power forwards for a decade in Boston. </TD></TR></TBODY></TABLE><!-- End Remove -->On Jan. 12, 2004, the Boston Bruins lifted Cameron M. Neely's No. 8 to the TD Banknorth ceiling, a fitting gesture for the power forward who lifted the Bruins for a decade between 1986-96.
What a thrill to gaze down from the press box as Neely slowly rolled hand-over-hand in methodical gesture that January eve; the same motion was also witnessed first-hand when Terry O'Reilly, Ray Bourque, Bobby Orr, Johnny Bucyk, and Phil Esposito before, all joining Lionel Hitchman, Eddie Shore, Dit Clapper, and Milt Schmidt as the 10 Bruins legends to have their numbers entered into Boston hockey history.
On Nov. 7, 2005, Neely takes his final bow and emits his last cathartic outpouring of emotion for the game he truly loved to play when he accepts the quintessential honor bestowed upon the very best in the trade of professional hockey -- induction into the Hockey Hall of Fame.
Of all the athletes I've marveled over the past half-century, none provided the level of adrenaline rush as Neely. Embedded in my hockey soul, No. 8 is woven throughout 50 years of puck luck.
<TABLE class=rightTable cellSpacing=0 cellPadding=0 width=250><TBODY><TR><TD class=infoBox><!--Player name/title--><CENTER> </CENTER></TD></TR></TBODY></TABLE><!-- end blue box code-->During hockey season in high school, most weekends began on Sunday night. Four bucks every few weeks - and a lengthy wait at the old Boston Garden box office -- bought the next four-game strip of Bruins tickets. At a buck apiece, a ticket in the second balcony of that old "Gahden" in the 1960s was the best buy of a lifetime.
For a buck, I got to see by Bobby Orr play his first game in February, 1966; then go end-to-end for a decade while Phil Esposito set up in the slot and Wayne Cashman crashed the corners - 40 times a year. Balcony seats were made to watch No. 4 and Espo. Eight home games apiece in the Original Six against the Rangers, Wings, Leafs, Hawks, and of course, those damn Canadiens. What any purist would pay for that schedule today, eh?
Kids, budgets, and life's constraints appeared to bring Bruin lives in the old house on Causeway Street to a peaceful close at the end of that 1986 season after a decade of season tix in Section 99 of the balcony, and the new Bruin era led by newcomers named Bourque, O'Reilly, and Park.
Then along came Jack D'Entremont to a poker game that spring with one serious breath of fresh air. "Yeah," said Jack, "I think I'm giving up my season tickets, also. Can't find anyone interested in picking up some of the package."
"Where are they?" I asked.
"Three seats in Section G, Row 1, next to the goal judge."
Joined at the hockey-hip most of those preceding years, John Lee and I traded that look. Fill in the ensuing conversation. We took a partial-season package for the next decade.
"Puck luck," you say?
Add the Cam Neely trade a few months later.
The play of Orr, Espo, and Bourque was created for the balcony. Cam Neely was sculpted for G - 1 - ice level right behind the glass and goal.
Only four Boston athletes ever truly took me out of my seat on site and on the tube: Carl Yastrzemski in the 1967 Sox pennant drive and World Series, Bobby Orr every shift, Larry Bird on the parquet, and Cam Neely every time he bounded over the boards and set that stride in punishing motion.
There are no words to describe this 6-foot-one, 218 pounds of gristle from ice level. Only Peter Forsberg comes remotely close in today's game.
Let's spare his super stats herein and get right to the heart of No. 8. Cam Neely was Brett Favre on skates, Seabiscuit on ice shoes, Lance Armstrong on different wheels. End to end and wire-to-wire, he went all-out every shift.
<TABLE class=rightTable cellSpacing=0 cellPadding=0 width=194><TBODY><TR><TD>
</TD></TR><TR><TD class=caption>The hard-working Neely was respected by both teammates and opponents. </TD></TR></TBODY></TABLE>He lined up checks from the locker room, never put a butt to a bench between shifts, and developed an aura, which to this day, still heightens the hackles when recreating the image of his crunching body checks and magnificent power that touched off a red light from the thumb of goal judge Eddie Quinn, Art Chisolm or Al Ruelle, Jr. Just once I wanted to lean over, scoop that black button, and be the very first to initiate a Garden decibel level unmatched since Neely hung 'em up prematurely to injury in 1996.
Bring Claude Lemieux, Ulf Samuelsson, and a cast of other Neely nemeses into the Garden, and the game took on an air of surreal excitement.
Pure anticipation was additional adrenaline in Row 1 when Neely came down the ice. Whether regular-season games, the playoffs - especially against Montreal - or the two Cup Finals in 1988 and '90, the cascading volume off the glass produced by his play was downright painful, taking days to ring it out. A long look up and across the Garden off a Neely goal brought a unique appreciation for his contributions, displayed by the adulation on the faces of the raucous 13,909.
The fondest and deepest memories of Cam Neely are his thundering stride, especially into the offensive zone. From ice level, it intensified into the neutral zone. From there he just followed his nose. Contorted more each year from an untold number of rearranged bones in that often-photographed proboscis, No. 8 would cross the blue line with brown eyes widening, nostrils flaring, left shoulder dipping, right skate planting, body angling; nothin' but net -- or a body -- on the radar screen.
The specific outcomes are blurred in history, but the impact is magnified in the memory. Goals, passes, shots, checks. Pick the most appropriate adjectives for Neely's on-ice accomplishments, and we put a token compliment to print. It's even tougher to write about his inner clock and off-ice contributions, especially for cancer patients; the Neely Foundation to assist cancer patients and their families was founded in his parents' memories.
Suffice it to say, I'll give up the press pass a few games a year for Section 18, Row 1 in the new Garden, if another Cam Neely ever comes along in Black 'n Gold. Not likely in this lifetime, though.
"It was a pleasure to play hockey for you," Neely told the crowd just before hoisting his number between Phil Esposito and Johnny Bucyk that January night. "And thanks, Harry, for the trade [that brought me to Boston]."
Thank you, Cam, for the memories; and congratulations from your legions of fans on your induction into the Hockey Hall of Fame.
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</TD><TD style="PADDING-BOTTOM: 4px" vAlign=bottom align=right>September, 2006, </TD></TR><TR><TD class=blckTopBord style="PADDING-TOP: 2px" colSpan=2><TABLE class=leftTable cellSpacing=0 cellPadding=0 width=194><TBODY><TR><TD>
What a thrill to gaze down from the press box as Neely slowly rolled hand-over-hand in methodical gesture that January eve; the same motion was also witnessed first-hand when Terry O'Reilly, Ray Bourque, Bobby Orr, Johnny Bucyk, and Phil Esposito before, all joining Lionel Hitchman, Eddie Shore, Dit Clapper, and Milt Schmidt as the 10 Bruins legends to have their numbers entered into Boston hockey history.
On Nov. 7, 2005, Neely takes his final bow and emits his last cathartic outpouring of emotion for the game he truly loved to play when he accepts the quintessential honor bestowed upon the very best in the trade of professional hockey -- induction into the Hockey Hall of Fame.
Of all the athletes I've marveled over the past half-century, none provided the level of adrenaline rush as Neely. Embedded in my hockey soul, No. 8 is woven throughout 50 years of puck luck.
<TABLE class=rightTable cellSpacing=0 cellPadding=0 width=250><TBODY><TR><TD class=infoBox><!--Player name/title--><CENTER> </CENTER></TD></TR></TBODY></TABLE><!-- end blue box code-->During hockey season in high school, most weekends began on Sunday night. Four bucks every few weeks - and a lengthy wait at the old Boston Garden box office -- bought the next four-game strip of Bruins tickets. At a buck apiece, a ticket in the second balcony of that old "Gahden" in the 1960s was the best buy of a lifetime.
For a buck, I got to see by Bobby Orr play his first game in February, 1966; then go end-to-end for a decade while Phil Esposito set up in the slot and Wayne Cashman crashed the corners - 40 times a year. Balcony seats were made to watch No. 4 and Espo. Eight home games apiece in the Original Six against the Rangers, Wings, Leafs, Hawks, and of course, those damn Canadiens. What any purist would pay for that schedule today, eh?
Kids, budgets, and life's constraints appeared to bring Bruin lives in the old house on Causeway Street to a peaceful close at the end of that 1986 season after a decade of season tix in Section 99 of the balcony, and the new Bruin era led by newcomers named Bourque, O'Reilly, and Park.
Then along came Jack D'Entremont to a poker game that spring with one serious breath of fresh air. "Yeah," said Jack, "I think I'm giving up my season tickets, also. Can't find anyone interested in picking up some of the package."
"Where are they?" I asked.
"Three seats in Section G, Row 1, next to the goal judge."
Joined at the hockey-hip most of those preceding years, John Lee and I traded that look. Fill in the ensuing conversation. We took a partial-season package for the next decade.
"Puck luck," you say?
Add the Cam Neely trade a few months later.
The play of Orr, Espo, and Bourque was created for the balcony. Cam Neely was sculpted for G - 1 - ice level right behind the glass and goal.
Only four Boston athletes ever truly took me out of my seat on site and on the tube: Carl Yastrzemski in the 1967 Sox pennant drive and World Series, Bobby Orr every shift, Larry Bird on the parquet, and Cam Neely every time he bounded over the boards and set that stride in punishing motion.
There are no words to describe this 6-foot-one, 218 pounds of gristle from ice level. Only Peter Forsberg comes remotely close in today's game.
Let's spare his super stats herein and get right to the heart of No. 8. Cam Neely was Brett Favre on skates, Seabiscuit on ice shoes, Lance Armstrong on different wheels. End to end and wire-to-wire, he went all-out every shift.
<TABLE class=rightTable cellSpacing=0 cellPadding=0 width=194><TBODY><TR><TD>
Bring Claude Lemieux, Ulf Samuelsson, and a cast of other Neely nemeses into the Garden, and the game took on an air of surreal excitement.
Pure anticipation was additional adrenaline in Row 1 when Neely came down the ice. Whether regular-season games, the playoffs - especially against Montreal - or the two Cup Finals in 1988 and '90, the cascading volume off the glass produced by his play was downright painful, taking days to ring it out. A long look up and across the Garden off a Neely goal brought a unique appreciation for his contributions, displayed by the adulation on the faces of the raucous 13,909.
The fondest and deepest memories of Cam Neely are his thundering stride, especially into the offensive zone. From ice level, it intensified into the neutral zone. From there he just followed his nose. Contorted more each year from an untold number of rearranged bones in that often-photographed proboscis, No. 8 would cross the blue line with brown eyes widening, nostrils flaring, left shoulder dipping, right skate planting, body angling; nothin' but net -- or a body -- on the radar screen.
The specific outcomes are blurred in history, but the impact is magnified in the memory. Goals, passes, shots, checks. Pick the most appropriate adjectives for Neely's on-ice accomplishments, and we put a token compliment to print. It's even tougher to write about his inner clock and off-ice contributions, especially for cancer patients; the Neely Foundation to assist cancer patients and their families was founded in his parents' memories.
Suffice it to say, I'll give up the press pass a few games a year for Section 18, Row 1 in the new Garden, if another Cam Neely ever comes along in Black 'n Gold. Not likely in this lifetime, though.
"It was a pleasure to play hockey for you," Neely told the crowd just before hoisting his number between Phil Esposito and Johnny Bucyk that January night. "And thanks, Harry, for the trade [that brought me to Boston]."
Thank you, Cam, for the memories; and congratulations from your legions of fans on your induction into the Hockey Hall of Fame.
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:lol:
