Love him or not, Mats Sundin was one of “ours”

The following is an article that I wrote for the 2012-'13 Lindy's Sports "In the Rink" Maple Leafs Annual  a few weeks ago.  (Alec Brownscombe, founder of the Maple Leaf Hot Stove web site, was the backbone of that project.  The Lindy's publication included a number of outstanding articles from writers across the mainstream media and blogosphere spectrum.)

Given Mats Sundin's official induction into the Hockey Hall of Fame Monday night, I thought it timely to include the piece today, for those who haven't purchased the Lindy's Annual.  (If you'd like to purchase the Leaf Annual, click on the Lindy's link above.)

You will notice that some things alluded to in the article, including references to the "Winter Classic", are now irrelevant given the CBA impasse.

As always here at VLM, I invite you to share your views (the longtime Leaf captain was always a bit of a lightning rod!)...including any thoughts you may have on the thoughtful induction speech Sundin delivered on Monday night. 

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When you look back and reflect on the history of the Maple Leafs, our “favourites” have come with different attributes.  They were certainly all unique—some were “winners”, like the gritty Teeder Kennedy and classy Syl Apps.  Others were offensively prodigious, like a Rick Vaive in the 1980s, or played with big doses of heart and sheer determination, like my personal 1970s favorites Brian Spencer and Scott Garland.   When it comes to our all-time greats, some we liked right off the bat, others we only appreciated over time.  Only a few, rare individuals fall into what we might call the beloved category in Leaf lore—and in our hearts and memories.

In the latter category, someone like Maple Leaf goaltending hero Johnny Bower comes to mind.  That he will be part of (will the soon-to-be 88 year-old Bower really play, I wonder?) upcoming Alumni game against the Red Wings in January is remarkable in and of itself.  But beyond the fact that Bower helped the franchise win four Stanley Cups in the 1960s, he has forever maintained a well-deserved reputation as a down-to-earth, everyday guy, a former Maple Leaf great who happens to be a genuinely nice person.  He’s a sweetheart.

Diminutive center Dave Keon, a Hall-of-Famer like Bower, was also in that “beloved” Leaf category as well.  He was an idol to hundreds of thousands of young Leaf fans throughout the 1960s.  Unfortunately, his longstanding and well-documented non-relationship with the organization, dating back to the time he was forced to leave the franchise by then owner Harold Ballard in 1975 has, sadly—and perhaps unfairly—tarnished his image in the minds of modern-day Leaf fans, and even some who loved him in his playing hey-day.

 

But what are we to make of someone like Mats Sundin?  Where does the modern-era Leaf star fit in the pantheon of Maple Leaf greats in our hearts?

The answer is not as simple as the question.

Most Leaf supporters would certainly concede that Mats was a very good player.  Acquired as he was back in 1994 for a Leaf heartthrob, Wendel Clark, he didn’t exactly come in riding a white horse, eh?  Clark was another Leaf, like Bower, Keon, and Doug Gilmour, who will live forever in people’s hearts.  Clark fought through injuries, played with very bad back and slayed much bigger dragons in his three incarnations with the Leafs.  He also played on some teams that did not always match his level of grit, to earn a cherished place in the hearts of many Leaf fans of the ‘80s and ‘90s. 

But Mats—where exactly does he fit for us?

Sundin had the challenge of being European, like fellow Leaf and Swedish great Borje Salming before him.  Those Toronto all-timers that I cited above were all ”good Canadian boys”, to borrow Don Cherry’s parlance.  We didn’t know that much about Sundin when he first got here, though he had been a very high draft pick of the Nordiques.  Some of us retain vivid memory of a very young Sundin being yelled at by then Quebec coach Pierre Page on the bench at playoff time—providing the first indication that, somehow, the big Swede was a talented under-achiever, someone who we might not be able to count on at crunch time. 

The team Sundin joined in 1994-’95 was (where have Leaf fans heard this before) a team in transition.  They were no longer the over-achieving Pat Burns team from years before.  They began to go backwards, and Sundin was there for the fall-back.

But over time, he slowly showed himself to be a first-line player here.  He had size and obvious skill.  And while he was maybe not quite as fancy (or nasty) as fellow-Swede Peter Forsberg—nor was he the prototypical “power forward” in terms of delivering punishing hits on a regular basis—there was something about him that we couldn’t help but notice.  He was really good.  He made those around him better, the sign of a special player.

He didn’t always play with top linemates.  But he put up points.  He produced.  When the Leaf captaincy was available after the departure of Gilmour in a trade, Sundin went public about his desire to earn that prestigious designation. Borje Salming, as fine a Leaf as he was, was not ever a captain during his long Leaf career.  The Hall-of-Fame defenseman was more the silent, dour Swede, though his former teammates have always spoke glowingly of his leadership and importance within the group.

But Sundin actually wanted the job.  And he wanted it in this market, where the phrase “Leaf captain” and the word “scrutiny” go hand in hand twelve months of the year.  Some of us were duly impressed.  We maybe weren’t sure if it felt quite “right”, but maybe he could lead us, we thought.  We wondered, and waited.

In the end, he did quite a job, in fairness.

 

He was different from the aforementioned Salming, the Gumbi-like defender could twist and turn away from danger, who had displayed his own brand of blue and white courage by jumping across the ocean in the summer of 1973 and playing in a hockey world which must have felt like it was a million miles away from what he had known at home.  Salming had to stand up “Bullies”, quite literally, in Boston and Philadelphia at a time when goon hockey was alive and thriving—and before the Leafs were a pretty “tough” team themselves, further emboldened by the arrival in 1978 of Dan Maloney.  Salming played his guts out for the Leafs for more than 15 years.  No, he never helped to bring us a Cup, but hundreds of stitches, blocked shots and some memorable playoff goals later, he became a modern-day Leaf legend.

 

In a sense, Borje set the stage for our accepting Mats.  Though not one of our “own”, Sundin grew into the captaincy. In the Pat Quinn years he twice led the Leafs to the “final-four”, though an injury curtailed his effectiveness somewhat in the spring of 2002.  For a time, the Leafs actually seemed to play better with Sundin out of the line-up in that playoff year, and that may have made people wonder all the more.  Is he a leader?  Were we in fact better off without Sundin?

We asked the question because others, like Alyn McCauley, stepped up and played the best hockey of their Leaf lives while Mats was out.  But when Sundin was ready to go, there was no question he would return to the line-up.

That injury that spring was a tad ironic, because one of the traits that we didn’t fully appreciate when he was here was that he was almost always in the line-up.  He played through injuries.  We just took it for granted that Sundin would be in our line-up.  He didn’t complain about injuries, he just played through them.  He did not whine about not being surrounded with better talent.  He just made the players around him as good as they could be.  Oh, you knew he always wanted to play more.  If it was up to him, he would have been playing 25 minutes a night.  Quinn was thinking long-term, however, and always tried to resist the urge to play his superstar more than the coach felt would be beneficial to the big Swede—and to the Leafs.

What do we remember Sundin—now a Hall-of-Famer—for?  Some huge goals, for sure.  His overtime “ping” marker against the hated Senators stands out for many Leaf fans.  (We never hated the Sens until they “got good”, but when they did, it was much more satisfying taking them out every spring—especially when they had the more talented roster, built as it was on the backs of draft choices acquired by having been lousy for so long…)  There was also that last-second goal in the semi-finals against the Hurricanes in ’02, when he wouldn’t be denied at the crease and sent the game into overtime.

There were the seemingly countless regular-season overtime goals.  (I always felt we had an advantage in those four-on-four situations, when the ice was there for Mats to take.) But you know what I remember most about Sundin?  I remember an angry look when he had been cut open and he had blood spilling all over his face.  I remember the quiet pride he played with night after night.  The way he could use his speed, size and strength to attack the opposition on his off-wing.  I remember how he could go full-speed around the opposition net, without fear of what lay on the other side, and inevitably make a play that would create danger for the opposition.  I remember the backhands and the slapshots and how he would plead the Leaf cause to referees, night after night, year after year.

He met with the media day after day, boosting his teammates when the Leafs won, while trying to explain the un-explainable when they lost.  He led with a certain dignity, which, for me, brought back memories of my youth and Montreal’s legendary Jean Beliveau, the tall, smooth-skating, elegant center iceman from the Hab glory years of the 1950s and ‘60s.  No, Mats did not deliver the many Stanley Cups “Big Jean” (left) did for the Canadiens, but he took often ordinary teams as far as they could go, and was inevitably the guy we turned to for the big play, the big moment, game after game.  He was our own "big guy".

As we look back, his was actually a very exciting era for Leaf fans.  There were plenty of playoff series’, some great rivalries with the Devils, Senators and Flyers in particular.  Big-time match-ups.  There were horns honking in the springtime, Maple Leaf flags on cars across the GTA.  Sundin was hugely instrumental in the success we had, though yes, we always fell a bit short of the ultimate goal.

But you know what I really remember most about Sundin?  It’s not the “stats”.  It’s not particular goals that he scored or set up.  In fact, I couldn’t tell you off the top of my head how many career goals he finished with, though I know it was somewhere north of 500.

No, for me, it was the smile.  I’m referring to the smile we would see after every big Leaf goal when he was on the ice, how he would turn to the teammate nearest to him and embrace them, while looking for others to come and join the celebration that awaited his open arms.  Most important to me, that wonderful smile was even bigger, if that’s possible, when a “lesser” teammate scored.  He would hug them in such a way as to make sure they understood, that ”dad”, the captain—their leader—was proud of them.

For me, that Sundin ”smile” will live in my Leaf memory bank forever.

In a way, this brings to mind what we are going through right now with Phil Kessel, our quiet, media-shy, under-stated American-born star.  Here in Toronto, our stars are never quite exactly what we want them to be.  Some thought Sundin didn’t have enough fire in his belly, though that point could surely be argued.  He wasn’t a fighter.

It’s the same criticism that dogs young Phil.   We see him as soft, not dogged enough.  We too often find his flaws, when we should probably be appreciating his rather rare skill—that unique ability to think and make plays at a rate of speed that most players can’t reach in their dreams.  We don’t cherish often enough his ability to cut in on his off-wing and release his shot at the precise moment that causes nothing but havoc for the opposition—and goal-scoring possibilities for the Leafs.

Yes, we always seem to want more.  We wanted Mats to be tougher, play even bigger, be more vocal, more passionate.  Perhaps even more “Canadian”.

We wanted him to bring us a Cup, as though he could somehow do it alone, because he was our superstar.

What he delivered, though, was something special.  When he goes into the Hockey Hall officially, he won’t need to choose or wear a particular “cap”, as they do in baseball, to signify what team he represents.  Though he performed for the Nordiques, Leafs and Canucks, who’s kidding who?   Sundin bled blue and white.

He was ours.  He will always be ours.  I don’t think he ever put up as many points, or scored as many goals while he was with the Leafs as he did in his best season in Quebec.  But his legacy, to me, is about his time in Toronto.  And if he wasn’t “good enough” for some here, well, for the rest of us, we’ll remember his angry eyes with a bloody face.  We’ll remember the plays that only he could make.  We’ll remember the “ping”.  We will embrace the fact that he wanted to stay a Leaf at the end of his time here, when so many others would have been on the first plane out of town for a chance at playing with a better team- and “winning”.

Instead, not just at the end, but through his entire time here, rather than look for the easy way out—a ticket to a better team with a better chance at “winning”—Mats Sundin stayed here and led our team, day after day, year after year.  His goal was to make us better, to lead us to a championship, not go somewhere where winning would be more easily attainable.

That he wasn’t ultimately successful in being part of a championship squad here does not, for me, diminish his legacy in Toronto. (Of course, his personal success with the Swedish national team was there for all to see over the years, including Gold at the Olympics in 2006.)

As the franchise—and Leaf fans around the globe—ache while we look year after year for a “number-one” center, I’m guessing we’d take Mats Sundin now…in a heartbeat.

And maybe we’d appreciate him this time around.