We Are All Guy Lafleur - Rediscovering the Joys of Outdoor Hockey

Imagine one of those cold winter evenings when the family gathered around the television to watch Saturday night hockey…

There was shouting and yelling from every corner of the house to cheer on the flannel soldiers. It was so intense you were afraid the police would show up and haul your father away for disturbing the peace.

Even though in your memory it made you smile that we'd yell at each other to express our joy, you mostly remember that this adult commotion intimidated you a bit.

Often, you preferred watching the snow fall outside, your elbows resting on the windowsill. You liked to lose yourself in daydreams where you became the linemate of the blond demon.

You replayed over and over the perfect pass you'd served him and the wink The Flower had given you after scoring his goal. These images were so real, you'd convinced yourself your name was somewhere in the Canadiens' locker room, between Robinson and Gainey.

Inspired by this feeling of power, you'd dash through the crowd gathered in front of the TV, elbowing your way to grab one last handful of cheese curds before heading outside, your skates tied around your neck, your hockey stick on your shoulder.

The weather outside didn't intimidate you. You were invested with the spirit of Les Glorieux, ready to roll up your sleeves to face the enemy, whatever form it took.

You ran full speed toward the rink with your mother's last words echoing in your head: "Don't come back too late now!" You'd come to understand that no matter what time you decided to come home, it was always too late for her.

You knew that in her heart, you were more important than the Stanley Cup and you didn't want her to worry too much, so you hurried to make the most of every second. You hoped there would already be players there, that they'd taken the trouble to clear the ice.

Out of breath, you'd arrive just in time. Just enough time to lace up your skates in the little smelly shack, and they were already throwing sticks in the center of the ice to form teams, as if they'd been waiting for you to start.

Usually, you recognized some faces. It comforted you a bit to think that somewhere, friends had given you a rendezvous. These evenings on the ice attracted all kinds of people.

There was always one who looked at you with his cocky little grin, cigarette dangling from his lips, convinced that in his boots, he could go as fast as on his ski-doo.

There were also excited little kids discovering the place and it reassured you a bit to be able to outmaneuver a few rookies with your not-always-on-point puck handling.

Sometimes, these little kids were only little in the rear. Even though they were younger than you, some managed to outplay you almost every time, but it didn't really matter, because no one ever made fun of you.

Sometimes the big guys were only big in the name on their jersey. They proudly wore Mario Lemieux's jersey but skated on their ankles with the grace of a penguin that wasn't from Pittsburgh.

There were also hotshots from midget AAA who came just to show off how good they were, but who ended up getting pushed aside, because we didn't tolerate puck hogs in these kinds of games.

Old-timers who no longer needed mouthguards, but who chased the puck with fire in their eyes like Richard had done, still as vivid in their youthful memories.

Bad players who checked everyone into the boards to compensate for getting deked by little kids.

Little girls who followed their big brothers with their pink plastic sticks and figure skates.

But as the game gained intensity, everyone eventually found their place in the dance.

Between the seasoned players, those who imagined themselves professionals, and those who were just there for fresh air, a comfortable and unexpected atmosphere of camaraderie was created.

It was as if the ice melted away the differences. You felt like you could become friends with anyone, as long as you could make a tape-to-tape pass.

It was to live these magical moments that you spent your winter evenings playing outside.

Even though you liked watching games on TV, nothing beat those brief moments when you had the chance to establish an authentic connection with someone you didn't know, but felt close to in an inexplicable way.

The game has this ability to unite people.

Hockey is a tradition that keeps alive this impulse that drives us to want to connect with those who seem different from us.

Everyone you'd ever met on the rink had imagined themselves in Guy Lafleur's place; on a breakaway in a Stanley Cup final, making the mesh bulge in front of a jubilant crowd chanting his name.

It was by playing outside that I understood that everything that unites us is made up of the dreams we share.

Lace up your skates and go play outside, your friends are waiting for you to start the game.