Since then, a new facility has replaced the Forum, which now houses a multiplex movie theatre and a number of chain stores and restaurants. A small section of the arena’s famously rock-hard seating still stands, in case any old-timer wants to sit there with his memories, and perhaps fling a nostalgic toe-rubber onto the mall floor, where young men practice breakdancing and couples neck surreptitiously while waiting for their showtimes. A good deal of hockey memorabilia has also been left in place, though one has to thread the long walk to the theatre bathrooms to see most of it. The best part features team photos of the Canadiens, going right back to the early days when their sweaters had just begun to sport a capital C, and players had names like Newsy Lalonde and Sprague Cleghorn. The men of the team’s glory years seem surprisingly old compared to today’s highly honed youngsters, and one can trace, from year to year, the development of gap-teeth and L-shaped noses. In those helmetless days, you could always pick the goalie out of a line-up.
And there, of course, was the Rocket, his little black eyes shining with mischief and his grin trying hard to hide itself, as though the priest might still give him a whack with the yardstick if he saw. His brother, Maurice Richard, was once interviewed by the CBC, and the journalist, after eliciting some recollections of Rocket’s early days, asked him to compare old-school hockey with the modern game: “Do you think Rocket could still score fifty goals in a season now? With hockey the way it is?”
“Non,” Maurice answered flatly. "More like thirty, maybe."
“You really think the game has gotten that much harder?”
“Wahll, you know,” he drawled, “he’s nearly seventy...”
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