By Damien Cox, Gord Stellick
In 1967 the Toronto Maple Leafs gained the Stanley Cup in a gorgeous defeat of the robust Montreal Canadiens. No different Leafs staff has been in a position to do it back. because the years cross, the legend grows. the lads who have been the Leafs in 1967—a scrappy staff of getting older gamers and unsung youngsters—were the kings of the hockey universe. in spite of the fact that, inside 5 years of that victory issues had replaced enormously for lots of participants of the staff: key participants of the group, Tim Horton and Terry Sawchuk, have been useless as a result of alcohol and drug-related concerns, and Harold Ballard, the fellow who had succeeded Smythe as King of Carlton highway, used to be in penitentiary. Sixty-Seven isn't just one other hockey ebook approximately that mythical staff; it's a precise and overall examine the contradictions, the legends, the disgrace and the consideration of '67, telling formerly untold tales from inside of that unforgettable dressing room and much past it.
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Extra info for '67: The Maple Leafs, Their Sensational Victory, and the End of an Empire
While all around him his starving comrades chatter on, unaware (as was Richardson in Franklin’s own account of their privations) of the “sepulchral” tone of their own voices: Lieutenant Crayford. You are the only cheerful man of the ship’s company. Look here. Are these bones pounded small enough? John Want (Taking the pestle and mortar). You’ll excuse me, sir, but how very hollow your voice sounds this morning. Lieutenant Crayford. Keep your remarks about my voice to yourself, and answer my question about the bones.
Just two examples will suffice. First, as William Battersby has noted, the note is entirely in the handwriting of James Fitzjames; this is unusual, since Franklin would ordinarily have written – or at least signed – such notes himself; a note tossed overboard earlier in the expedition was signed by him. We may infer from this that, for some reason, Franklin must have been unable to sign the note himself; that he died only a few weeks later suggests that illness may have been the cause. Second, the years of the expedition’s wintering at Beechey Island are given as 1846–47, which is certainly in error; from the headboards of the graves at Beechey we know it was the winter of 1845– 46.
And what, then, does the finding of Franklin’s ship, hms Erebus, mean? What if we find the Terror as well? And what if, against all odds, someone were to locate Franklin’s tomb, or unearth a hitherto-unknown cache of records documenting what happened after the ships were left behind? Even then, there would doubtless be plenty of unanswered questions, but that’s not the real reason we would still care. No, nor just the strange, vaguely guilty knowledge that these men, for whom so many searched for so long, in the end died desperately, unaware of the effort expended to reach and relieve them.