Maven's Memories: From Doghouse to Penthouse in 1975

Good luck charms are a dime-a-dozen, but the "art" of bringing good luck to your favorite hockey team takes on many forms.
The Maven should know since I've spent 49 years trying to convince Lady Luck that she belongs on the Nassau side of the tracks.
Looking backward, I'd have to say that my biggest challenge took place during the 1975, best-of-three playoff between our guys and the Rangers.

In case you weren't around at then, the scenario went like this:
1. Rangers heavy favorites.
2. Isles, who never had made the postseason, upset the Blueshirts at MSG in Game One.
3. The Manhattanites come back for Game Two in Uniondale and spank Al Arbour's skaters something awful.
4. It's down to the finale at The Garden and what to do?
My wife, Shirley -- already a died-in-the-wool Isles fan -- figured we'd have to work something out to lift our guys to victory.
This was no easy task and we knew the score.
MAVEN'S MEMORIES
WRITTEN COVERAGE
Al Arbour's Trifecta
Giving Away the Banks of Gifts -- Almost
Ken Morrow's Moments
First Isles-Rangers Game
Rangers Invade Isles TV Studio
How Chico Resch Became A Goalie
Roland Melanson, Forgotten Hero
Dave Langevin, The Best Bodychecker
Maven's Haven
With such future Hall of Famers as Rod Gilbert, Ed Giacomin and Brad Park, the Blueshirts were overwhelming favorites to capture the series on Seventh Avenue ice.
"The Rangers may have been top dogs since we entered the league," said Isles GM Bill Torrey, "but we had a bunch of good, young players and the guys we got from Minnesota -- J.P. Parise and Jude Drouin -- were special."
Still, at 520 West 110th Street in Manhattan, Shirley and Stan Fischler believed that some mystical waves -- alias good luck -- would be needed.
"Maybe one of us should go for a walk and see what happens," my wife suggested.
Well, that made sense since our pet Hungarian sheepdog, Chazy, needed a stroll before the evening was up.
With that in mind, we also agreed that it was too soon for a dog walk; or any walk for that matter.
Click!
The television set glowed and so did the Islanders
Clark Gillies put them ahead 1-0 at 16:00 of the first period from Bob Bourne and Bert Marshall. But that was not enough for Lady Luck.
"We need more," Shirley implored to no one in particular apart from our tv set.
And she got it. On a power play at 8:26 of the second period, Denis Potvin scored, and almost five minutes later he delivered a shorthanded goal.
Better still our Islanders had not relinquished a single score. As the buzzer ended the second period with a 3-0 lead for the Nassaumen, I decided to take a gamble.
"I'm gonna walk Chazy," I told Shirley. "We got a three-goal lead and I feel safe."
"Are you sure?" my wife implored. "I'm still nervous."
I assured her that all would be well and put a leash on Chazy who was the least nervous of all in our household. (Hungarian sheepdogs are that way.)
"I hope you're right," Shirley whispered as she closed the apartment door behind me.
Trouble was that by the time I had crossed Broadway and headed west toward Riverside Park, my confidence in an Isles win was done. And by the time we reached the Hudson River ramparts, it was gone.
Totally.
"What am I doing here?" I asked myself after Chazy had done his thing. "I gotta get back to the apartment before it's too late."
Alas, it was too late.
Bill Fairbairn scored for the Rangers at 4:44 of the third period and, almost six minutes later tallied a power-play goal. No more than 14 seconds later Steve Vickers tied the score, 3-3.
And 10 seconds later I walked into the apartment, looked at the scoreboard and nearly plotzed; which is another way of saying fainted.
No surprise, Shirley was beside herself with a mixture of anger, fury, and frustration. No question, she had a "It's your fault!" look on her face.
That done, we repaired to the screen and what we expected to be another Blueshirt goal.
But it didn't happen. The third period ended at 3-3 whereupon my wife implored me with all the implore at her command. "Don't you dare walk out of the house again!"
Not that I intended anything of the kind. What we both were trying to figure out was how to bring Lady Luck back into the picture.
"C'mon, already," she shouted across the living room, "think of something; do something that returns good luck for our guys. Anything!"
As the teams lined up for the sudden-death face-off, I could think of nothing at all worthwhile. Meantime, the Isles got the puck deep into the Rangers end, right side, where Steve Vickers seemed to control the puck.
The operative word was seemed.
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Jude Drouin didn't think so; nor did J.P. Parise. Nor did Shirley Fischler.
I remained stupefied -- as what happened next, happened so fast.
Parise managed to get a brief but worthwhile mortgage on acreage in front of Giacomin's crease. Park noticed that and attempted to break the mortgage; too little and too late.
Drouin's crisp pass eluded Park while Parise calmly-swiftly pushed the black, six-ounce hunk of vulcanized rubber over the goal line.
Shirley leaped toward the living room ceiling. My eyes were glued to the screen in utter disbelief. The Islanders had won 4-3 at 11 seconds of OT.
After a brief pause for breathing identification, my wife delivered the perfect squelch:
"Now you can go walk the dog again!"
Somewhere in The Garden, I suspect, Lady Luck heard Shirley's punch line and a smile crossed Ms. Lady's face.
Just as it did, Shirley Fischler's!