Legendary hockey reporter Stan Fischler writes a weekly scrapbook for NHL.com. Fischler, known as "The Hockey Maven," shares his humor and insight with readers each week.
With the Stanley Cup festivities fresh in our minds, Stan remembers an era when the historic trophy did not enjoy the loving care it does today.
Judging by the Stanley Cup's zany early life, it's amazing it has managed to survive and become not only the most cherished but also the most magnificent of all sports trophies.
Alas, this was not the case in 1905 after the champion Ottawa Silver Seven attended a victory party. The well-imbibed winners then stumbled home alongside the Rideau Canal in the bitter cold carrying Lord Stanley's $48.67 hunk of silver.
For reasons unknown, Harry Smith, a Silver Seven stalwart, suddenly seized the Cup and delivered a perfect place kick that sent the Cup arching into the canal. Since the other troops were no more sober than Smith, they headed home, leaving Stanley in the Rideau. The next morning -- his head cleared -- Smith realized he had done something terrible during the previous night.
He dressed quickly, dashed back to the Canal and there he found the Cup, comfortably nestled in the bone dry bed.
Thus the first of a series of Cup adventures went into the books, and a year later there was another Cup disappearing act.
This time the champion Montreal Wanderers had succeeded Ottawa as titlists and took the Cup to Jimmy Rice's photography shop for a team picture. Pleased with their photo, the players then exited Rice's and crossed the street for a brew -- but without Stanley.
That night Rice's cleaning lady arrived, saw the mug on a pedestal and must have thought something along the lines of "This would make a lovely flower pot." In any event she took the Stanley Cup home, filled it with water and turned it into a rose bowl. Nobody seemed to care about its whereabouts until two months later when the Wanderers' management decided to put the Cup on display. But where was it?
After checking with the players, someone recalled that it was last seen at Rice's shop. Sure enough, the photographer contacted his charwoman who reported that the Stanley Cup adorned her mantleplace -- literally in full bloom!
In 1924, Stanley disappeared once more and this time the Cup-watching culprit was none other than Montreal Canadiens owner and coach Leo Dandurand. Some of the champs were in Dandurand's Model T Ford heading to a celebration at his house when the vehicle stalled going up a hill.
Dandurand recalled the adventure in "The Hockey Book" edited by Bill Roche.
"We all got out to push except Sprague Cleghorn who had been carrying the Cup on his lap. He then deposited it on the curb before he joined us in shoving the car up the hill. When we reached the top, we hopped back into the car and resumed our hockey chatter."
Meanwhile, Stanley sat all by its lonesome on the Montreal sidewalk.
When the Canadiens reached Dandurand's home, his wife wondered about the guest of honor -- Stanley. When Dandurand finally came to his senses, he realized the grand prize was left at the curb; and almost an hour had passed. "I hurried back to the spot," he recalled, "and there was the Cup in all its shining majesty sitting on the curb of the busy street."
In April 1962, Stanley almost was kidnapped from Chicago Stadium during a semi-final playoff game between the defending champion Chicago Black Hawks and Canadiens. The Cup -- now much larger than it was in the 1920s -- was residing in a glass enclosed display case for all spectators to admire -- except one fan who admired it a bit too much.
Montrealer Ken Kilander had stopped to view Stanley and did so with the intensity and motivation of a safe cracker. Unable to resist temptation, Kilander deftly opened the glass case. Then, he paused for a moment planning his next move. Fully expecting security alarms to go off, he nevertheless plucked the Cup from its viewing stand and turned toward the Stadium exit.
As the Cup thief was just a few yards from escaping with his booty, a cop spotted him. The inquisitive officer wondered what in the world that fellow thought he was doing with The Stanley Cup. Under the circumstances, it was a reasonable question and Kilander thought he had a reasonable answer: "I want to take it back where it belongs. In Montreal!"
Resisting a case of lockjaw, the policeman gently returned Stanley to its glass case where it rightfully belonged. The officer then suggested to Kilander that -- in the future -- he permit Cup movements to be decided on the ice!
