The Ever Elusive, Always Inscrutable And Still Incomparable Bobby Orr

He came off the ice later, and the press gathered and someone asked if he remembered what it felt like to be that young. He spoke about playing as a kid, outdoors mostly, shooting through the fierce cold on the Seguin River, on Georgian Bay, scrapping on icy parking lots. "No coaches, no parents," he said. "Get the puck and just go.

"It was never a job for me. Even during my pro days, it was never, ever a job. That's what these kids have to understand: Just enjoy it, keep that love and passion for the game. I think what sometimes we do—we, the pressures, the coaches and parents—we just suck that love and passion from our kids. And I think that's wrong."

He and Cherry had a bet on the game, $100. That night Orr's side won 6--1, and Cherry gave it up at the handshake. "Money goes to money, you see that?" he said.

And then Orr, icon and agent and coach all in one, raised the bill over his head and waved it in triumph. Thousands roared. Thousands laughed. Their Bobby was back, no limp, and eyes shining. It felt perfect, the way any church does when the ceremony goes off without a hitch and the light streams just so.