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The Golden Goal The U.S. went bonkers when Mike Eruzione's shot beat Vladimir Myshkin for the winning goal as America's Team stunned the once invincible Soviets en route to the Olympic title
E. M. Swift
March 03, 1980
For millions of people, their single, lasting image of the LakePlacid Games will be the infectious joy displayed by the team following its 4-3 win over the Soviet Union last Fridaynight. It was an Olympian moment, the kind the creators of theGames must have had in mind, one that said: Here is something thatis bigger than any of you. It was bizarre, it was beautiful.Upflung sticks slowly cartwheeled into the rafters. The Americanplayers--in pairs rather than in one great glop--hugged and dancedand rolled on one another (see cover).
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March 03, 1980

The Golden Goal The U.s. Went Bonkers When Mike Eruzione's Shot Beat Vladimir Myshkin For The Winning Goal As America's Team Stunned The Once Invincible Soviets En Route To The Olympic Title

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--Let's be idealistic, but let's also be practical.

--You can't be common because the common man goes nowhere. You have
to be uncommon.

The U.S. hockey team was anything but common. Before the previous
week's upset win over Czechoslovakia, Christian sat in the locker
room and secretly fashioned something out of a cardboard Budweiser
packet. When he put on his helmet, there were a set of wings and a
tail sticking out of the airholes. "Boy, am I going to be flying
tonight," Christian announced.

In the next game, against Norway, the U.S. fell behind 1-0 after
the opening period and appeared frustrated. In the locker room
between the first and second periods, Silk said something
impassioned about how everyone had to support everyone else and
suggested that they all tell each other nothing but nice things.
There was a brief silence. Then:

"Eric, your hair looks marvelous."

"Phil, that's a wonderful job of taping your shin pads."

"Jimmy, your eyes are a lovely shade of blue."

As Eruzione noted later, "We may be young, but we're immature."

The U.S. players performed fearlessly, and the public ate it up.
Even before the Americans beat the Soviets, Lake Placid restaurant
managers sent over complimentary bottles of wine, and New York
State Troopers asked for autographs. At one point, Silk's mother,
Abigail, who was housed with 40 other hockey parents and relatives
in an abode they called the Hostage House, was riding a bus when
she heard a young man tell the girl he was embracing that he was on
the hockey team.

"Really? And who are you?" Mrs. Silk asked, cruelly.

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