“Where Were You?” No. 2: Messier’s Guarantee

It was brought to my attention that today, May 25, 2009 is the 15-year anniversary of Game 6 of the epic 1994 Eastern Conference Finals between the New York Rangers and the New Jersey Devils. Otherwise known as the Messier guarantee game, as it came to be called because of the back cover of the New York Post seen above.

This post is categorized under the “Where Were You?” banner, a feature I created for us to regale readers with interesting recollections of where and when we watched historic sporting events. (I’ve only ever done one of these, but Keith, Mex and I all should do more.) Unfortunately, I don’t have an interesting story about this game. I watched it in my parent’s basement while nursing some beers, having just graduated college about a week earlier. Ho-hum.

I only decided to write about this because when I saw it was the anniversary of Game 6 I was overcome with a flood of memories. As I said, I was graduating from college that month, which made me both an insufferable know-it-all AND a sappy little bitch. Meanwhile, the Rangers and Knicks were going on long playoff runs. This was heady stuff. All the pieces were coming together, and I could practically taste the trophies that were about to be ours. But then the Rangers dropped Game 5 to the Devils, a 4-1 ass whooping at MSG, and the series suddenly looked over. After a lifetime of disappointment, even a sports optimist like myself retreated into the well-worn pose of the abused Rangers (or Cubs or Red Sox) fan. 1940! 1940! indeed.

Except this time it was different. Heading to New Jersey facing elimination and the premature end to what was supposed to finally be THE season, Messier calmly stated after the off-day practice, “We’ll win the game.” Hockey players don’t usually talk trash, at least publicly, so when the Post ran with its headline the next morning, suddenly hockey became a big story in the Big Apple. We eat that shit up around here. Joe Namath made an entire career on his one guarantee (and a lot of starlet-banging, granted), and Patrick Ewing became a laughingstock because of all of his failed guarantees. But what the hell was this Canadian farmboy doing?

We all know the story. Trailing 2-0 late in the second, Mess set up Alex Kovalev for a goal to make it 2-1. Then he scored a hat trick in the third period to win the game. Unfuckingbelievable. At that moment I KNEW the Rangers were going to win the Stanley Cup that year. Even when New Jersey tied Game 7 with under a minute left to force OT I still had that confidence, because we had Mess and they didn’t.

This confidence was justified, because almost no one has ever delivered quite like Mess did. You can legitimately make the case that he had the greatest career of any hockey player who ever lived, and one of the greatest careers of any athlete in any sport. When I make this case to fellow fans, I get a lot of ribbing for allegedly overreacting to his one Cup with the Rangers. Nonsense. I recognize that the man is an Edmonton Oiler from birth till death, and nothing should ever change that. But hear me out.

The argument for best player ever almost always comes down to some combination of Gretzky, Howe, Orr and Lemieux. All fine players, but why isn’t Messier in that grouping? I’ll give Gretz No. 1 because his numbers are so overwhelming you can’t argue them. Howe had a long and truly amazing career, and he deserves to be right at the top as well. But Orr and Lemieux? Phooey. Orr was a phenom who changed the game but flamed out early due to injuries. Not his fault, but sorry pal – you don’t get to be the best based on what you might have done. And Lemieux was an amazing offensive talent who was a joy to watch with the puck, only he couldn’t do anything else on the ice except whine to the refs like a pussy. As for the argument that his numbers would’ve been even better if he didn’t get cancer, I can’t argue that. But it still doesn’t mean he ever would’ve played a lick of defense or thrown a check. He was (is) soft as tissue paper, and I get sick to my stomach when people promote him as one of the best ever.

But Messier, he had it all. He’s No. 2 on the all-time scoring list. He’s No. 7 on the all-time goals list. Throughout his career he was his team’s best defensive forward and its top penalty killer. He was a power play force and a penalty killing genius. In a close game, you couldn’t get him off the ice. He was a relentless checker, a fierce fighter, a master of the cheap shot and a world class intimidator. I’ve seen him dominate games physically. I’ve seen him dominate games with his skill. I’ve seen him break someone’s face in a fight, then turn around and score a gorgeous breakaway goal. He could do literally everything. He won four Stanley Cups with Gretzky. But then Gretz got traded and the Oilers were finished, right? Wrong. Messier captained them to yet another title. Then HE got traded to New York and – in his own words – “slayed the dragon.” The man is, as Keith would say, godsauce.

Much to my delight, Mark Messier came to my TV station one day last year for an interview. I meet a lot of celebs, so I’m not all that impressed when I get a chance to meet many of them, but I made an exception for Mess. My fellow Ranger fanatic boss and I waited to introduce ourselves after the interview wrapped, and my boss had a program he wanted signed. Messier was extremely warm and generous, and he asked me if I wanted anything signed as well. I said I didn’t because I didn’t want to waste his time, but the truth is I just don’t do autographs. I think signed pieces of paper are pointless unless they’re unique or they give you an excuse to have a meaningful interaction with the person signing.

Then it suddenly struck me; while moving my desk to another part of the newsroom a few months earlier I’d stumbled across something buried in a drawer I honestly didn’t even know I had. It was an actual copy of the New York Post dated May 25, 1994, “We’ll Win Tonight,” as pictured above. I told Mess, “Hold on just a second!” and ran to grab it. He looked at it, chuckled and said as he signed his name and No. 11, “Wow, it’s been a looooong time since I’ve seen this. I’m glad it worked out.”

Me too, Mess. Me too.