The last time around, I talked about my father. On this current trip around the sun, maybe I’ll switch it up and talk about a public figure, an athlete. I don’t know him beyond the myriad highlight reels I’ve watched, along with interviews he’s given. I’d still like to meet him.
He was the epitome of a sportsman, skilled and humble, poetry in motion, many say in a league by himself. No one could touch him on the ice. He literally skated circles around other players, controlled the game and perhaps revolutionized it, or at least his position. He played a key role in bringing New England hockey fans two Stanley Cups, in 1970 and 1972.
Bobby Orr became a legend in his time in Boston. He of course was human, and his left knee in particular was proof of this. It was the way he carried himself, though– a player with rare talent, who never let notoriety or fame go to his head. Game after game, he just played with a zeal– and maybe a joy– that left everyone speechless and appreciative, and often in awe.
I don’t know how Orr in his prime would fare in today’s game, but it doesn’t much matter. In his day, and in all the days since, he has remained the kind of person we might aspire to be– kind, honest, and humble.
My brother has a signed picture of Orr flying through the air after his overtime winner in 1970. Bobby even personalized it, with a little note about how my brother was one of the great pond hockey players in central Mass., or some such thing. I’ve always been a bit envious.
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