In Game 7, with three seconds left on the clock in the 2009 Stanley Cup Final, Henrik Zetterberg took a shot from the top of the right faceoff circle.
Zetterberg, a star forward for the Detroit Red Wings, had a chance to tie the game in a 6-on-5 scenario. His shot rebounded to Nicklas Lindstrom — one of the greatest defensemen the sport of hockey has ever seen — near the far-side faceoff dot.
What followed was a moment that changed my life forever.
Picture a wide-eyed, 13-year-old kid, drenched in sweat after a summer hockey practice, standing two feet under a television in the mezzanine area at the Civic Center in Brainerd. Standing with his goalie gear at his feet, pads around his shoulders and his stick in his hand, he watches Lindstrom take the shot, then the save that won the Pittsburgh Penguins the Stanley Cup.
For my money’s worth, it’s the greatest save in the history of hockey, despite how ordinary it may look to some.
Marc-Andre Fleury kicked away Zetterberg’s shot to Lindstrom. While on his knees in a butterfly position, Fleury did something most goalies wouldn’t.
He dove.
Instead of pushing off his left leg and staying low, which likely would’ve exposed the top half of the net, Fleury pivoted and took a head-first approach. The puck hit him in the chest, then time ran out. The Penguins were Stanley Cup champions.
While nearly every 2009 goaltending coach would advise against it, Fleury chose to dive into position instead of sliding.
In the biggest moment of his career, Fleury trusted his gut.
I’ve thought about that save too many times to count. I’ve thought about it while playing goalie. I’ve thought about it while covering hockey. Sometimes, you just have to trust your gut.
I can’t sit here and say Fleury was the reason I became a goalie. Jean-Sébastien Giguère gets more credit in that area. Fleury, however, was the guy who made me love it and who truly made me love the sport as a whole.
So when the Minnesota Wild traded for him on March 21, 2022, I told myself I had to see my favorite goalie play in person before he retires.
Sports writing doesn’t exactly give you a flexible schedule. Beginning a college hockey writing career two years ago made it even tougher.
Despite the hiccups of trying to be in attendance for a rare backup goaltender’s start, my dad and I figured the final game of the regular season would be as good a time as any for the Wild to give Fleury some run.
When we bought the tickets a month ago, the logic seemed sound. Then, a myriad of injuries and slumps made Tuesday night’s game a must-win for the Wild to get into the Stanley Cup Playoffs.
There was no room for error, meaning Fleury would be resigned to the bench.
Nonetheless, going to the wild game was still important to me. I hadn’t been since 2017, a Game 5 playoff loss against the St. Louis Blues in overtime. Tuesday was a rare chance to take off the reporter’s hat and enjoy a hockey game as a fan.
More importantly, I got to share one of my favorite memories with my dad.
See, youth hockey in Brainerd isn’t exactly flush with goalie coaches at every level. If you’re lucky, a high school goalie will come to your practice once a week to give you some pointers (shoutout to former Bemidji State goaltender Reid Mimmack).
When I was young, my dad used to stand to my right, nose pressed up against the glass right on the goal line. I’d look at him a few times each game. He’d motion that I needed to be more square to a puck or challenge shooters more aggressively.
While those days are long behind both of us, nights like Tuesday aren’t.
With less than a minute left and the Wild trailing 2-1, Joel Eriksson Ek scored the tying goal to push the game to overtime. It got Minnesota the point it needed to secure a playoff berth.
Amid the pandemonium in the soon-to-be formerly-named Xcel Energy Center in St. Paul, Fleury stepped on the ice.
Glued to my phone, I felt a tap on my leg. I looked to my right at my dad, just like I did when I was playing goalie as a kid. This time was more memorable than all of them.
With tears welling in his eyes, he pointed to the ice. Fleury had gotten off the bench and was set to play the overtime period.
While it was meaningless in terms of the result, it meant everything to a father and son, and likely 18,000 others in attendance.
In less than five minutes, we got the entire Fleury experience.
He poked checked, two-pad stacked and thanked his post after a puck caught iron on a penalty kill. The fanfare was capped by Matt Boldy’s winner, which led to the Wild mobbing the 40-year-old goalie in what’s likely his final NHL game.
As I write this a day later, my arms are still filled with goosebumps. I got to watch my favorite goalie with an even better goalie dad.
When I write these columns, typically, there’s an unqualified morality message from the mouth of somebody who’s probably not old enough to deliver it. Today, however, I just wanted to say thank you to the goalie and the dad who gave that 13-year-old sweat-soaked kid one of the greatest sports memories of his life.