TORONTO -- The memory isn't so much one game, a victory or a loss, or a moment in time marked by the game clock or the scoreboard. After a while, especially after 22 seasons, the games had a way of blending together in a career continuum that delivered Ray Bourque to his Hockey Hall of Fame induction last night.
"You come in as a rookie," he said late yesterday morning, a few hours before he was formally enshrined, "and you just want to play in the NHL."
And a lifetime later, Bourque slipped the Hall of Fame ring on his right hand around 10:40 a.m., posed for pictures, and awaited the official ceremony.
Now 43 years old, a quarter-century removed from his first Boston training camp, Bourque is a bigger, stronger -- and, yes, slightly grayer -- version of the bright-eyed kid who reported to that Fitchburg, Mass., camp in the fall of 1979. For two decades-plus, Bruins fans watched his game mature and his resume fill out, to the point where he retired three years ago as the No. 1 scoring defenseman -- first in goals, assists, and points -- in the history of the NHL.
What we didn't see, what we never see as fans in the stands or critics in the press box, is what went on in Bourque's head as those years played out, how he felt about his work and shift-to-shift effectiveness as the games went by. Well, for the better part of 15 years, into his early 30s, recalled Bourque, there were shifts and bursts of speed that made him think, "incredibly, I could have done anything."
Imagine what that must have been like. It's perhaps no surprise that Bourque felt invincible, because, as he grew bigger and stronger, he also began to pile up his Norris Trophies (five total) as the league's best defenseman. Heck, on any given Sunday, there must be 20-30 players on every NFL field who feel they can do anything, a feeling of physical superiority that some learn instantly turns into fool's gold when they're smacked to the turf. Invincibility, in any sport, is in the eye of the beholder, and eventually, sometimes instantly, that eye gets shut for good.
But Bourque knew that feeling -- along with his passion for the game and his dedication to it -- for at least 15 years. When he talks about it now, as a man 10 years beyond that high, there is still an energy and enthusiasm that courses through his body.
"I can't remember one game, in particular, but it was in those games when my legs were flying," he recalled. "It just gave you such a feeling of, `OK, bring it on -- bring it on -- because no one is getting by me tonight.'
"I'll tell you, that's a scary feeling."