Alexander Ovechkin made it feel like Christmas. Let me explain.
I was there. I was there the night Alexander Mikhailovich Ovechkin tied and passed Gordie Howe as the 2nd greatest goal scorer in the NHL’s history.
As a lifelong hockey fan and former player, it’s difficult to put Ovechkin’s achievement into context. With 802 goals, he trails only Wayne Gretzky’s 894… but being second to Gretzky is kind of like being first in any other sport. He’s a Canadian titan that played the sport on videogame mode. For a frame of reference, as I noted, he’s currently the NHL’s leading goal scorer, and the all-time assist leader, so, by mathematical certainty, he’s also the leading point scorer (a point is either a goal or an assist). And despite scoring 894 goals, if he never scored a single one—he would still be handedly the NHL’s all-time point scorer because of how many assists he racked up. There is no great in any other major North American sport who compares. (A somewhat closer comparison would probably be Lebron James’s hypothetical career trajectory if he somehow only played against NCAA teams.) All of that to say: this was a moment for the sport in a way that 2nd place achievements normally wouldn’t be.
My wife’s family lives just outside of Washington D.C. and her largely Hispanic family celebrates Christmas together the night before, in traditional Mexican fashion. So, the 23rd functions like a normal Christmas Eve. It’s the site of drama; comings and goings; event planning; last-minute cooking; and most of all, anticipation.
But, it didn’t quite feel like Christmas. With traveling just before the holidays, a cavity of holiday decorations at home, not seeing my immediate family, and working in an explicitly non-Christian work environment for the first time ever, for some reason the holidays felt more pedestrian than usual. There’s something about Waldorf, Maryland that just screams “mundane!” Aside from usual travel related stressors, the anticipation I’ve always associated with the holiday was noticeably absent this Christmas—until last night, that is.
Coming into the game on December 23rd with 800 goals, Ovechkin gave Washington Capitals fans and the larger hockey world a Christmas Eve (Eve) of anticipation. Was he going to tie Gordie Howe at 801? If so, would he also break the record or would that take another game or two?
After he tied the record late in the first period, it felt like that moment of simple elation of a child opening the gift they most wanted on Christmas morning—overwhelmed by satisfaction and gratitude. The goal itself was routine; the moment will now be etched in hockey history.
Enter: the playful teasing, much like a dorky dad on Christmas morning. The game of anticipation makes those makes both moments (Christmas and #802) larger than they are. Think of Ovechkin in-waiting like a present sitting under a family tree: the potential of the gift is worth as much as the gift itself.
His entire career he’s been electric: at any moment when he’s on the ice, something magical might happen. When he has the puck (or is near it), people stand prepared to be awed. Fans feed off him like loving parasites. And he seemed to find something symbiotic in the parasocial relationship with the fans. At the start of the second period, he gets a breakaway and almost tucks it away but just misses. A few more chances in the third go by him. It doesn’t look like tonight’s the record-sealing night, but it was still likely the most memorable professional live sporting event for most of the fans present.
In the final minutes of the third period, down by two goals, the Winnipeg Jets pull their goalie for an extra attacker. Ovechkin receives the puck in his own zone and fires it the length of the ice, hitting the left post. Shortly after, he returns to the bench and his night looks over. About forty-five seconds and a fan led chant for the sitting “Ovie” later, he steps back on the ice and in a final dance of anticipation, appears to miss a passing lane that would have assured his record breaking goal. His teammate protects the puck, gets it to Ovie, who does what he’s done 801 other times: shoots and scores.
And, on top of everything, I watched a friend from my youth hockey days play in the NHL.
After an evening of unadulterated anticipation, it feels like the Christmas season.
Joshua Polanski (’20) is a freelance film and culture writer who writes regularly for the Boston Hassle and has contributed to the Bay Area Reporter, In Review Online, and Off Screen amongst other places. His interests include the technical elements of filmmaking and exhibition, slow and digital cinemas, cinematic sexuality, as well as Eastern and Northern European, East Asian, and Middle Eastern film.
