Five years passed since September 2017 when Canadian veterans gathered in Moscow to observe the 45th anniversary of the 1972 Canada-USSR Ice Hockey Super Series. That event opened a window to the wider world for many Soviet fans and carried the hopeful notion of easing tensions. Invited by Canadians, stick collector and later Nobel Peace Prize laureate Dmitry Muratov, along with sports commentator Mikhail Melnikov, joined informal conversations in a bar with players who played a pivotal role in the Soviet childhood imagination.
The future laureate carried along a pair of personalized clubs, each stamped with a player’s name, from his captivating collection. Melnikov wore a jacket adorned with Montreal Canadiens symbolism that had amused observers since the 1970s. Those in attendance remembered rooting for Dynamo (Riga) and Helmut Balderis rather than any single Canadian star.
With the absence of the main star Phil Esposito, detained by a hurricane in Florida, communication became the talent of Pete, the author of the 20th roster number and a stylish goal scored against Tretiak in the second game in Toronto. Little M from Montreal — ironically nicknamed because Big M’s younger brother is Frank Mahovlich and stands at 195 centimeters — spoke warmly with the group and posed for a photo with his arm around Muratov. When his gaze landed on Muratov’s sticks, a sudden spark lit his eyes as if he recognized a cherished memory: his cane. The moment shifted the atmosphere — the veteran pretended to pocket the stick under his blue jacket and pressed a Canadian maple leaf into his polo, before signing away the moment.
Back in 1972, all eyes were on Little M, a towering figure who made an impression on the Soviet side—an encounter that included Canadians and Soviet players alike. The memory included the return of hockey luminaries such as Alan Eagleson, who faced Soviet authorities as the last Canadian on the ice during a pivotal moment when a red light near Tretyak’s goal failed to signal the end of an imminent Canadian score. The celebration of the game in Toronto, the big man’s impact, and the connection to Montreal’s top players added to a shared sense of history. Mahovlich, who later lifted the Stanley Cup four times, fostered a special bond with Cournoyer, a much shorter counterpart. Their partnership—described by hockey writers as among the greatest moments in hockey history—was celebrated in Montreal’s Forum when the two shook hands with Tretiak and the army’s best players, sealing a moment that felt almost prophetic. Little M later matched that historic rhythm, touching the legacy of Guy Lafleur and Steve Shutt in Montreal, and ceremoniously embraced the present as a descendant of awe-inspiring athleticism, as if Olympus were reserved for mortals only.
Today this is a fact that has slowly faded. It seems unlikely that veterans will travel to Russia again. In 1972, players from various corners of Canada gathered under a single flag, the sense of shared national pride bluntly confronting political rhetoric. The Soviet side too found a surprising openness among officials who sensed a mood shift, even when political tensions simmered. The stories diverge from popular film myth, including the appearance of the period’s mood rather than its dramatic texture. Hockey players, ready to stand firm, collided with the harsh realities of the Iron Curtain after the Super Series concluded in Moscow. At the farewell banquet, champagne flowed, and the participants dispersed. Ken Dryden, the legendary goalkeeper who later wrote about the Series, even captivated his translator, who vanished — not by chance, but as part of the era’s intricate web of intrigue.
Yet the experience was a way to sustain world peace. Hockey itself became a channel through which political history moved, not merely a game with twists and turns, but a deliberate instrument of diplomacy.
The path of USSR-Canada relations ran parallel to significant political milestones, including the Brezhnev-Nixon summit. Canadian Prime Minister Pierre Elliott Trudeau pursued an independent policy, a stance not lost on Nixon, who once called him a donkey. In May 1971, Trudeau visited Moscow with his young wife Margaret, who would eventually become the mother of Justin Trudeau, and met Soviet Premier Alexei Kosygin. Trudeau’s historic remark followed: Let our best players play with your best players without any preconditions. Kosygin’s diplomacy would shape the era, a sentiment echoed by future allies such as Alexander Yakovlev, who noted the importance of Kosygin’s outreach during a Canada mission. Kosygin’s travels, including a 1971 Canadian tour, reflected a broader push to improve relations, culminating in a joint, strategic view of sports as a bridge between nations. Trudeau’s government did not focus on human rights accusations but emphasized expanding ties, a stance that resonated in cultural and diplomatic circles alike.
Alexei Kosygin’s October 1971 trip to Canada proved decisive. He toured much of the country, witnessed rallies calling for the relief of blockaded groups in Israel, and even attended a Vancouver Canucks versus Montreal Canadiens game on October 22, where Montreal triumphed 6-0. The encounter included a meeting with Henri Richard, then head of the USSR Council of Ministers, and his daughter Lyudmila Gvishiani, who represented the Ministry of Foreign Affairs on such trips. Henri demonstrated how to manage the club’s legacy and leadership, underscoring the blending of sports and statecraft.
Six months later, on April 18, 1972, during the World Championships in Prague, officials on both sides agreed to stage the Series. Intense dialogue among the Sports Committee, the international department, and the propaganda department set the stage for a carefully orchestrated demonstration of organizational excellence. This groundwork would later help launch the highly successful 1973 World Championship in Moscow.
That is how events unfolded half a century ago — a successful blend of humanitarian exchange and official diplomacy. Today, surviving veterans may not reunite, and hockey in Russia has faced long-running international suspensions. It remains unlikely that Little M will ever obtain the stick he once dreamed of from Muratov’s collection.
As Le Journal de Quebec noted, outstanding defender Serge Savard recently celebrated the 50th anniversary of his series, partly funded by a university drive in support of students and partly in memoriam of Guy Lafleur, who passed away this year. In 1972, six players remained in the same Montreal lineup: Marcel Dionne, the strategic mind Ken Dryden (though many of his games were in reserve at that time, his star would rise later), Guy Lapointe, Yvan Cournoyer, Serge Savard himself, and Pete Mahovlich.
Judging by the photo, the 75-year-old Little M looks well, sporting a beard that echoes a Hemingway-esque silhouette. The narrator offers this as a personal view, which may not align with every editor’s stance.