Sapporo, Japan is located 10,000 miles and 10 time zones from the United States. On one February day in 1972, it may as well have been 10 million miles away.
There was no satellite TV coverage, no live Internet scores and seemingly no interest as 20 young American men proudly stepped upon a podium to receive their silver medals in Olympic ice hockey.
NBC, which was broadcasting the Games back to the States, decided to pull the plug on the day's coverage just minutes before the medal ceremony was about to begin. It marked the end of the broadcast day and the beginning of three decades of obscurity for one of America's greatest hockey teams.
They couldn't keep the cameras on for another two to three minutes. That was the biggest disappointment for this team.
Over the years, this team would get used to disappointment, get used to being the forgotten team sandwiched between the 1960 and 1980 U.S. Olympic Teams, both of which won gold on U.S. soil.
A Place In History
The modern belief that "you don't win silver, you lose gold" does not apply to the 1972 U.S. Team for many reasons. For starters, unlike today's current format, the Olympic hockey tournament in 1972 was a round-robin event, with the team holding the best record taking home the gold. And with the Russian juggernaut in full swing, international tournaments were competitions for second place.
Coming off a sixth-place finish at the 1971 World Championship, the United States' medal hopes in Sapporo were slim at best. The Czechs were strong, the Swedes were skilled and the rest of the field seemed to have the Americans' number. Even Canada's boycott of international competition in protest Russia's use of "professional players" couldn't buoy the U.S. medal hopes.
But something happened far from home, out of the prime time television glow. A group of young American men pulled off one of the greatest moments in USA Hockey history, a feat that lives on in anonymity.
The Dream Starts Here
It was a different United States back then. When it came to hockey, East and West were divided by more than just the Mississippi River. Especially when it came to hockey. The country had developed deep dividing lines, with loyalties on both sides fully entrenched.
It was Head Coach Murray Williamson's job to bring the country together by fielding the best team he could put together. It wasn't an easy task.
With a core of eight players from the 1971 U.S. National Team, Williamson conducted tryout camps in Massachusetts, Michigan and Minnesota. It was there that he discovered diamonds in the rough like Robbie Ftorek, a sparkplug of a forward from Massachusetts, and Henry Boucha, one of the greatest Minnesota prep players of all time. From there he brought his team of 25 players to Bemidji in northern Minnesota to train, break down barriers and create bonds that would endure until this day.
The road to Sapporo would include a 47-game domestic schedule that featured collegiate, professional and international competition. Among them were five games against the powerful Russians.
From Russia, With Love
To speed up the learning process, Williamson knew he'd have to come up with a new way of thinking and training to compete against European countries. He found his answer behind the Iron Curtain.
In the spring of 1971, Williamson made his way to Russia to learn from the master, legendary coach Anatoly Tarasov. Skeptical at first, the players bought into the system once they saw how effective it could be. The daily routine featured a combination of aerobic and anaerobic exercises, including basketball, racquetball and weight training. Then they'd hit the ice
It wasn't only off the ice that the Americans had to change their ways. After years of taking it on the chin in international competition, they knew the North American style didn't work against the shifty Europeans. And it seemed to be working. Through the domestic schedule the U.S. squad could feel they were getting better. And while they may have had a lot of ground to make up, they felt they were gaining on the competition very quickly.
Let The Games Begin
If the U.S. Team was going to have any shot at an Olympic medal, it would first have to earn its way into the tournament. After a two-game exhibition against Poland (a win) and Czechoslovakia (a loss) in Tokyo, the U.S. returned to Sapporo ready to take on the Swiss in a one-game "win you're in, lose you're out" qualification game. Needless to say, it was a nerve-wracking time.
The Swiss proved to be a tougher opponent than many expected. Thanks to the heroic efforts of Swiss goalie Gerard Rigolet, the score was tied 3-3 before Tim Sheehy and Irving scored third-period goals. With little time to bask in the glory of a 5-3 victory and a berth in the medal round, the U.S. had 16 hours to get ready for a Swedish team that was emerging as a world power.
A lack of rest and questionable officiating left the U.S. on the short end of a 5-1 score. With the powerful Czechs up next, the mood in the locker room was less than upbeat.
Super Southpaw
It was time for a 26-year-old fireball of a goaltender to step up and lead the U.S. Team. On a squad that averaged 22 years of age, Mike "Lefty" Curran was considered the senior citizen.
A dynamic goaltender with a butterfly style, the International Falls, Minn., native was a member of the U.S. National Team from 1969 to 1971 but was not on the original roster for the 1972 Olympic Team.
As the domestic tour drew to a close on a sour note with five routs at the hands of the Russians, Williamson went looking for help in goal. Curran, who was playing with the Green Bay Bobcats in the United States Hockey League, answered the last-minute call.
If the Sweden game had tested the U.S. defense, it was nothing compared to what the Czechs would throw their way. Luckily, the U.S. had Curran standing tall between the pipes. In one of the greatest goaltending performances in USA Hockey history, Curran stopped 51 of 52 shots to upset the Czechs, and give the U.S. new life.
A veteran of international hockey, Curran used that experience to his advantage. Rather than challenge shooters and cut down the angles, Curran would hang deep in the net and wait for the shooter to make one more move.
The Big Red Machine
The 52 shots Curran faced against the Czechs didn't prepare him for what was on the horizon. Considered by many the greatest hockey team ever, the Russian team competing in Sapporo was the same squad that would shock the world and the powerful Canadians in the '72 Summit Series that took place months later.
The Chips Fall Into Place
The Russians left the U.S. Team beaten, bruised and bewildered following a 7-2 loss. Three games into the tournament the Americans had a record of 1-2-0 (not counting the play-in game). It was time for Curran to step up big, and he did in a 4-1 victory over Finland and a 6-1 rout of Poland.
The months of traveling, training and competing were finally over. It was time to celebrate, which many of the U.S. players did, and wait. The night after beating Poland, the players hit the town as hard as they hit the ice for much of the past year.
As dawn came to Sapporo on the morning of Feb. 12, the U.S. was still in the hunt for a medal. It all came down to two of the fiercest rivalries in international ice hockey, Sweden vs. Finland, and the Czechs vs. the Russians. The flavor turned out to be sweet silver as the Russians beat the Czechs, 5-2.
It was the first Olympic medal on foreign ice since Cortina d'Ampezzo, Italy in 1956 and the first medal of any kind since the team won gold in Squaw Valley, Calif., in 1960.
In The Shadow Of A 'Miracle'
Eight years later, Mellor remembers exactly where he was as he watched a new group of American dreamers take on the same Big Red Machine that he faced. Years later, he lined up with Mike Eruzione, one of the heroes of the 1980 Team, at a charity hockey game in Boston.
The Difference Between Silver And Gold
It's been 32 years since they won silver in Sapporo. The "Miracle on Ice" is ready to celebrate its silver anniversary. If anyone on the '72 Team feels a twinge of jealousy, they hide it well. They are proud of what the 1980 Team achieved, just as they're proud of what they accomplished. They are brothers, separated by time but linked by the red, white and blue fabric that runs between every member of every U.S. National and Olympic Team.
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