Editor’s Note: The following has been prepared by LWOS Contributor LW Oakley.

Before the Edmonton Oilers NHL hockey game on Friday October 1, 1999, special retirement ceremonies were held for The Great One, Number 99, Wayne Gretzky. Most hockey experts consider him the greatest player of all-time.

The program that night contained the first 73 lines of my 99-line poem called, He will always be The Great One, which the Edmonton Oilers purchased from me for one publication run.

Over 30,000 programs were sold that night for about $10 a piece. People at the game were buying them by the box and each box held 30 programs.

Wayne Gretzky Poem Goes to International Hockey Hall of Fame

The Edmonton Oilers cut the final 26 lines of the poem covering Gretzky’s ten-year career, from the time he left Edmonton until the day that he retired, without conferring with me. I understand why they did it. But I also remember telling friends how that was comparable to an artist selling a painting to a gallery and then someone at the gallery deciding to paint over a part of the canvas that he or she didn’t like. Maybe the Oilers wanted to try to erase what seemed like a big mistake and a bad memory for the city of Edmonton. Here are some of the lines the Oilers cut:

Suddenly, he cried, betrayed,

Not traded, but sadly sold away.

There was a Royal wedding first,

On one last joyful summer day.

I wrote the Gretzky poem on my backyard deck in Kingston, Ontario in just a few hours during a summer afternoon in 1999. I saw a news item on TV about his planned retirement ceremony in Edmonton and thought to myself, “A guy like Gretzky needs a poem.” Although it’s the first and only poem that I have written, I have published numerous newspaper columns over the years. The Kingston Whig Standard, a Sun Media newspaper, gave me my start as a writer twenty years ago, and continues to publish my columns today.

The Gretzky poem captures the evolution of the phrase “The Great One” and the rise and fall of a world hockey icon from his father’s lessons on their backyard rink, to four Stanley Cup victories, and finally to the moment he was humbled by the game when he was left on the bench at the Nagano Olympics in 1998, during a shootout against the Czech Republic to determine who would play for gold.

He had one last chance to play for Gold,

But voices whispered, he was growing old.

And when the battle went to sudden death,

And the crowd looked on and held their breath.

He sat watching in an unfamiliar space,

Someone else would take his place.

The Gretzky poem may be compared to one of the best-known poems in American literature, Casey at the Bat, written 111 years earlier in 1888, by Ernest Thayer. The Casey poem also captures the moment a great sports legend is humbled by the game. But there’s one big difference–Casey is a fictional slugger from a make believe town called Mudville. Gretzky is a real Canadian from Brantford, Ontario, and still one of the best-known athletes in the world today in any sport.

The Gretzky poem captures the style of The Great One’s game, which was exciting to watch and as unique as his number 99. I am especially proud of conveying this to the reader in as few words as possible, which is the aim of any good poet:

When he created plays, hunched there, behind the net,

They knew he was the likes of which they never met.

The players stared in disbelief,

As he picked their pockets like a thief.

Canadians may read the Gretzky poem and think of a famous Canadian short story called The Hockey Sweater written by Roch Carrier in 1979. The short story is about Carrier and his friends growing up in Quebec as fans of Montreal Canadiens star Maurice Richard. They all wore Canadiens sweaters with Rocket Richard’s famous number 9. The opening lines of the Gretzky poem pays tribute to the Rocket as a hockey hero, along with a diabetic hall-of-famer from western Canada, and an Ontario boy who wore number 6 for the Toronto Maple Leafs, the first jersey to be retired by an NHL team.

The heroes of hockey each have a name,

That tell the story of our game.

Speed and power, heart and grace,

Became the Rocket, Flin Flon Bomber,

And a Leaf called Ace.

I am honoured to have my 99-line poem and the Oiler program with the 74-line abbreviated version displayed in the International Hockey Hall of Fame and Museum in Kingston, Ontario. It was founded by the National Hockey League and Canadian Amateur Hockey Association in 1943 and is the oldest sports hall of fame in Canada. A sports hall of fame is a sacred place where the remains of dreams are kept. Wooden sticks, rubber pucks and gold medals from dreams that came true are preserved under bright lights in glass cases so we remember those who played the game better and longer and harder than anyone else.

Starting October 9, 2014 my written words were displayed on a five foot banner alongside precious hockey artifacts, including game sweaters worn by “Mr. Hockey” Gordie Howe, Maurice “The Rocket” Richard, and Gretzky’s Edmonton Oilers WHA rookie jersey from 1978-79. Hopefully my words will bring his sweater back to life and spark the hockey dreams of some young boy or girl.

I met Wayne in 1980 before he started winning Stanley Cups for the Edmonton Oilers. He came to Kingston, Ontario one summer to sign autographs at Lasalle Sports, a sporting goods store owned by my friend Gerry Blacker. Gerry knew Wayne from Brantford where they grew up. Hundreds of people lined up that day in Kingston to get an autograph and meet The Great One for a few precious seconds.

Wayne was at the store all day. When it came time for lunch, Gerry asked Wayne to take a break and go out for an hour to eat. Wayne said, “Just grab me a sandwich. I can’t keep all these people waiting.”

My poem doesn’t capture that moment but it’s another of the many reasons why Wayne Gretzky is and will always be The Great One.

LW Oakley is a freelance writer living in Kingston, Ontario. He is the author of two outdoors books – Inside The Wild and Inside The Wild 2, which are available at the publisher’s website, www.gsph.com.

Here’s the entire poem:

He will always be The Great One

The heroes of hockey each have a name,

That tell the story of our game.

Speed and power, heart and grace,

Became the Rocket, Flin Flon Bomber,

And a Leaf called Ace.

There was no name above the rest,

No player who was clearly best.

They shared the spotlight that comes with fame,

But a star was rising with a different name.

He was a Brantford boy, who played for fun,

And not yet known as The Great One.

At three years old he began to skate,

His father taught him where to wait.

In his backyard he built a rink,

There he showed him what to think.

He played with boys as big as men,

When he was six and they were ten.

The legend now began to grow,

In a northern land of ice and snow.

His childhood, it was about to end,

And his father would be his best friend.

But the boy still known as Walter’s son,

Would soon become The Great One.

At sixteen he played in Sault Ste. Marie,

To watch him play you paid a fee.

He was small and thin and frail,

Away from home, but would not fail.

They would test his heart and soul,

And make him pay to score a goal.

He feathered passes, swooped and soared,

And large crowds stood and roared.

His number, it was ninety nine,

It was unique, perhaps a sign.

Who is this? And what was that?

The experts asked, and began to clap.

He stood alone like the fiery sun,

And the London Free Press

Was the first to call him The Great One.

At seventeen he was a millionaire,

The Boy Wonder played the game with flair.

Though far away in Indianapolis,

At home, his name became a household word

To each and everyone of us.

When he went to Edmonton and the NHL,

The Oilers began to win and gel.

Though the doubters sang their same old song,

He knew that he would prove them wrong.

He followed a path made in his mind,

And slipped through creases, seams and time.

His long blond curls flowed from his head,

His game had magic and fire that spread,

Bull necked warriors played him rough,

To see if he was also tough.

They attacked him, but paid the price,

He left them standing, flat footed, on the ice.

When he created plays, hunched there, behind the net,

They knew he was the likes of which they never met.

The players stared in disbelief,

As he picked their pockets like a thief.

He would lift his team to take the cup,

And when they won he held it up.

For the silver chalice was his sole desire,

It was his dream and burned like fire.

And when the banner was hung above,

The battleground that he did love.

The crowd they cheered for more,

And before he left there were four.

When all of this he had done,

They said he truly is The Great One.

Suddenly, he cried, betrayed,

Not traded, but sadly sold away.

There was a Royal wedding first,

On one last joyful summer day.

He became a King, an ambassador for his sport,

Wore the “C” in St. Louis, and 99 in New York.

He had one last chance to play for Gold,

But voices whispered, he was growing old.

And when the battle went to sudden death,

And the crowd looked on and held their breath.

He sat watching in an unfamiliar space,

Someone else would take his place.

Perhaps he knew the end was near,

It must have been his greatest fear.

And when he left amid the tears,

He had been the best for twenty years.

Everyone watched his last farewell,

His friends were there to bid him well.

We all were sad to see him go,

He was the game, now we know.

He remains a hero, father, legend, boy and son,

Who played the game just for fun.

A man like this you seldom see,

His name is Wayne Gretzky.

Though he said, goodbye, my day is done,

He will always be The Great One.

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