Chasing Joe Daley

A guest post by Chris O’Brien

When I was in second grade, the newly-minted Buffalo Sabres selected as the first member of their team a goalie named Joe Daley.  With that move, Punch Imlach, the Sabres’ general manager, set in motion an odyssey which would span forty years for me, finally ending last Friday.

That first season, anything connected to the Sabres had a sense of awe attached to it.  NHL hockey was new and wonderful in Buffalo; for a second grader, a program dad brought home from a game was a treasure to be shown off the next day at school.  I still remember the cover story, “Joe Daley: He Belongs.”  What that meant, I really didn’t know, but I thought it was the best article in the best program ever.

Fast forward to the 1990s.  I finally started playing hockey in a league with a team stocked with defensemen who couldn’t skate backwards and forwards who had trouble going forward.  Goalie for that team?  It was yours truly, but only after the captain promised that if I bought all the equipment, I would play every game, no matter how bad I was (and I was plenty bad).  When we ordered jerseys, there was no question what number I wanted: 30, Joe Daley’s number.  Our team that year resembled the first year Sabres: what we didn’t have in skill, we made up in camaraderie.  I often faced a ton of shots; unlike Daley, I was happy with the occasional save.

After the season was over, a goalie friend of mine begged me for my autographed Grant Fuhr jersey.  I wasn’t a huge Fuhr fan so I agreed, on one condition—that he have a Buffalo Sabres Joe Daley jersey made up for me.

The jersey became kind of a running joke with the guys I grew up with.  They all knew that when they would say, “Joe Daley?”  I would respond with, “He belongs!”  The jersey began to achieve a reputation of its own.  Before going to important Buffalo Bills’ games, I would get the call from a friend, “You wearing the Daley?”  At the games, walking into the stadium, at least two or three voices would yell, “Joe Daley? Great jersey!”  All told, the jersey had a lifetime win-loss-tie record of 21-6-3, including NHL games, NFL playoff games, and one memorable outdoor NHL game. In its later years, the jersey was reserved for only the most important games, as I knew it could only have so much magic in it.

In the back of my mind, I always wondered if I would ever meet the real Joe Daley.  About ten years ago, I found his website, a sports trading card store in Winnipeg, but I never followed through on actually contacting him.  After all, what would I say?  “I’m a 37 year old lawyer who wears your jersey even though you last played for the Sabres thirty years ago.”  Right.  How long until the RCMP would arrive at my door to ask me to please leave Mr. Daley alone.

I guess for a while it was enough for me just to know he was still around.  But then God dropped an out-of-town billionaire named Terry Pegula on the Buffalo Sabres.  It turns out that Pegula had spent years following the Sabres the same way my generation did, listening to the games on the transistor radio.  And what does the new owner do but invite all former Sabres to the last game of the season!

I knew I had to be at the game.  This might be my only chance to actually meet Joe Daley.  The fact that the Sabres needed a point to make the playoffs was important, too, but I was focused on meeting the man behind the jersey.  I called the Sabres to make sure he was coming into town.  I pleaded with a friend to share his tickets with me.  And I suited up for the game, a grey-haired 47 year-old former second grader who only wanted one thing, to meet Joe Daley.

So there I was, in the second period, worried because the Sabres were down 3-2 halfway through the game.  Making the playoffs was starting to look in doubt.  I realized that maybe wearing the jersey wasn’t enough.  Maybe I needed the man himself.

I turned to my friend and said, “Let’s go!”

He looked at me blankly and said, “What?”

“Let’s go, we gotta find Joe Daley!”

It wasn’t just for me anymore, it was for the Sabres—they needed the karma (or so I convinced myself later).

So we walk around the arena, spotting the famous and the near-famous former Sabres who are mingling with the crowd in what is perhaps the best day in the history of the Sabres, for players and fans alike.  But no Joe Daley.

Finally I head to the private box where I see a bunch of former Sabres  watching the game.  Unfortunately, there’s an usher positioned to keep people like me from ruining the former players’ chance to enjoy the game.  In what I can only describe as a Pegula-like move, the usher allows me to approach the box and a Sabres official spots the jersey I am wearing.  He waves me around to the back door, where he welcomes me into a room full of Sabres history .

The next thing I know, I am walking up to a table where there’s a man in his 60s just about to eat a plateful of wings.  “Joe, you’re not going to believe this… “ the Sabres guy says.  The man looks up, sees the jersey I am wearing, jumps out of his seat and literally lifts me off my feet with the biggest bear hug I’ve ever had.

The next ten minutes are a blur of me and Joe Daley.  I tell him about the jersey and its winning record.  I tell him about all the fans through the years who have remembered him.  I tell him about the “Joe Daley” call with the “He Belongs” answer.  And I tell him of the only time I met the late Rick Martin, who at the first game of this season had spotted me wearing a Joe Daley jersey and had come over and shared a beer with me and my friends only because I was wearing that jersey.  Looking at the smile on Daley’s face, I know it’s a close call between which of us is happier, the kid who finally met his idol or the man who now knows he is still remembered forty years after he last played a game in a Sabres’ sweater.  His smile, his bear hug, the joy he has talking hockey: I know I was right to wear this player’s jersey for so many years.  This is a good man.

Being the guy he is, Joe signs my jersey, thereby insuring that the jersey will never be worn again.  He gives me his business card and we agree to keep in touch.  Naturally, the Sabres soon tie the score and make the playoffs.  I met Joe Daley and the Sabres made the playoffs, all in one night.  Could there be anything better?

As I am leaving the arena after the game, I hear people whispering, “Is that Joe Daley?”  I can only think to myself, “No, it’s not.  But it’s pretty great to have you think that I am.”

Chris O’Brien is a partner with the law firm of O’Brien Boyd, LLP.