Editor: is celebrating the 75th anniversary of its relationship with the game of hockey in Canada.  As I look back, I realize I鈥檝e been involved with the sport for almost all of those years, too.

I was born in 1943, in Hamilton, Ont. I played several sports but the first was hockey, which I played as a three-year-old wearing double-runner skates tied to my boots. Like many young Canadian kids today, we played on a rink that my father made in the yard. At age five, I recall graduating to the better backyard rink that a neighbour built. I was allowed to stay until the streetlights came on, improving with my new (at least to me) hand-me-down skates, which I wore with four pairs of socks to help fill the boots.

In addition to honing my hockey skills, I was becoming a hockey fan. For Christmas in 1953, I received a crystal radio receiver set. Being the oldest of four children, I could occasionally stay up late on Saturday nights to listen to Foster Hewitt on Hockey Night in Canada. On the Saturdays I had to go to bed, my mom would let me sneak the set up with me, as long as I didn鈥檛 bother my brothers or sister. There in the dark, listening to Foster鈥檚 words, I could see the lunch bucket Leafs and Les Glorieux, the Flying Frenchmen. Maurice (The Rocket) Richard was a blazing ball of fire. I could see my favourite, Leafs captain Ted (Teeder) Kennedy, in my mind鈥檚 eye as Foster told how Teeder scored the eventual winner right off the face-off.

Hewitt鈥檚 broadcasts were from the wooden box high up at Maple Leaf Gardens. We all came to know it as the 鈥楪ondola.鈥� Little did I know that one day I鈥檇 have a view of Foster鈥檚 perch from ice level and later from my own post behind the home team鈥檚 bench.

Radio continued to stoke my interest in the game. I didn鈥檛 have to worry too much when the NHL 鈭� and Imperial Oil along with it 鈭� made the leap to the new medium of television in 1952. No one in our neighbourhood had a TV. Most of my spare moments were spent at Mahoney Park, two blocks from my house. In Hamilton, you had to be 12 years old to play organized hockey. But at Mahoney Park, you could get a pickup game going every day after school and all day Saturday and Sunday.

One wintry Saturday in January of 1954, as I was thawing out my feet from a morning skate, my mother casually mentioned that the fire station where my dad worked just got a television. I couldn鈥檛 believe the words she said next: 鈥淲ould you like to go to the fire hall and watch the Leafs against Montreal tonight?鈥� My heart started pounding in my chest.

That night I was introduced to the miracle of television. I sat with my dad and the other firemen, our eyes glued to the grainy picture. The TV antenna 鈥� or rabbit ears 鈥� had to be constantly moved to get a good picture. It was unforgettable. At long last I actually got to watch the heroes I鈥檇 been envisioning in my head while listening to Foster on the radio. I also saw Esso pitchman Murray Westgate introducing the Hot Stove Lounge and sending the show up to the Gondola for the announcement of the Esso Three Stars, who were picked by Hewitt.

Esso鈥檚 place in the telecast always hit home with me because I occasionally pumped gas for Mr. Elliott, the owner of our local corner Esso station.

As a 15-year-old, I played junior for the Hamilton Jr. A Tiger Cubs alongside Paul Henderson and Pit Martin. Later, I pounded around in the minor pro leagues south of the border. In 1968, having been acquired by the Leafs, I got called up to the NHL. My first game was in Pittsburgh. The next, at home in Toronto, was scheduled as part of the Hockey Night in Canada telecast.

During the morning skate, I watched George Armstrong, the captain, wearing his shirt, tie and skates step on the ice at one end of the Leaf bench and skate to the door at the other end to leave. That was his morning ritual. I tried to nap that afternoon. No luck, so I went to the Gardens early. As the first player in the dressing room, I sat at my new stall, looked up and read for the 10th time that day the famous Conn Smyth Challenge: 鈥淚f you can鈥檛 beat them in the alley, you can鈥檛 beat them on the ice.鈥�

Of course, I knew the words from the Hot Stove Lounge all those years before 鈥� and they still seem like scripture. I thought to myself I鈥檒l do pretty well here because 鈥淭he Alley鈥� just might be the best part of my game.

Two years later I found myself on the roster of the Vancouver Canucks, an expansion team. The game was in transition. On Hockey Night in Canada, Foster still did the Esso Three Star selection but his son Bill was doing the play-by-play.

Esso鈥檚 relationship with hockey was also changing. Its long-time sponsorship of Hockey Night in Canada ended in 1976, when it began developing grassroots programs for kids, which continue today.

My role in hockey has also evolved. I went from playing to coaching in the NHL and eventually becoming involved with the Canadian Amateur Hockey Association (a.k.a. Hockey Canada) as a coach in 1986, when NHL pros represented Canada at the World Championship in Moscow, winning a bronze. I鈥檇 later coach Canada鈥檚 National Junior Men鈥檚 squad to a World Championship in 2009.

As a young fan, player, coach and now as a father and grandfather, I can say I鈥檝e seen first-hand how hockey grew to the point that it truly connects Canadians from coast to coast. And for 75 years, through its unbridled support of the game, Imperial Oil has been in the corners with us.

Pat Quinn

Editor鈥檚 note 鈥� Imperial Oil has been a sponsor of hockey at many levels in Canada for 75 years. To mark the anniversary, the company commissioned former Canuck player and coach Pat Quinn to write this reflective essay.