I want you to imagine, just for a second, lacing
up your skates to play professional sports right
at the absolute height of the Great Depression.
Yeah, you are definitely not flying on chartered
jets. No, definitely not. You're not sleeping
in five -star hotels, and you certainly aren't
signing multi -million dollar endorsement deals.
You are playing an incredibly brutal, physically
demanding game, and absolute financial survival
means your team might... you know, have to sell
off its very best players just to pay for a train
ticket to the next city. It's a completely different
universe from the sports landscape we know today.
Exactly. We are talking about an era where pure,
unadulterated desperation led to some of the
most game -changing innovations the sport has
ever seen. You have franchises literally teetering
on the brink of total financial collapse on a
daily basis. Every single decision. From blockbuster
trains to ticket sales. Right, to the very rules
governing the ice. It's all driven by the urgent,
localized need to simply exist for one more week.
And that brings us to the mission of our deep
dive today. We are exploring the fascinating
and honestly turbulent 1934 to 1935 NHL season.
Quite a year. It really is. Our goal is to extract
the most incredible survival tactics, the bizarre
new rules that were introduced out of thin air,
and the legendary, almost mythic playoff runs
from this highly pivotal 48 -game season. And
keep in mind, there are only nine teams in the
entire league at this point. Just nine. While
this might sound like your standard historical
sports recap, it's actually a masterclass in
adaptation and survival under extreme pressure.
Okay, let's unpack this. To set the stage properly,
we need to look at the timeline. We're covering
a season that ran from November 8, 1934 to April
9, 1935. Right. What is crucial to keep in mind
for you listening to this deep dive is that this
isn't just a list of who won and who lost. It
is about understanding the broader context of
why the league looked the way it did during a
massive global financial crisis. Because the
economics of the 1930s basically dictated almost
everything that happened in the arenas. Exactly.
Which brings up the deeply complicated and, well,
somewhat tragic comic saga of the Ottawa Senators.
Due to extreme financial difficulties, the Ottawa
franchise had to pack up and relocate entirely.
Yeah, they moved all the way down to Missouri
and became the St. Louis Eagles. Ottawa did manage
to keep a senior amateur team, but the professional
NHL franchise was gone. heading to the American
Midwest. And this is where the geographical logistics
become completely absurd and, frankly, a massive
financial trap for the franchise. Because of
the divisions? Precisely. Despite moving all
the way down to St. Louis, Missouri, the Eagles
remain stuck in the Canadian division of the
NHL. Wow. The league divisions were rigidly set,
and restructuring the entire league was a luxury
the NHL couldn't afford at the time. I was looking
at the travel schedules for that year, and the
logistics just seem impossible. How did a team
in Missouri afford to regularly play in Montreal
and Toronto during a depression? They couldn't,
ultimately. You have to remember what travel
actually meant in the 1930s. It meant long, grueling,
freezing train rides. Not exactly comfortable.
Not at all. We're talking about multi -day journeys
just to play a hockey game. The players are carrying
their own heavy wool gear, sleeping in cramped
rail cars. Eating whatever they could find at
train stations. Exactly. And then they're expecting...
to play a highly physical sport. The sheer cost
of those rail tickets from dragging a team from
Missouri up to Canada on a regular basis completely
crippled the newly formed Eagles financially.
So they tried to escape their financial problems
by moving to a new market. But the inflexible
league structure essentially guaranteed they
would bleed money faster than before. It was
a structural trap. And that trap led to some
jaw -dropping desperation moves. To literally
make ends meet, the St. Louis Eagles had to treat
their roster like a liquid asset. Yeah, they
did. They sold their captain, Sid Howe, and Ralph
Scottie Bowman to the Detroit Red Wings for $50
,000. Just incredible. They just sold elite talent.
for straight cash to keep the lights on. And
they weren't the only ones making massive business
shifts. Up in Montreal, the Canadiens' owners,
Leo Dandurand and Joseph Kataranich, sold the
team. Right, to Ernest Savard and Maurice Forget
of the Canadian Arena Company. It was a season
defined by executives shuffling the deck in a
panic. If we connect this to the bigger picture,
this highlights how macroeconomic crises force
fundamental changes in behavior. When the global
economy collapses, businesses lose the luxury
of long -term strategic building. Yeah, modern
fans are used to teams initiating a rebuild over
five years. Right, but in 1934, there was no
five -year plan. You liquidate your best... assets
for $50 ,000 today simply so your remaining players
can afford to play tomorrow. While the owners
were desperately shuffling money off the ice,
the need for survival actually changed the rules
of the game itself. It did. The league desperately
needed to boost gate receipts, they needed more
excitement, and they needed goals. So this season
introduced a brand new, highly anticipated innovation.
The penalty shot. Now, this was originally an
invention borrowed from the old Pacific Coast
Hockey Association. The PCHA. Right, the PCHA,
which was a rival league known for its wild,
crowd -pleasing innovations. But when the NHL
brought the penalty shot in this year, the mechanics
were entirely different from the fluid, breakaway
spectacles we see today. How exactly did it work
back then? The mechanics were incredibly rigid,
almost theatrical, resembling a formalized duel
rather than a hockey play. The puck was placed
in a 10 -foot painted circle that was exactly
38 feet from the goal mouth. 38 feet. Okay. player
taking the shot had two options. They could either
shoot while standing completely stationary within
that circle, or they could shoot while moving.
But there's a catch, right? A huge catch. Regardless
of their momentum, the shot absolutely had to
be released from within that specific 10 -foot
circle. So if the shooter is confined to this
incredibly specific geometry, 38 feet away, what
on earth was the goalie doing during all of this?
The goaltender was essentially handcuffed by
the rulebook. They had to remain completely stationary
until the puck was actually shot. Wow. Furthermore,
they were positioned no more than one foot in
front of the goal mouth. So they couldn't cut
down the angle at all? Not at all. They were
basically glued to the goal line, unable to skate
out, challenge the angle, or use any of the dynamic
positioning modern goalies rely on. They just
had to stand there and wait for a shot from exactly
38 feet away. It's such a bizarre visual. The
historical firsts for this are fascinating. Definitely.
The very first penalty shot in NHL history was
awarded to Armand Mondieu of the Montreal Canadiens
on November 10th, 1934. He stepped up to that
38 -foot mark, but he was stopped by the Toronto
Maple Leafs legendary goalie George Hainsworth.
But the poetic irony comes just three days later.
Right. November 13th. when the first penalty
shot goal in NHL history was finally scored.
And the player who scored it was Scotty Bowman.
The exact same Scotty Bowman who had just been
sold for cash by the struggling St. Louis Eagles
to the Detroit Red Wings. It's a brilliant piece
of historical symmetry. It really is. He goes
from being a liquidated asset to... immortalizing
himself in the NHL record books within the span
of the same turbulent season. The aesthetics
of the game were evolving right alongside these
new rules, too. This 1934 -75 season is really
when the modern concept of having a distinct
home -and -away jersey started to gain traction
across the league. Yes. Detroit introduced a
white version of their uniform, swapping out
their traditional red elements to contrast better
with opponents. And Chicago went even further.
introducing a completely new design. They used
a white stripe and white socks to differentiate
one version of their uniform, and they used a
brown aesthetic for the other version. It's a
subtle but vital step in the professionalization
of the league. You have the New York Americans
and the Toronto Maple Leafs also utilizing two
sets of uniforms to avoid on -ice confusion.
But not everyone, right? No. Meanwhile, Boston,
the Canadians, the Maroons, the Rangers, and
the St. Louis Eagles were all still tough. it
out with just a single uniform design for every
game, regardless of who they were playing or
where they were traveling. Even the physical
buildings they played in were seeing corporate
shifts. The Boston Madison Square Garden, which
has always been a confusing name, became simply
known as Boston Garden. Right. After the Madison
Square Garden Corporation sold its ownership
stake to the Boston Arena Corporation. And our
relocated St. Louis Eagles took up residence
in the St. Louis Arena, officially moving out
of the Ottawa Auditorium. Everything around the
game was shifting. Everything. But while the
executives were managing real estate and jersey
fabrics, the players realized they had their
own economic battles to fight. Which brings us
to an incredible contract standoff. with Charlie
Conacher of the Toronto Maple Leafs. A classic
high -stakes holdout. Conacher decided to play
coy this year, refusing to sign his contract.
Maple Leafs owner Con Smythe was having a terrible
time getting his star player on the ice. And
this was a massive crisis for Toronto because
Conacher's linemate, Hari Jackson, was out with
an injury. Right. That meant Joe Primo was going
to be the only active member of Toronto's famous
kid line. The kid line was the offensive engine
of the franchise, wasn't it? Absolutely. Primo
was the playmaker, Jackson was the flashy winger,
and Conacher was the heavy shooting finisher.
By holding out while Jackson was injured, the
leverage Conacher wielded was immense. They really
needed him. They did. The team was facing the
prospect of starting the season missing two thirds
of their star offensive production. Conacher
intimately knew his value to the franchise, especially
in a gate driven league during a depression.
Fans pay their hard earned money to see stars
score goals. Exactly. If the stars aren't on
the ice, the seats stay empty. Well, the tactic
absolutely worked. He secured his deal, and the
way he responded to the immense pressure of that
holdout is legendary. He had an unbelievable
year. He had the best season of his entire career.
He led the entire league in scoring with 36 goals
and 57 points in a 48 -game season. Just incredible
dominant production. But as impactful as that
contract drama was, here's where it gets really
interesting. The blockbuster trades of the season
shifted the entire balance of power. We see the
landscape of the league genuinely tilt with one
specific monumental transaction. A bombshell
trade out of Montreal. Howie Morens. Was basically
hockey royalty. Right. The Babe Ruth of the sport,
known as the Stratford Streak. He is traded alongside
Laurence Chabot and Marty Burke to the Chicago
Blackhawks. In return, the Canadians got Leroy
Goldsworthy, Roger Jenkins, and Lionel Conacher.
What's fascinating here is the profound psychological
and cultural impact of moving a franchise icon
during an era of intense hardship. Yeah. Morenz
was the face of the Canadians. Even though he
was aging and perhaps past his absolute physical
peak, his presence alone carried an aura. And
it worked for Chicago. It did. When he arrived
in Chicago, his skill and leadership were enough
to help the Blackhawks surge in the standings.
They finished second in the American division,
falling short of Boston by just a single point.
And the Montreal Canadiens, who traded him away,
faced a massive reckoning. They tried to fix
their faltering roster by immediately trading
Lionel Conacher, who they had just acquired in
the Morens deal. Right. Along with Herb Kane,
they sent him to the crosstown rival Montreal
Maroons for Nels Crutchfield. But these cascading
trades completely failed to improve the team.
And more importantly, the fan base absolutely
punished the Canadians for it. They really did.
They traded away a beloved icon, the team didn't
get any better, and the fans responded by refusing
to buy tickets. It is a stark reminder of fan
loyalty. In a depression, discretionary income
is almost non -existent. Fans were willing to
spend their sparse pennies to watch Howie Morens
fly down the ice. They were not willing to spend
it to watch a struggling, unrecognizable roster.
No, they weren't. Meanwhile, the other team in
Montreal, the Maroons, were putting on an absolute
masterclass in quiet, effective management. Tommy
Gorman was the mastermind there. He bought a
share of the Montreal Maroons from James Strachan,
securing his influence over the team's direction.
And then, Gorman makes a move that defines the
entire rest of the season. He goes out and picks
up elite goaltender Alex Connell. That single
acquisition altered the trajectory of the franchise,
setting the stage for what would become a legendary
and incredibly grueling playoff run. When we
talk about the playoffs in 1935, we need to understand
the sheer, unadulterated brutality of the sport
at that time. Let's look at the quarterfinals
and semifinals. It was a bloodbath. In the Chicago
versus Montreal Maroons series, the tension was
palpable. Chicago coach Clem Laughlin openly
predicted that whoever survived this series would
likely win the Stanley Cup. Game one was a grinding
0 -0 tie. And then in game two. And in the overtime
of game two, you get this incredibly vivid scene.
Maroons forward Dave Trottier suffers a severe
cut on the ice and has to retire to the dressing
room for stitches. To properly contextualize
this for you, medical protocols in 1935 were
virtually non -existent. There are no helmets.
There are no concussion spotters. A cut requiring
stitches did not mean your night was over. It
meant a trainer quickly sewed you up with a needle
and thread in a dusty back room so you wouldn't
miss your next shift. Trottier had barely arrived
in the dressing room, still bleeding, before
his teammate, Baldy Northcott, scored the goal
that won the series for the Maroons. Imagine
sitting on a wooden training table. Waiting for
a needle and hearing the roar of the Montreal
Forum erupt because your team just survived to
advance. It's wild. And that physical toll wasn't
isolated to one series. Over in the Rangers versus
Canadians series, Rangers star Bill Cook suffered
a massive hit. He was, in the parlance of the
time, knocked goofy by Nels Crutchfield. Knocked
goofy. That phrase perfectly encapsulates the
dangerous ethos of the era. He was clearly suffering
from a significant concussion. Definitely. Yet
he stayed in the game. He pushed through the
brain fog and the disorientation and managed
to score the deciding goal to win the series
for New York. The margins for victory were razor
thin, and these players were putting their long
-term health on the line every single night because
their livelihoods depended entirely on advancing.
They absolutely did. Before we reach the grand
finale of those brutal playoffs, we should touch
on the titans of the season who were recognized
with the league's major awards. It is a phenomenal
cross -section of the different styles defining
the game. You have Eddie Shore taking home the
Hart Trophy as the league's most valuable player
for the second time. Well deserved. Very much
so. Shore was the embodiment of that brutal physical
force we just described. He was terrifying to
play against. But on the exact opposite end of
the spectrum, you have Frank Butcher winning
the Lady Bing Trophy for excellence in sportsmanship
for an astonishing seventh and final time. But
Butcher proved that finesse and gentlemanly play
could still thrive in a punishing league. Exactly.
You also have Lauren Shabbat, who was part of
that massive Howie Morenz trade, securing his
first and only Vizina trophy with a microscopic
1 .80 goals against average. That number alone
shows you how defensive, tight and low scoring
these games were. And Sweeney Schweiner took
rookie of the year honors for the improving New
York Americans, showing that a new generation
of talent was beginning to emerge. But all of
those individual accolades were just the prelude
to the Stanley Cup finals. The climax of the
season. the Montreal Maroons versus the Toronto
Maple Leafs. You have Tommy Gorman's shrewdly
built Maroons going up against Kahn Smythe's
absolute powerhouse Maple Leafs, featuring the
league's top scorer, Charlie Kahnatcher. This
series was entirely defined by a complete, systematic
defensive shutdown. The Montreal Maroons devised
a strategy to relentlessly smother Toronto's
vaunted kid line of Joe Primo, Harvey Jackson,
and Charlie Conacher. They didn't just play defense.
They neutralized the greatest offensive weapon
in the sport. The ultimate safety net behind
that suffocating defensive strategy was the goalie
Tommy Gorman acquired, Alex Connell. Connell
turned into an absolute wall in the net, time
and again foiling point -blank surefire goals
for Toronto. The Maple Leafs threw everything
they had at him, pouring on the offensive pressure,
and Connell simply shut the door. The Maroons
swept the series three games to none. The emotional
weight of that victory, especially considering
the era, cannot be overstated. There is an incredible
cinematic image from the end of that series.
As Game 3 ended, With the Montreal Forum crowd
letting out a massive, deafening roar of approval,
Maroons goaltender Alex Connell simply leaned
back on his crossbar. And cried. Yeah. He just
cried. You have to deeply consider what it took
for a human being to reach that moment. The physical
exhaustion of playing heavy minutes, the immense
pressure of playing goal in an era with minimal
padding where every shot genuinely hurt. And
the heavyweight of the Great Depression hanging
over every player's livelihood. Exactly. Leaning
on the crossbar and weeping is a profound, incredibly
human release of tension. And the historical
significance of what Connell and that Maroons
team accomplished is genuinely staggering. Let's
look at the numbers. They went through the entire
playoff run with only ties or victories. That's
right. They did not record a single loss during
the entirety of the playoffs. To put that in
perspective, they were the last team to accomplish
that perfect. So what does this all mean? We
started this deep dive by talking about economic
desperation. Franchises relocating on a whim
and selling star players for cash. And we end
with a perfect, flawless... playoff run by a
team that no longer even exists. It perfectly
encapsulates a league in deep structural transition.
Pushed to the brink by the Great Depression,
the NHL was forced to cannibalize ideas and innovate.
We saw the birth of the rigid geometric penalty
shot. We saw the evolution of jersey variants
and team branding. But simultaneously, underneath
all of those corporate and structural changes,
the players were delivering some of the grittiest,
most emotionally resonant, physically punishing
hockey ever played. The macroeconomic panic forced
the business side to adapt wildly. But the spirit
of the game on the ice was perhaps purer and
more desperate than it had ever been. And for
you listening, understanding these chaotic, desperate
roots makes watching the hyper polished billion
dollar modern NHL so much richer. It really does.
When you see a player take a penalty shot today
with a complex weaving deke moving fluidly down
the ice, remember that the rule was forged in
the fires of the 1930s where a guy had to stand
frozen inside a 10 -foot painted circle to take
his shot. Right. The rules, the geographic footprints,
the very structures of the sport you see today
were hammered out by franchises just trying to
afford the train ride to the next freezing town.
This raises an important question, though, doesn't
it? What's that? Consider the Montreal Maroons.
They achieved absolute hockey mortality with
a perfect playoff run, shutting down the greatest
scorers of their generation and hoisting the
Stanley Cup. Yet, despite that ultimate triumph,
their franchise completely vanished from existence
shortly after. They remain the absolute last
team that is currently defunct to have won a
Stanley Cup. That's true. What happens to the
legacy of a championship and the memories of
the fans who lived and breathed it when the team
itself becomes a ghost? The ghost champions of
1935. That is a phenomenal question to leave
you with today. Thank you for joining us on this
deep dive into hockey history and keep exploring
the incredible gritty stories that built the
world around us.