Walter Gretzky's Diary

June 10, 1960 The rabbit died! Phyllis is preggers!! I'm sure our first born will be a boy; we did everything right: I made Phyl gargle every night with 7-Up, and I wore loose-fitting GWG Jeans.

Here is my chance!! I've had it with the god-damn phone company. I still remember the sneers when I used to hit the ice on the Junior Hockey team. I'll show them. I'll show them all.

June 25, 1960 Phyl is about eight weeks pregnant now, according to my calculations.
I am about to start on my plan. I mean, he should almost be embryonic, after all.

June 26, 1960 Harold Ballard hasn't answered my letters about our future superstar. And they were sent special delivery, yet! He'll live to regret it, the S.O.B.

June 29, 1960 Ballard just answered my letter, but said that I was -- and I quote -- "loony tunes." We'll see who's crazy, you old bat.

July 1, 1960 Here it is, Canada's birthday. What better time to formally begin The Plan. I've begun a swimming regimen for Phyllis. She thinks she can manage five to ten laps a day. I hope to have her up to five hundred daily by the end of the summer. Hell, if our future star is swimming inside her, it can only inspire him if she swims, right?

July 20, 1960 Phyl was getting irritated by my pressing the pictures of Gordie Howe and the Rocket against her stomach, so I've stopped.

July 21, 1960 Well, at least during her waking hours. But if fetuses can feel, they can surely be inspired, can't they?

July 24, 1960 Phyl didn't even notice! I made sure the photos of Howie Morenz and
Boom-Boom were transferred onto soft cotton before I finally stapled them inside her bra. The indoctrination has formally begun!!

July 30, 1960 Phyllis is up to one hundred and fifty laps a day, although she's started to bitch about it. I've measured the backyard, and it's just large enough to hold a rink.
Winter, please come!

August 4, 1960 Foster Hewitt won't answer my letters or my calls. Fuggim.

August 8, 1960 Phyllis has become difficult. My playing the old tapes of Stanley Cup Championships during breakfast, lunch and dinner has her climbing the wall. Actually, I'm growing rather fond of them, even though Hewitt's voice still bugs me. Anyway, I've decided to play them after she's asleep. Who knows? The future Wonder could well be awake in there.

August 10, 1960 I find that I sleep better with the tapes on all night. But now Phyl has been waking up with "the sounds of crowds shouting" in her ears. If she begins to complain about the gum and popcorn in our bed, I may have to stop.

September 2, 1960 Phyl is up to two hundred and forty-five laps a day, but I can't seem
to push her any more. What a grouch.

September 10, 1960 Half-way to sudden life overtime! The future Genius should be about 41/4 months old, now. And just today, there was a nip of cold in the air! The Second Stage is about to begin! In a few decades, no one will remember that Brantford was the home of Alexander Graham Bell.

October 28, 1960 It's below freezing, for the first time since he was conceived! I locked Phyl outside when she was taking out the garbage this morning, and I let her hammer
at least fifteen minutes before I let her in, claiming that I was in the toilet and couldn't hear her. Which was true. Oh, God, this kid is going to be magnificent.

November 15, 1960 I've begun to body-check Phyl around the house, claiming that I lost my balance. I think she believed me the first half-dozen times, but maybe I'd better lay off, and do it only every other day. Don't want any penalties, ya know!

November 28, 1960 The future God must be about seven months old, now. I locked Phyl outside again, but this time I let her in after only eight minutes, after I had a horrifying thought: if the placenta freezes, will not the Kid freeze, too?

November 24, 1960 Then again, if the placenta does freeze inside Phyl, will the kid learn to skate? But skate on what? He doesn't have skates, and even if he did, who says the water will freeze under him, not around him? Maybe I'd better rethink the whole thing.

December 25, 1960 Xmas Day. The backyard rink is perfectly frozen, just ready for His Birth. Or rather, His Second Coming.

January 26, 1961 It's a boy! I knew it!! We've decided to name him Wayne, or "99" for short. Which he'd better not be, by the way. I wonder if there are shots to make sure he'll be over 6'3"??

February 10, 1961 No birthday gifts from the Toronto Maple Leafs, no notes of congratulation from King Clancy or Hot Shot Harold. Boy oh boy, are those guys gonna be sorry. Wayne won't play for them if they promise him Eaton's, Simpson's and the Bay
to boot.

February 28, 1961 Wayne is four weeks old today. It's about time that he got out on the ice, wouldn't you say? I froze a large slab in the freezer and placed it on the kitchen table. From 7 to 7:45 this evening, Phyllis and I shoved Wayne back and forth across the ice in his diapers. He didn't seem to mind. Oh, Lord, when will he be able to skate, already?

February 28, 1961 Phyllis didn't seem to mind that I've been using old newspaper photos of Clarence Campbell as toilet paper, to wipe our son. She'll never understand how evil it was to bench the Rocket like that, but what can you expect from a woman?

March 18, 1961 Wayne seems to enjoy when I read to him from the rules. He gurgles
appreciatively when I read that "in front of each goal a 'GOAL CREASE' area shall be marked by a red line two inches in width." (That's Rule 4a. ) And he never fails to fall asleep when I talk about the Penalty Bench (Rules 10a and b). I think we've got ourselves a winner!!

November 8, 1961 Forgive me, diary, for staying away so long. But today was upsetting. Wayne skated over five hours, came inside, and collapsed. Phyllis threw a bloody fit, screaming that I've been pushing him too fast. Maybe I should have waited until he could walk. Anyway, the doctor says the injuries are minor, and he should be back on the ice within days. Hell, he's almost one, for chrissake.

January 26, 1962 Wayne's first birthday! I gave him a hockey stick. Actually it was a hockey twig. How long will it be until he pubesces, anyway? Nothing from Ballard, but that's fine with me. Ballard will get nothing from Wayne, either. I only hope he'll live long enough to eat his words. I would have loved to have the Star play on the Leafs, but if he'll have to go as far away as Montreal, that'll be all right, too. Enough of dreaming! It's back to the rink!!

The diary ends here, according to our lawyer.