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Bobby Orr: My Game
Bobby Orr himself gives us the first explanation of how he skates, shoots, attacks and defends.
237 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1974
60 people want to read
About the author
Bobby Orr
23 books24 followersRobert Gordon "Bobby" Orr is a Canadian former professional ice hockey player, widely acknowledged as one of the greatest hockey players of all time. Orr used his ice skating speed, scoring, and play-making abilities to revolutionize the position of defenceman. He played in the National Hockey League (NHL) for 12 seasons, starting with 10 with the Boston Bruins followed by two with the Chicago Black Hawks. Orr remains the only defenceman to have won the league scoring title with two Art Ross Trophies. He holds the record for most points and assists in a single season by a defenceman. Orr won a record eight consecutive Norris Trophies as the NHL's best defenceman and three consecutive Hart Trophies as the league's most valuable player (MVP). Orr was inducted into the Hockey Hall of Fame in 1979 at age 31, the youngest to be inducted at that time. After his hockey career, he became a well-known scout for many professional teams. He also spends time talking to and mentoring young skaters.
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Displaying 1 - 9 of 9 reviews
July 26, 2016
A treasured tome first read in 1975, when I began playing organized hockey, and then endlessly retraversed across the latter half of that grungy decade of ugly leather jackets, lemon US automobiles, and bowl cuts. Bobby Orr was a demi-god to Canadian kids back then, a defenceman who changed the game through a combination of his ice sense, caginess in his own end, soft hands, and, most notably, smoothly meteoric skating style—cutting arcs, sweeping in sine waves, and looping in circles about his befuddled opponents, always in pursuit of controlling the tempo of play until he would, in his trademark burst of symphonic speed, streak into the opposing team's end-zone flush with the capacity either to score on his own or beautifully setup one of his anticipatingly buzzing forwards. Orr was the complete player, a solid rock in shielding his own net while yet possessed of an abundance of offensive firepower, to the degree that he twice won the Art Ross Trophy, the NHL's annual award for the highest scoring player during seasonal play; a feat which for a rearguard, prior to the prodigious offensive output of his dynamic career, was utterly unthinkable.
The savaged, nigh hollowed-out left knee of a superstar.
The saddest thing about Bobby (no kid remotely thought of him as Orr, as they would for later superstar surnames like Gretzky, Lemieux, Yzerman, Sakic, etc) was that he accomplished this game-changing magnificence while his knees were slowly deteriorating, the result of his blazing speed across the length and breadth of the ice resulting in not infrequent patellar collisions with such solid objects as the boards or a (dirty) opponents' outthrust leg. That Orr managed to win the MVP title in the 1976 Canada Cup, scoring nine points in seven games whilst being the consensus best player on the ice, though more or less confined to the usage of a single good leg, is one of the most remarkable hockey accomplishments I can remember. And this followed the 1974-75 NHL season—the year that saw the publication of the book in review—wherein the preeminent Parry Sounder destroyed all previous defenceman goal records by tallying 46 of 'em, combined with 89 assists for a mind-boggling 135 points (his previous Art Ross-winning campaign of the 1970-71 season saw him notch 37 goals, 102 assists, and 139 points, an ungodly sum that has never been bested—though the Oilers' Paul Coffey came mighty close in 1985-86). It was the consensus between everyone I knew—including, most importantly of all, my father—that Bobby Orr was the greatest player the game had ever seen; and this, to the absolute delight of Canadian parents everywhere, the reality about a man who personified humility and classiness: muting his goal celebrations; refusing to talk smack about opposing players; deflecting praise about his stunning achievements towards his teammates and coach; clearly uncomfortable when the light shone too brightly upon his figure, and relieved when his Aw, shucks demeanor, and its inherent lack of quotability, eventually drove it elsewhere (towards the likes of Phil Esposito or Derek Sanderson).
Orr gliding along in the 1976 Canada Cup.
What Orr narrates, through the interpretive pen of Mark Mulvoy, was his life story as then configured, before the trade to the Chicago Black Hawks that left a bad taste in virtually every hockey fan's mouth, as well as the scandals that brought to light what a thorough-going scumbag his agent and close friend Alan Eagleson had been, milking and robbing his golden goose blind even as the latter sacrificed his knees to the game that he passionately loved and forever changed. With the expected pride dampers in place, Bobby's story of a migration from a small town in Northern Ontario to junior hockey stardom in Oshawa, and then the youthful alighting into a perennially cellar-dwelling Boston market that fell head-over-heels in love with him as he took them from the basement to the penthouse, is nicely, if dutifully made. What I particularly admired were all of the stop-action sequences showing Bobby blasting a slap shot, or capturing the range of propulsive leg aesthetics with which he powered himself down the ice—and, in a then unexpected but fascinating sequence, Bobby included a section about fighting between hockey players, introduced by the story of how, when he was inevitably picked upon as a rookie, he tossed down his gloves and whaled on his antagonist—early precedent setting being of vital importance in the tough business that was the late sixties NHL. His conclusion? Don't be starting fights, but don't be shying away when someone starts one. Heck, that's advice an uncertain kid can take to the bank; and when I mentioned it to my Dad that I might get a second opinion, well, Bobby had captured his feelings down to a tee.
Bobby and Dave "The Hammer" Schultz scrapping it out.
The funny thing is, I never much liked the Boston Bruins to begin with, and, once I'd shifted my allegiance to the Vancouver Canucks and Montreal Canadiens respectively, rapidly came to loathe them; but that never extended to Bobby Orr, legend in his own time, whose career was on the schneid just as I became old enough to appreciate what was taking place before my eyes on the TV screen. With the revelations of how badly Eagleson had burned him, together with what he (wrongfully, as it turned-out) felt was low-balling bullshit from the Bruins in that foulest of trades, Bobby left the sport a bitter man; and once he'd hung up the skates for good—his glorious career cut short after a mere eleven seasons and umpteenth operation upon those battered knees—he basically disappeared from ice hockey for a spell, the sole exception being what I recollect as the oddly surreal interview segments for Hockey Night in Canada on the CBC called Bobby Orr and the Legends of Hockey, in which a Hawaiian-shirt garbed Orr, tanned like the Planter's Peanuts™ who sponsored the short-lived show, would gamely interview other retired hockey stars in outdoor settings, all sun-kissed and wind-blown conversation as Bobby and partner slowly ambled along, hands in pocket, talking just loud enough to be captured by the microphones. Yet he was never very far removed from the consciousness of the average fan, particularly when his most ardent backers, like Don Cherry of Coaches' Corner, were forever keeping his name front and centre when the subject turned to the best players the game had produced.
Bobby multiplied through the magic of the camera eye.
Throughout it all his reputation as a nice, humble guy remained untarnished, even after the publication of the rollicking biography from fellow Bruin Phil Esposito in which the latter—increasingly piqued over this golden boy image which refused to take a hit—let slip that Bobby liked him some gals back in the day, cockily ordering his less-renowned teammates to receive sloppy seconds; and even hinting that this continued on well after Orr had gotten married. Meanwhile, sober reporters like the Globe and Mail's Stephen Brunt put out books which ventured where none past had dared, speculating about Bobby's naivety and violent temper and embarrassing relatives and cold dismissal of friends deemed to have been disloyal. Whatever. The fact is, none of the ugly intrusions of everyday life could—or ever will—carry much weight against the way this quietly bedazzling man could maneuver about the ice, threading a frozen rubber puck with a wooden stick past five large, rapidly moving men on the way to scoring or setting up a score, all while ever mindful of hustling back to protect his goaltender with a diving sprawl or blocked shot or thundering body-check. Watch him skate! Watch him score! It's Number Four, Bobby Orr!
The second most famous photo in hockey history—Orr's Stanley Cup-winning overtime goal against St Louis in 1970.
The savaged, nigh hollowed-out left knee of a superstar.
The saddest thing about Bobby (no kid remotely thought of him as Orr, as they would for later superstar surnames like Gretzky, Lemieux, Yzerman, Sakic, etc) was that he accomplished this game-changing magnificence while his knees were slowly deteriorating, the result of his blazing speed across the length and breadth of the ice resulting in not infrequent patellar collisions with such solid objects as the boards or a (dirty) opponents' outthrust leg. That Orr managed to win the MVP title in the 1976 Canada Cup, scoring nine points in seven games whilst being the consensus best player on the ice, though more or less confined to the usage of a single good leg, is one of the most remarkable hockey accomplishments I can remember. And this followed the 1974-75 NHL season—the year that saw the publication of the book in review—wherein the preeminent Parry Sounder destroyed all previous defenceman goal records by tallying 46 of 'em, combined with 89 assists for a mind-boggling 135 points (his previous Art Ross-winning campaign of the 1970-71 season saw him notch 37 goals, 102 assists, and 139 points, an ungodly sum that has never been bested—though the Oilers' Paul Coffey came mighty close in 1985-86). It was the consensus between everyone I knew—including, most importantly of all, my father—that Bobby Orr was the greatest player the game had ever seen; and this, to the absolute delight of Canadian parents everywhere, the reality about a man who personified humility and classiness: muting his goal celebrations; refusing to talk smack about opposing players; deflecting praise about his stunning achievements towards his teammates and coach; clearly uncomfortable when the light shone too brightly upon his figure, and relieved when his Aw, shucks demeanor, and its inherent lack of quotability, eventually drove it elsewhere (towards the likes of Phil Esposito or Derek Sanderson).
Orr gliding along in the 1976 Canada Cup.
What Orr narrates, through the interpretive pen of Mark Mulvoy, was his life story as then configured, before the trade to the Chicago Black Hawks that left a bad taste in virtually every hockey fan's mouth, as well as the scandals that brought to light what a thorough-going scumbag his agent and close friend Alan Eagleson had been, milking and robbing his golden goose blind even as the latter sacrificed his knees to the game that he passionately loved and forever changed. With the expected pride dampers in place, Bobby's story of a migration from a small town in Northern Ontario to junior hockey stardom in Oshawa, and then the youthful alighting into a perennially cellar-dwelling Boston market that fell head-over-heels in love with him as he took them from the basement to the penthouse, is nicely, if dutifully made. What I particularly admired were all of the stop-action sequences showing Bobby blasting a slap shot, or capturing the range of propulsive leg aesthetics with which he powered himself down the ice—and, in a then unexpected but fascinating sequence, Bobby included a section about fighting between hockey players, introduced by the story of how, when he was inevitably picked upon as a rookie, he tossed down his gloves and whaled on his antagonist—early precedent setting being of vital importance in the tough business that was the late sixties NHL. His conclusion? Don't be starting fights, but don't be shying away when someone starts one. Heck, that's advice an uncertain kid can take to the bank; and when I mentioned it to my Dad that I might get a second opinion, well, Bobby had captured his feelings down to a tee.
Bobby and Dave "The Hammer" Schultz scrapping it out.
The funny thing is, I never much liked the Boston Bruins to begin with, and, once I'd shifted my allegiance to the Vancouver Canucks and Montreal Canadiens respectively, rapidly came to loathe them; but that never extended to Bobby Orr, legend in his own time, whose career was on the schneid just as I became old enough to appreciate what was taking place before my eyes on the TV screen. With the revelations of how badly Eagleson had burned him, together with what he (wrongfully, as it turned-out) felt was low-balling bullshit from the Bruins in that foulest of trades, Bobby left the sport a bitter man; and once he'd hung up the skates for good—his glorious career cut short after a mere eleven seasons and umpteenth operation upon those battered knees—he basically disappeared from ice hockey for a spell, the sole exception being what I recollect as the oddly surreal interview segments for Hockey Night in Canada on the CBC called Bobby Orr and the Legends of Hockey, in which a Hawaiian-shirt garbed Orr, tanned like the Planter's Peanuts™ who sponsored the short-lived show, would gamely interview other retired hockey stars in outdoor settings, all sun-kissed and wind-blown conversation as Bobby and partner slowly ambled along, hands in pocket, talking just loud enough to be captured by the microphones. Yet he was never very far removed from the consciousness of the average fan, particularly when his most ardent backers, like Don Cherry of Coaches' Corner, were forever keeping his name front and centre when the subject turned to the best players the game had produced.
Bobby multiplied through the magic of the camera eye.
Throughout it all his reputation as a nice, humble guy remained untarnished, even after the publication of the rollicking biography from fellow Bruin Phil Esposito in which the latter—increasingly piqued over this golden boy image which refused to take a hit—let slip that Bobby liked him some gals back in the day, cockily ordering his less-renowned teammates to receive sloppy seconds; and even hinting that this continued on well after Orr had gotten married. Meanwhile, sober reporters like the Globe and Mail's Stephen Brunt put out books which ventured where none past had dared, speculating about Bobby's naivety and violent temper and embarrassing relatives and cold dismissal of friends deemed to have been disloyal. Whatever. The fact is, none of the ugly intrusions of everyday life could—or ever will—carry much weight against the way this quietly bedazzling man could maneuver about the ice, threading a frozen rubber puck with a wooden stick past five large, rapidly moving men on the way to scoring or setting up a score, all while ever mindful of hustling back to protect his goaltender with a diving sprawl or blocked shot or thundering body-check. Watch him skate! Watch him score! It's Number Four, Bobby Orr!
The second most famous photo in hockey history—Orr's Stanley Cup-winning overtime goal against St Louis in 1970.
January 2, 2011
Hey, I was a 9-year-old when I got this for my birthday. It was my favorite book for years. Times and heroes have changed, but he's still one of my heroes.
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September 22, 2014I read this book told me it is a very good book and that i would love it. This book as a biography about Bobby Orr. In this biography it talks about where he grew up, life experiences and his hockey carerr. he is from Perry Sound Ontario, he stareted playing hockey when he was 3 and got drafted when he was only 16 and played when he was 18. Bobby's favourite hockey moment is scoring the goal to win the stanley cuo in overtime, you have probably seen the oicture of him in mid air after he scored the goal he got trippped.
June 9, 2014
Great book - easy to read and great to get the story from Bobby Orr himself. He comes across as a smart, humble man who was an incredible athlete. Too bad the offer to continue in the Bruins organization wasn't related to him as that would have been a wonderful opportunity for him. But as they say, things happen for a reason, and he is a great person to be representing the players of today since he has been there.
November 29, 2010
i think he is one the most inspiring, dedicated, hard working hockey players of all time he is a player i will soon not forget
October 31, 2013
Pretty quick read. Honestly great to read Orr's story, in his own words. Humble to the end, fantastic life, wonderful person - real gentleman.
September 15, 2014
Great for lovers of the game.
March 14, 2015
This book should be prerequisite reading for every athlete who is about to sign a professional contract.
Mr. Orr is a humble man and one class act.
Mr. Orr is a humble man and one class act.
October 21, 2025
I wish he was my dad
Displaying 1 - 9 of 9 reviews