<?xml version="1.0" encoding="ISO-8859-1"?>
<BODY.CONTENT>
<UID>
8701230770
</UID>
<PUBLICATION>
DETROIT FREE PRESS
</PUBLICATION>
<DATE>
870512
</DATE>
<TDATE>
Tuesday, May 12, 1987
</TDATE>
<EDITION>
METRO FINAL CHASER
</EDITION>
<SECTION>
SPT
</SECTION>
<PAGE>
1D
</PAGE>
<ILLUSTRATION>

</ILLUSTRATION>
<CAPTION>

</CAPTION>
<BYLINE>
MITCH ALBOM
</BYLINE>
<AFFILIATION>

</AFFILIATION>
<MEMO>

</MEMO>
<COPYRIGHT>
Copyright (c) 1987, Detroit Free Press
</COPYRIGHT>
<HEADLINE>
RED WINGS' PLAYOFF HOPES NOW RESTING ON A PRAYER
</HEADLINE>
<SUBHEAD>

</SUBHEAD>
<CORRECTION>

</CORRECTION>
<BODY>
They left for the airport with the city waving goodby like a war bride.
Would the Red Wings be back? Would there be a Game 6? Would this love affair
between a motor town and a little-engine- that-could  end  on a Canadian
battleground, thousands of miles away? Could that happen?

  "No! Come back!" the crowd at Joe Louis Arena seemed to scream Monday
night, as the Wings fell to the Oilers, 3-2, their third loss in this
best-of-seven  Campbell Conference final. "Whatever you do, make sure you come
home alive!"

  A return home would mean a win in Edmonton Wednesday night in Game 5. A
return home  would be a swipe at redemption for this game, this night, when
the bubble burst under the sticky warmth of a stuffed Joe Louis Arena.
  This was a stranglehold, a death grip, a game that would not let you go,
made you watch, as a one-goal lead by the Oilers survived a blitzkrieg by
Detroit in the final period. How many chances? How close? How close?
  "What was it like out there?" someone asked  Wings goalie Glen Hanlon
afterward. "What were you thinking in that third period?"
  "By that point it was so hot," he said, "I was just trying to catch my
breath. It was hard to remember if I was  30 years old or 50."
  Thirty? Fifty? Eighty? This was a game that would age you without shame.
Remember that the last time there had been a possible farewell game here it
had ended gloriously, with Jacques Demers doing a victory leap and throwing a
puck to his wife as the crowd went wild. The Wings had beaten Toronto in Game
7 of their series. They were advancing. There was life and hope.
  This  time, when the final horn sounded, there was little of either.
Edmonton had taken two games in Detroit, both by a single goal. And the Wings,
playing with a patchwork defense, must now win three in a  row from the most
potent offense in hockey to drag their incredible season into one more playoff
round.
  How old will we be by then? A hundred and twenty?
Still no explosion
  This was not the  night the critics said was coming. This was not the
explosion, the  night when the Oilers gushed, when all that talent broke down
the closet door it had been locked behind. "None of the games have been  like
that," said Wings center Steve Yzerman, whose team has effectively stopped the
big names such as Gretzky and Messier. "That's what's frustrating."
  Once again, the Wings were inches short of  victory. They have long since
proven they can play with -- and beat --  this team. Now all they want is a
scoreboard to reflect it. 
  Monday was an almost, a slugfest that kept everybody riveted. Everybody?
Sure. Wasn't everybody watching this game? Didn't every bar have its TV on?
Didn't every driver  have it on the radio? You could almost feel the city's
emotions go up and down like a chest  under a doctor's stethoscope. All night
long. In and out. Breathe. Don't breathe.
  Edmonton scored first, the Wings tied, then moved ahead. Edmonton
retaliated. Up, down. In, out. The Oilers got their would-be game winner on a
pretty pass from Wayne Gretzky to Mike Krushelnyski who put it past Hanlon
toward the end of the second period.
  But who knew that then? There was still another period  to be played. Or
perhaps fought is a better word. The Wings skated out as if their lives hung
in the balance, they shot strongly, unceasingly -- they would get eight
recorded chances to Edmonton's  two -- and yet Oiler goalie Grant Fuhr, the
hero of this series so far, was a machine. "We seemed to  always hit his leg,
his stick, something," Detroit's Shawn Burr said. "Jeez, the guy can't be that
 big to be everywhere."
  But it seemed that way.
  And then, suddenly, it was over.
  A frightening lead  So for the first time in this incredible hockey
series the tally matches everyone's expectations. Edmonton leads three  games
to one  now, a frightening lead for a frightening team. And the task before
the Red Wings is now as formidable as people once thought stepping on the ice
with  the Oilers would be.
  "How big is this game?" someone had asked Jacques Demers in the locker room
before Monday night's contest. "Is this the biggest one yet?"
  "Well, if you go down 3-1 to Edmonton  . . . " he said, pausing to think.
"Put it this way. When we came back from 3-1 against Toronto, they called that
a 'miracle.' But that was the wrong word. Against Edmonton I think the word
miracle would apply."
  And so that is what goes atop the wish list now. A miracle. Three straight.
"If anybody can do it . . . " the Detroit war brides seemed to say. But they
gave their farewell cheers with a mixture of hope and realism. The plane is
gone. The future of this remarkable series now rests on the Wings and a
prayer.
</BODY>
<DISCLAIMER>

</DISCLAIMER>
<KEYWORDS>
COLUMN;REACTION;LOSS;DREDWINGS;HOCKEY;Red Wings
</KEYWORDS>
</BODY.CONTENT>
