I went to a Toronto Maple Leaf game once with the Messiah.  It was January 12, 2002.

The irony of a Jewish Leaf fan going to a Leaf game with our supposed savior is likely not missed on many.

The Messiah was late.  I wasn’t surprised.  We Jews have said the Messiah has kept us waiting for a few thousand years. Christians have also grown slightly impatient about his return. I’ve always felt that a bit greedy- shouldn’t we get our first slice of savior pie before they get seconds?

So I waited impatiently, actually on the edge of my seat.  I noticed the edge of the seat was not well worn at the Air Canada Centre.

Those around me paid some attention to me.  My B celebrity status was the best that was being offered at that time in section 122. I heard repeatedly, “Hey Landsberg, couldn’t you find anyone to come with you to the game?” 

I have always enjoyed the fact that most people call me “Landsberg.”  My response was like a great throw to commercial, “Just wait, you may be shocked.”  The seed had been planted for something big.

I could feel his presence in the building.  No word of a lie.  I think perhaps it was a change to the background noise- the hum of life.  It had gone from a symphony of random sounds to an electric buzz. The energy went from nine volts to 120 volts.

I knew he was there as I watched the usher’s face change seeing him approach.  It takes a lot to make an ACC usher’s face shine. This guy’s face probably hadn’t shone like that since Harold Ballard was sent to jail.

I was sitting six rows up on the aisle.  A crowd entered and rounded the corner.  I couldn’t really see him, because of the throng surrounding him. He was a boxer making his way to the ring for a title fight - surrounded by a group that moved in unity and reverence at his pace.

He walked up the stairs. Not quickly. Not smoothly, but like a career soldier who walked towards the inevitable next battle.  I stood up and smiled at him.  He smiled back with a gentle, caring smile that told me he was happy to see me.  This made me feel good.  Its nice to be liked.  But even nicer to be liked by those we like.  Like, do you know what I mean?  By the time he made it to our row there was a madness to our section- people with their mouths open like they had seen the second coming.  Or the first.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said.  I considered one of many smart ass replies. 

Now, you need to understand every word of what follows is exactly as it happened. Every word.

A woman came up the aisle at a stoppage in play.  She had a paper in her hands and a pen. 

Her hands were shaking.  Not a shake like a tremor, but a shake like she might be holding the winning lottery ticket.

She stared at him with a wonderment like she had just seen… the Messiah. Does one really need to find a metaphor for seeing the Messiah?

He smiled at her.  He realized she wasn’t capable of speaking so he said, “How are you ma’am?”

No response. 

I watched as he did something I had never seen done before or since. In an instance he bridged the gap between them.  If this was just physical, he was Shaq kneeling beside the kid in the wheelchair.  If this was just mental it was Einstein playing tic tac toe with a child with Down’s Syndrome.

This was all of that and more.  He had leveled everything.  His secret - the eyes. I noticed how he would look at people and then - briefly look down.  It said, “I have fears and doubts just like you.”

I looked at her and saw that her face had changed.  She went from scared and intimidated to relaxed and even blissful- like in an instant she realized her child’s blood tests were negative.

His energy gave her back her voice.  She smiled at him.  She stopped shaking.  She said these words “Mr. Hart, it is the greatest honor of my life to meet you.”

Bret somehow with just his aura conveyed to her “I am not worthy of that, but thank you.”

Clearly my friend Bret Hart did not have a Messiah complex. He signed her piece of paper and also signed a hundred others.  I have been around many celebrities.  I have never experienced anything like this.  It wasn’t the level of his fame, it was the level of respect.  I saw it in all their eyes. And I saw them change as they were touched briefly by him.

That evening was an education for me in the duality of life.  Bret Hart had a million times grabbed the microphone and proclaimed he was, “The best there is, the best there was, the best there ever will be.”  But on that night with every fan and then with my son Corey and his friend Jesse at a restaurant he was the last person you would associate with those words.  Damn he’s nice. 

My friend Bret Hart announced this week he has prostate cancer.  He has been through a winner take all battle before with an illness - a severe stroke about eight months after that Leafs-Oilers game. He was paralyzed on his left side.  Walking seemed unlikely.  He walks without a limp.  Talking normally seemed unlikely.  He talks without a slur.  Now this.  A real screw job I’d say.  But, my buddy Bret is a remarkable guy.  I compared him to the Messiah because of the way people look at him. I swear those fans who approached him were somehow changed because of his magic.  I know I was.  Let’s hope he saved some of that magic for himself. 

I met Bret for the first time on September 10, 1997.  It was OTR show No. 3.  His presence put us on the map.  More than any other guest he was responsible for us making it to 18 seasons.

This is that show.