If you grew up in Ontario in the early '90s, you probably had a Felix Potvin poster on your wall. Maybe it was the one where he’s flashing that iconic glove hand, or the one showing off the goalie mask that basically defined a generation of art in the crease. Honestly, for a few years there, Felix Potvin was more than just a goalie for the Toronto Maple Leafs. He was a savior.
He was "The Cat."
It’s easy to look back now and just see the stats, but stats are boring. They don't tell you how it felt when a 21-year-old kid from Anjou, Quebec, walked into Maple Leaf Gardens and essentially forced a legend like Grant Fuhr out of town. Potvin didn't just play goal; he played with a sort of twitchy, acrobatic desperation that made every save look like a miracle.
The 1993 Run and the Birth of a Legend
Let’s talk about 1993. It’s the year that still haunts Leafs fans, the year of the High Stick That Shall Not Be Named. But before the heartbreak against Wayne Gretzky and the Kings, there was the arrival of Felix.
Potvin’s rookie season was statistically insane. He led the NHL with a 2.50 goals-against average. Think about that for a second. A rookie in the high-flying, high-scoring '90s led the league in GAA. He finished third in Calder voting and fourth for the Vezina.
But it was the playoffs where the legend of the Felix Potvin Maple Leafs era truly took root.
The Leafs were down 2-1 in the first round against Detroit. Potvin was a wall. They moved on to face St. Louis and the guy who would eventually replace him in Toronto, Curtis Joseph. That series was a heavyweight fight between two goalies who refused to blink. When the dust settled, Toronto was in the Conference Finals for the first time in forever.
He played 21 games that spring. He won 11. He faced more pressure than any Toronto goalie since the Cup years, and he didn't crack.
Why They Called Him "The Cat"
The nickname wasn't just some marketing gimmick. It started back in his junior days with the Chicoutimi Sagueneens. A broadcaster noticed his reflexes were almost supernatural. He didn't just slide across the crease; he pounced.
Potvin was a "butterfly" goalie before it was the standard. He played deep in his net, relying on incredible lateral quickness and a glove hand that seemed to snatch pucks out of mid-air like he was catching flies.
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That Time He Bloodied Ron Hextall
You can’t talk about Potvin without talking about November 10, 1996.
Usually, Felix was the quiet guy. Calm. Reserved. Then came the Philadelphia Flyers. The game was a mess—lots of hacking, lots of chirping. Eventually, a line brawl broke out involving Tie Domi and Scott Daniels.
Ron Hextall, who was basically the final boss of "crazy goalies," decided he wanted a piece of the action. He skated the length of the ice to challenge Potvin.
Most people expected Potvin to get pulverized. Hextall was a terrifying human being. Instead, Potvin dropped the mitts and landed a series of clinical, heavy left hooks. By the time the refs pulled them apart, Hextall’s face was a map of cuts and bruises. Potvin didn't just hold his own; he won the fight.
It was the moment Leafs fans realized their quiet goalie had a mean streak.
The Beginning of the End: Shot Volume and Cujo
So, what happened? How does a guy go from being the face of the franchise to being traded for a defenseman?
It wasn't one thing. It was a slow burn.
- The Workload: In 1996-97, Potvin faced 2,438 shots. That was an NHL record at the time. The Leafs' defense had aged overnight, and they were leaving Felix out to dry every single night. You can only play 74 games a year and face 35 shots a night for so long before your technique starts to fray.
- The "Soft" Goals: By late 1997, the whispers started. Critics said he was playing too deep. They pointed to long-range goals—like the famous Al MacInnis shot from center ice—and said he was losing his focus.
- The Contract: Management was changing. The team was underachieving. When Curtis Joseph became available as a free agent in the summer of 1998, the Leafs jumped.
Suddenly, Potvin was the odd man out. He went from the undisputed starter to sitting on the bench while Cujo became the new darling of Toronto. It was awkward. Potvin actually left the team in December 1998 while awaiting a trade, basically saying he couldn't just sit around and watch.
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The Trade to the Islanders
On January 9, 1999, the era officially ended. Potvin was sent to the New York Islanders along with a sixth-round pick. In return, the Leafs got Bryan Berard.
Berard was a great young defenseman, but for fans, it felt like the end of a family era. Potvin would go on to have a bit of a career resurgence later with the Los Angeles Kings—even outplaying Patrick Roy in a legendary 2001 playoff duel—but he never looked quite right in anything other than a Leafs jersey.
Assessing the Legacy
Was Felix Potvin a Hall of Famer? Probably not. His career save percentage of .905 and 266 wins are solid, but not elite by historical standards.
But if you ask a Leafs fan who lived through the '90s, they don't care about the Hall of Fame. They remember the cat-mask. They remember the way he stared down the best shooters in the world during those two deep playoff runs.
He was the bridge between the dark ages of the 1980s and the high-scoring success of the Pat Quinn years.
What You Can Learn From the Potvin Era
If you’re a hockey historian or just a fan looking back, there are a few takeaways from Felix’s time in Toronto:
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- Goalie Peak is Fragile: Potvin’s best years were his first three. The heavy workload of the mid-90s clearly took a toll on his longevity.
- Style Evolution matters: His deep-in-the-crease style eventually got exploited as shooters got better at picking corners.
- Cultural Impact: A goalie’s "vibe" matters in Toronto. Potvin’s quiet intensity made him a perfect foil to the loud, brash nature of the city's media.
If you want to dive deeper into this era, go back and watch the 1993 series against the Kings. Specifically, look at Game 6. It’s a masterclass in '90s goaltending, for better or worse. You'll see exactly why everyone was obsessed with "The Cat."
To really understand the impact, look at the goalie jersey sales from that time. Even now, at a game at Scotiabank Arena, you'll see a surprising number of #29 jerseys in the crowd. That's not just nostalgia; that's respect for a guy who gave everything to a franchise that didn't always have a lot to give back.
Next time you see a goalie make a desperation glove save, think of Felix. He did it first, and in Toronto, he did it best for a long time.