But the Great One - then an unproven whelp of 20 years - has other plans. At the opener in Montreal, he scores a goal and assists five others in a 6-3 win. Then, with Lafleur nowhere to be seen and Habs fans watching in stunned horror, he leads the Oilers to a series victory in straight games. "I don't know what makes me like that," Gretzky would say later. "But when someone says I can't..."

The qualities that brought him to that point - defiance, raw talent, the urge to seize control of his surroundings - would become the essentials of the Gretzky mystique. He was, even as a child, Canada's Golden Boy, a small-town superstar whose rise from the backyard rink to the record books seemed, at times, too easy. Ten scoring titles. Four Stanley Cups. The best who ever played. In his retirement years - seven and counting - Wayne Gretzky seems just as determined to replicate his success off the ice. Among his many titles, he is co-owner and rookie head coach of a NATIONAL HOCKEY LEAGUE franchise, the executive director of the Canadian men's Olympic hockey team, a businessman whose empire and influence spans a continent, and, away from the arenas, a husband and devoted father of five. At 45, it's as if the Great One is now bent on winning middle age.

But life outside the boards is a different game. Over Christmas, Gretzky buried his mother, then his grandmother, in a three-week span that he later described as the worst time in his life. His much-hyped venture into coaching, which at first seemed so promising, has soured with the declining fortunes of his team, the Phoenix Coyotes. And then, there it was, his cherished name caught up in a New Jersey police investigation into a multi-million-dollar illegal GAMBLING operation, an event so unthinkable that everybody, Gretzky included, seemed momentarily disoriented. When reporters in Phoenix cornered him after a game, peppering him with questions about his wife's alleged involvement, Wayne stuttered. "You'd have to ask her," he said. "The reality is, I'm not involved, I wasn't involved and I'm not going to be involved."

Published reports suggest otherwise. Depending on the source, Gretzky's wife, actress Janet Jones, laid somewhere between $100,000 and $500,000 worth of bets over a six-week period, including a $5,000 wager on the Superbowl coin toss (she won, according to one U.S. newspaper). Other reports say the Great One himself was caught on police wiretaps, plotting how to save his long-time spouse from implication. Denials aside, it could take months - and a date with a grand jury - before the hockey world learns for sure whether its patron saint has a dark secret. Either way, the damage might already be done. Illegal gambling is the third rail of professional sports: touch it and you die. Whether it's Janet, Wayne or other members of Gretzky's innermost circle doing the betting, Number 99 is vulnerable. He's the one with the deep pockets. He's the one running a hockey team, which puts him in perfect position to, say, sit out a star goaltender to shave points.

No such thing is alleged, of course, and Gretzky's denials of his personal involvement have been firm. But perhaps better than any sports celebrity, Gretzky knows perception is everything. Over three decades in the public eye, he's strived mightily to keep his record spotless. More recently, he's sought to create the aura of effortless success off the ice. Now, with allegations flying and the whole House of Gretzky in peril, we're seeing an unaccustomed side of the man. He looks tired and brittle. The stunning prosecution of this alleged gambling ring has just begun, but it's already proven that life away from the stop-time world of hockey is as complicated for Wayne as it is for the rest of us.

The backyard rink at the Gretzky home in Brantford, Ont., like the 378 goals 10-year-old Wayne scored in a single season, has long secured a place in sports mythology. So too has the 92-goal season and the Stanley Cup victory laps in Edmonton, creating something in the public consciousness akin to a prince born of humble roots. Sure, Gretzky's time with the Oilers brought the hijinks you'd expect from a young man with a fat paycheque and a penthouse apartment; he held his own at the bars and clubs in the Alberta capital. Yet he kept up the image of a decent, hard-working young man all the while.

If the truth be known, however, Gretzky has been nowhere near as surefooted off the ice as his press clippings suggest, and there have been times when his image blinded fans to things that might have dented the reputations of lesser athletes. It certainly smoothed over the at-first rocky reaction to Gretzky's choice of a bride. Wayne had met Janet Jones in 1984 while serving as a celebrity judge on a dancing show on U.S. television, and they began dating three years later. Trouble was, Janet's background suggested something less than the human perfection Gretzky's fans expected for their hero. A B-movie actor and former Playboy bunny, she'd been linked in the past to tennis stars Nels Van Patten and Vitas Gerulaitis (the latter's pet name for her had been "Bonehead"). Slowly, however, the country warmed to the story and, when the time came for their nuptials, Canadians treated the event as a royal wedding.

As he embarked on his second decade in the NHL, now as a Los Angeles King, there were signs that Gretzky was looking ahead to life after the game. In August 1991, he told reporters he'd been searching for something to do in retirement - "not to replace hockey, but to be the next best thing." The following spring, he and the Kings were knocked out of the playoffs and speculation mounted that the Great One's playing days might be over when he suffered a rare and debilitating back injury, a herniated thoracic disc, that kept him out of hockey for the next eight months. He spent his time watching hockey, taking care of his young kids and getting more involved in his various business dealings. Since he'd turned pro, Gretzky had displayed an interest in the business side of being a celebrity athlete. Indeed, he found little else to keep him engaged outside the rink. "I was bored by not doing anything with my time off," he told Maclean's in 1994, "and before I got married and had kids, I had a lot of time."

By the mid-1990s, Gretzky was well on his way to creating what he called his "little empire," a portfolio of endorsements and partnerships with companies making everything from hockey equipment to video games. He dealt with some of the world's biggest brands: McDonald's, Easton hockey sticks, Coca-Cola. Forbes estimated he earned almost $94 million between 1990 and 1998, before he retired after the 1998-1999 season with the New York Rangers. One friend and former associate describes Gretzky as "an astute businessman, not learned through education but from looking through the practical experience of day-to-day business deals." In retirement, Gretzky's success seemed only to grow. He announced a flurry of new deals, including ones with Kraft and Anheuser-Busch, plus a plan for his own clothing line with Hudson's Bay.

But a closer look at some of his more ambitious ventures suggests Gretzky's judgment - not to mention his choice of associates - wobbles at times. MVP.com, an online sporting-retailer he backed along with retired NFL quarterback John Elway and basketball's Michael Jordan, lasted little longer than a year. In 1991, he and the late Canadian comedian John CANDY each invested $1 million for a 20 per cent stake in the Toronto Argonauts. Bruce McNall, the smooth-talking owner of the Los Angeles Kings who lured Gretzky to California, bought up the balance. After an initial burst of celebrity-driven hype, the team began bleeding money and fans. In 2004, it was sold to The Sports Network for $6 million and debts consumed all of the proceeds. Neither Gretzky nor John Candy's estate received a penny.

The McNall saga was part of a pattern of questionable alliances between Gretzky and the money men who employed him, starting with Nelson Skalbania, a Vancouver real estate dealer who wound up in jail. Gretzky's relationship with Peter Pocklington lasted longer and ended bitterly, but he saved his greatest blind spot for McNall. In his 1990 autobiography, Gretzky called the Hollywood producer "straight up and honest," and a "financial genius," a summation that surely belongs in a volume of famous last words. In 1994, McNall's empire collapsed over his illegal borrowing practices, which had defrauded banks of US$236 million. He pleaded guilty to conspiracy and fraud and went to prison for four years. Gretzky, who had socked money with McNall into a stable of thoroughbred horses, as well as sports memorabilia (they bought a 1910 Honus Wagner baseball card for US$450,000), was rumoured to have lost as much as US$5 million due to their relationship. He faced threats of lawsuits from creditors, his lawyer said at the time, escaping liability only because he had, in most cases, assumed limited partnership.

Still, if the McNall episode demonstrated anything, it was the public's willingness to avert their gaze when the Great One blundered. He remained loyal to McNall, visiting him in prison. In the meantime, his endorsement deals multiplied, combining with rich hockey contracts to paper over the losses he suffered in business. It was as if he'd coughed up the puck in a critical playoff game, and the crowd missed it.

Wayne Gretzky's first steps into pro hockey ownership were similarly troubled. In the late 1990s, Steve Ellman, a Phoenix real estate developer, had grand plans to team up with then-Coyotes owner Richard Burke to redevelop a neglected shopping mall in nearby Scottsdale that would include a sprawling new arena. But by 2000 - still without a new rink - Burke wanted out of the money-losing franchise, offering to sell the team to Ellman for a bargain-basement price of US$87 million. By then, it happened that Gretzky was looking for an avenue back into the game. "Everybody said the same thing: 'If you're going to get involved, then be captain of the ship,'" he said in 2001.

Gretzky eventually joined forces with Ellman, positioning himself as the marquee name that could draw investors. But that didn't happen, and the purchase of the team, obviously underfinanced, became a protracted mess throughout the 2000-01 season. Gretzky was dubbed a "hood ornament" by the Phoenix press. Burke, while still the official owner, grew so frustrated at one point that he banned Gretzky and Ellman from the Coyotes' dressing room. At the same time, rumours began to spread that Gretzky was having regrets about teaming up with Ellman, whom the Arizona Republic once called "an enigma, a man who's stirred admiration and bitterness in his career." In February 2001, the deal was finally approved, but it was something of a Pyrrhic victory for Gretzky. The Coyotes lost US$27 million that season and were still losing money the year before the labour lockout.

He survived the messy transition, emerging, as he did in the McNall fiasco, bruised but not broken. He became managing partner with a minority stake, and by 2003, the Coyotes cut the ribbon on their US$220-million arena in Glendale, Ariz. Along the way, Gretzky assembled a loyal supporting cast, including Mike Barnett, his long-time agent, as the Coyotes' general manager, and Eddie Mio, the best man at his 1988 wedding, as director of player development. But Gretzky, ever the fierce competitor, craved more. "I missed the game, I missed being part of it," he said last August, explaining why he chose to become head coach. "I want to be around the guys. I just felt like, although they won't let me play any more, the closest thing I can get to being on the ice was to get behind the bench."

At first glance, the transition seemed smooth enough. The players, many of whom watched Wayne Gretzky as children, responded, and by January, the Coyotes had won more games than they had during the entire previous season. Some sportswriters were already musing about Gretzky's odds of winning yet another piece of NHL hardware: coach of the year. Not anymore. In recent weeks, the Gretzky-led Coyotes have dipped below .500, sitting dead last in the NHL's Pacific Division. Attendance is also slipping. At 15,288 fans per game, they stand 21st in the 30-team NHL.

Then last Tuesday, as if another lopsided loss wasn't enough, news broke that the team's assistant coach, Rick Tocchet, faces criminal charges of money laundering and conspiracy in connection with a mob-linked gambling operation that allegedly processed millions of dollars worth of bets for the rich and famous. Almost immediately, published reports claimed Gretzky's wife, Janet, laid numerous high-priced wagers in the weeks before the Superbowl, and that authorities are trying to determine whether she was the buffer between her squeaky clean husband and the underworld. Mike Barnett also came forward to admit that he bet a few hundred dollars on the Superbowl, reports say.

It got worse. The Newark Star-Ledger, citing anonymous sources, reported that Gretzky and Tocchet were overheard on state wiretaps discussing how authorities discovered the gambling operation, and what the hockey stars could do to minimize the fallout. Gretzky, who has not been charged, continues to deny any involvement, and he plans to be in Turin, Italy, when the Canadian hockey team he assembled begins its defence of the Olympic gold. As for his wife, she issued her own statement last week, saying "at no time did I ever place a wager on my husband's behalf, period." Whether she placed her own bets is an entirely different - and unanswered - question. Her spokesman, Elliot Mintz (he counts Paris Hilton among his clients) conceded that Mrs. Gretzky might have to testify in front of a grand jury. "Janet is merely one of a number of witnesses," he said, "and there is no allegation whatsoever that Janet has violated any law."

"So far, I've been very fortunate in my choices," Janet told Playboy magazine in 1987, in the interview accompanying her semi-nude photos. "Choosing the right men, the right friends, the career moves that have turned out best for me. But I don't plan that far ahead - except that when I was a little girl and hated cleaning my room, I always told my mom that someday I'd have a maid." As it happened, it was her own mother who became her maid: a nursemaid, nannying Wayne and Janet's five children, who today range in age from two to 17.

There have been times in the past when the Gretzkys have sought to portray themselves as an old-fashioned nuclear family. Wayne frequently refers to his domestic duties, and obligingly answers questions about his kids' progress in sports and school. But the pace and complexity of his life has divided the household in ways that would strain the most stable families. The oldest boy, 15-year-old Ty, lives with his father in Scottsdale during the NHL season, where he plays high school hockey at Brophy College Preparatory School. Ty's older sister, 17-year-old Paulina, lives on the family's sprawling Santa Monica estate with her mom and the other children: Trevor, Tristan and Emma. "I don't think I wanted [Ty] out of the house," Janet said last November of her son's move to Arizona. "But it was definitely a joint decision, because it was a big change for the family. And I was definitely 120 per cent behind it." The couple tries to get together, in either Scottsdale or Los Angeles, once a week.

In the meantime, Janet's energies are increasingly directed toward Paulina, to the point that some have suggested she's trying to compensate for her own frustrated career. Originally a dancer, Janet landed a small role in the movie Annie and as "Witchwoman #3" in a Conan-style potboiler called The Beastmaster, both in 1982. Her career reached its peak in The Flamingo Kid, in which she starred in 1984 opposite Matt Dillon, and its nadir in Police Academy 5. Last year, speaking in Canadian House & Home about the family's Georgian-style mansion - now up for sale for a reported $25 million - she said she's been directing her creative energies toward interior design. "I love the creative side of it" she said. "It's like putting together a movie."

For Paulina, the combination of her mother's ambition and her father's influence led to an appearance last August on the cover of Flare, which her mother graced in June 1988. "My goal is to keep [Paulina] focused so that she is doing things that she enjoys that could possibly turn into her career," Janet said. "When an opportunity arises, I want her to be prepared and on top of her game." At times, however, Wayne seems less sure. In 2003, during planning of the first outdoor hockey game in the history of the NHL, he had arranged for Paulina to sing at the Edmonton event. Don Metz, the Oilers' director of broadcasting, approved the idea, but two weeks before the big day, Wayne got cold feet. "I don't want Paulina to do it," Metz recalled Gretzky saying. "I'm worried about her safety, I'm worried about her freaking out in front of people." That's when Janet stepped in. "What is it going to take?" she reportedly asked Metz, persuading him to keep Paulina in the lineup.

On the night of the performance, Paulina's hand shook as she took hold of the microphone and sang a rendition of Sarah McLachlan's I Will Remember You. The television producers cut to her parents, zooming in on Janet's damp eyes and Wayne's proud, beaming smile. Just hours earlier, the Great One had suited up for his first-ever old-timers hockey game. He went scoreless.

It has been, in all, a dizzying time. Last week Gretzky admitted he was too tired, physically and mentally, to answer more questions about the fast-breaking story of the gambling investigation. But his life is hardly going to get easier as he faces a future full of embarrassing questions and doubt. Sports pundits (some of whom Gretzky regards as friends) have called on him to forgo the Winter Games in Turin because he'd be a distraction. The decision makers still backed him. "If Wayne didn't come then it wouldn't be right," said Hockey Canada president Bob Nicholson. "We want him to be here." But no one, not even Gretzky's own family members, were naive enough to think he will shrug off a sustained media barrage. "You look at someone who has virtually given his entire life - and he has stood firm and stood tall and stood straight all these years - and then you have people who want to burn them," said Albert Gretzky, Wayne's uncle, in an interview with Maclean's. "That is the thing about being in high places. You're the natural target."

Factor in Gretzky's recent losses and you have a man ill-equipped to confront a family crisis. He was plainly devastated by his mother Phyllis's death, offering a stirring eulogy at her Dec. 22 funeral. He has looked distracted and irritable ever since. Behind the Coyotes' bench, he has screamed at referees, held his head in his hands, rolled his eyes skyward as if bemoaning some grand conspiracy of the gods. He is, in short, a man in his 40s showing all the frailties of a man in his 40s - an age when most of us make peace with the stuff we cannot control.

For the fans whom Gretzky delighted, surprised and shocked so often as a player, it's been difficult to watch. We've been complicit, after all, in the construction of Wayne Gretzky as superhuman. We've ignored his minor missteps, rationalized away his big ones, yet participated in the fantasy that a multi-millionaire who has been in the public eye since his 10th year can, off the ice, continue to tower over us. "You were the model every parent in every two-bit rink in every two-bit freezing town could point his son towards," the columnist Jeffrey Simpson wrote in the Globe and Mail after Gretzky's trade to Los Angeles in 1988. "You never embarrassed us." He may not yet, but if he does, it's safe to assume we'll cope. We'll remember the ample good about Gretzky, and accept the meagre bad, remembering that he's a man as well as a national icon. Whether he can manage the same is a different matter.

Maclean's February 20, 2006

Author CHARLIE GILLIS with COLIN CAMPBELL, NICHOLAS KÖHLER and MICHAEL FRISCOLANTI in Toronto, and JONATHON GATEHOUSE in Turin