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He was inducted into the Hockey Hall of Fame in 1983. He saw his number 29 retired by the Canadiens in 2007. All of it was more than enough to qualify as an athletic life well lived. Which is why Dryden鈥檚 signature pose聽鈥� his masked figure slouched in the crease, chin resting on gloves draped over the knob of his goal stick聽鈥� has long been immortalized in a bigger-than-life bronze statue that greets visitors to the Yonge Street shrine.

But Dryden wasn鈥檛 only a great Canadien. Thanks to a sprawling post-playing career, he was also a great Canadian. At various times an author, teacher, lawyer and federal cabinet minister, Dryden was also team president of the Maple Leafs the last two times they ventured beyond the second round of the playoffs, in 1999 and 2002. He wasn鈥檛 just the man who gave us 鈥淭he Game,鈥� widely regarded as the greatest hockey book and one of the best sports books ever written. He was in many ways the conscience of a mostly shameless sport, a staunch advocate for prioritizing skill over the thuggery that sometimes prevailed in his playing prime, and a vocal critic of the NHL鈥檚 denial of the link between brain injuries and CTE.

Dryden wasn鈥檛 just a legend of the game, he was the consummate student of it, and its need for evolution.

鈥淔ew Canadians have given more, or stood taller, for our country,鈥� Prime Minister Mark Carney said in a statement. 鈥淜en Dryden was Big Canada. And he was Best Canada. Rest in peace.鈥�

Though Dryden rose to fame as a linchpin of the Scotty Bowman-coached Montreal team that dominated the NHL of the 1970s, the bespectacled six-foot-four goaltender was, for most of his life, a 色色啦nian. Born in Hamilton in 1947, he grew up in Etobicoke, where he starred on local baseball diamonds and on the basketball court at Etobicoke Collegiate.

But it was in a hockey net that he emerged as a professional commodity. Drafted 14th by the Boston Bruins in 1964, the story goes he was traded to the Canadiens after he made known his relatively unconventional decision to attend university before turning pro, studying history at Cornell University while leading the Big Red to the 1967 NCAA championship.

As Montreal hockey columnist Red Fisher once wrote: “Dryden was different. This was one goaltender who danced to his own tune.”

Dryden was at his best when it mattered most, going a stunning 80-32 in the playoffs. He certainly played the game on his own terms. In 1973-74, as the reigning Vezina winner and a two-time Stanley Cup champion at the peak of his powers at age 26, he announced his retirement and sat out an entire season in a contractual dispute with the Canadiens. This was around the time the upstart World Hockey Association was reconstructing pro hockey鈥檚 pay scale. Dryden made the case to Canadiens general manager Sam Pollock that his $80,000 salary wasn鈥檛 commensurate with market comparables. It wasn鈥檛 simply about the size of the paycheque, Dryden argued. It was a matter of principle.

鈥淭he actual amount of money you make hasn鈥檛 much to do with making you happy,鈥� he told reporters at the time. 鈥淚f you see the guy next to you doing the same work you do getting twice as much, you鈥檙e unhappy, naturally. It鈥檚 not fair.鈥�

To make his point he spent that season articling at a 色色啦 law firm聽鈥� he鈥檇 gone to law school at Montreal鈥檚 McGill University while playing for the Canadiens聽鈥� taking the subway to an office near King and Yonge, where he was paid the princely sum of $134 a week. Dryden supplemented that income by doing colour commentary for the WHA鈥檚 色色啦 Toros while reports swirled he might defect to the rebel league. But after the Canadiens lost in the first round of the playoffs without the services of their No. 1 netminder, the team convinced Dryden to sign a three-year contract worth a reported $200,000 a year.

Four more Stanley Cups followed before Dryden, in the summer of 1979, made another retirement announcement, this one for good. Freed of the season-long grind, he passed the bar admission course. He travelled Europe. In 1983, he published 鈥淭he Game鈥� to glowing reviews and blockbuster sales. It was the first of his small library of books.

By 1997, he was ready to return to the NHL at the helm of the Leafs. It was a moment of tumult in Leafland. Around the time the team was moving from Maple Leaf Gardens into what鈥檚 now known as Scotiabank Arena, one of Dryden鈥檚 earliest tasks involved stewarding the franchise through the abuse scandal that saw a former Gardens usher convicted of sexually assaulting boys. Dryden met that moment with all the humility and decency it required.

During his tenure in 色色啦, front-office infighting was a central theme, and Dryden was more than once accused of dithering. Seen through the lens of recent history, mind you, the results were stupendous. And there was never a doubt that Dryden understood the tortured plight of the Leafs fan.

鈥淚t is easy to say that a fan can stay home,鈥� Dryden wrote in 鈥淭he Game.鈥� 鈥淏ut it鈥檚 not as simple as that. A sports fan loves his sport. A fan in 色色啦 loves hockey, and if the Leafs are bad he loses something he loves and has no way to replace it.鈥�

In a sports conversation built on clich茅-riddled sound bites, Dryden spoke in well-considered sentences and paragraphs that verged on soliloquies. Once, when a New York Times reporter was a passenger in Dryden鈥檚 black Saab on a trip from Buffalo to 色色啦 in the lead-up to the 1999 conference final between the Sabres and Leafs, the reporter measured one of Dryden鈥檚 answers by the car鈥檚 odometer. It clocked in around 10 kilometres. A deep thinker in an often thoughtless sport, Montreal’s No. 29 was one of one.