“Do you believe in miracles? Yes!”

Even if you know nothing else about hockey, chances are you know the words above were shouted by announcer Al Michaels at the conclusion of one of the greatest upsets in sports history, the U.S. men’s hockey team’s victory over the Soviet Union at the 1980 Winter Olympics in Lake Placid, N.Y. Along with the “USA! USA!” chant that gained national popularity at that tournament, the call has become a national memory and an icon of the Cold War even for those who weren’t yet born when the “Miracle on Ice” happened. 

Not all that many Americans, proportionately speaking, are passionate hockey fans. S&P Global estimated last summer that less than 20 percent of Americans follow the National Hockey League; maybe less than 5 percent of Americans call hockey their favorite sport. Those numbers were even lower 46 years ago, when most of the N.H.L. teams were north of the border and the N.H.L. was much smaller, with the result that many of the American Olympians (not until 1988 were professionals eligible, and N.H.L. players didn’t participate for another decade) were from areas of particular hockey interest, like Boston and Minnesota. All the more remarkable, then, that the team captured the nation’s hearts in February of 1980. 

Their story is retold in “Miracle: The Boys of ‘80,” now streaming on Netflix, just in time for the 2026 Winter Olympics (the U.S. squad has a chance again, but the favorite this year is Canada). Directed by Max Gershberg and Jacob Rogal, the movie brings back the surviving players from the 1980 squad for interviews, banter and reflections interspersed with clips from the original tournament. Much of the 16-millimeter footage the filmmakers obtained from the International Olympic Commission had been lost for years.

It’s not Hollywood’s first movie on this topic: “Miracle,” starring Kurt Russell, came out in 2004, and in 1981 Karl Malden starred in “Miracle on Ice,” just a year after the real thing. Do we need a third?

We do. Watch “Miracle: The Boys of ‘80” and you’ll see why. The documentary aptly balances archival footage and contemporary reactions, offering an exciting sports documentary while also pulling on the heartstrings with its nostalgic tone. It’s not schmaltzy or sentimental—O.K. it is a little bit, at times—and it’s not sugarcoated or hagiographical. Instead, it’s a well-crafted, well-conceived take on a memorable moment coming at the right time, the sort of thing you’ll want to watch twice.

There’s a curious nuance to its nostalgic appeal, because for most viewers it’s a second-order thing, not a return to an experienced memory. I can watch other Netflix offerings like “The Last Dance” or “America’s Team: The Gambler and His Cowboys” and think back fondly on the Chicago Bulls and Dallas Cowboys dynasties of the 1990s—because I remember them. But I was 5 when the “Miracle on Ice” took place. Further, like many Angelenos, I didn’t pay a lick of attention to hockey until Wayne Gretzky came to town in 1988. It is a tribute to “Miracle” that the show nevertheless succeeds in activating that same hearkening for the past.

The story, in brief: Herb Brooks, the coach of the American team in 1980, painstakingly assembles a squad of 20 players (culled from an initial group of 68) that will try a new tack. Instead of the smashmouth style of play usually favored by American teams, Brooks, who had won three collegiate hockey titles as the coach of the University of Minnesota, seeks to instill a more fluid, European style of play that focuses on playing without the puck and using movement as much as muscle. 

Brooks, who died in 2003, comes across as the most complex and intriguing character in the film, especially in interviews with his players and his two children. Brooks was no one’s idea of cuddly; in fact, Malden, who studied footage of Brooks for his role in “Miracle on Ice” in 1981, once said of him: “I’d hate to meet him in a dark alley.” Reminiscences in the film by Brooks’s players are honest in their admixture of grudging admiration and, in several cases, the admission of still-extant wounds from Brooks’s acerbic style and harsh persona. Some of them confess they still don’t understand their coach almost half a century later.

Footage of the players in 1980 shows how young they are (especially against their Soviet counterparts) and how blue-collar they are; they came not from elite training programs or academies but from backyard rinks in working-class towns. Their exuberance also comes through in every scene, especially in postgame interviews or spontaneous bursts into song.

The final squad was one of the youngest in the Olympics but arrived in Lake Placid as well-seasoned veterans in some ways because of Brooks’s endless exhibition games and practices that demanded physical and emotional stamina. In their way, of course, was a Soviet team that had won the gold in the previous four Olympics and had demolished the Americans in an exhibition before the Olympics. When the two teams finally meet in the semifinals, many of the U.S. players feel the Soviet team doesn’t take them seriously.

The United States falls behind early and trails 3-2 after two periods. But a frenetic attack results in two American goals and a sudden panic by the businesslike Soviet team; despite their physical tactics and deep bench, they are unable to manufacture a comeback. American goalie Jim Craig stops shot after shot on goal. As time expires on a 4-3 U.S. victory and Michaels issues his iconic call, the young American players pour onto the ice in jubilant celebration while the hometown crowd thunders with chants of “USA! USA!” (Brooks vanished into the locker room. It wasn’t time to celebrate yet: The team, he said, still needed to beat a tough Finland squad to guarantee the gold—which they did.)

The footage of these moments is thrilling by itself but made all the more poignant by frequent shots of the players (now in their mid-to-late 60s) watching along with us from Herb Brooks Arena in Lake Placid. A wry smile here, a tear there, a guffaw of laughter over a remembered contretemps or foulup; they all contribute to the feel-good vibe. 

The players are also shown roaming around present-day Lake Placid, where the locals somewhat incongruously seem to know who they are and offer passing waves and salutations. A director’s conceit? Perhaps, but it’s still heartwarming. While some discuss their accomplishments in N.H.L. careers or elsewhere in the years that followed, the emotional vibe remains “we were part of something special in this place.” 

At 108 minutes, “Miracle” is longer than plenty of feature films in a streaming market that doesn’t always believe its viewers can stay focused for anything more than half an hour. But I didn’t find myself reaching for my phone or stopping and starting the film, a testament to its pacing and engrossing material. 

One last note: Patient fans may get another chance in 16 years or so to revisit the scene of these magical hockey moments. New York state Assemblymember Robert Carroll of Brooklyn is campaigning for a return of the Winter Olympics (perhaps in 2042) to Lake Placid as part of a shared bid with New York City.

James T. Keane is a Senior Editor at America.