The twelve of us had been at it for about an hour. Half going one way. The other half going the other. It was late. There were only a few minutes until the end. I was there in the middle of it – chasing, racing, working as hard as I could. Now I was in a foot race with one other guy. In the tussle to get there first, he went down. The referee’s arm went up. Blew his whistle.
“Two minutes,” he indicated to the scorekeeper, “tripping.”
I didn’t say anything. Whether I believed I was unfairly penalized or not, I skated to the penalty box, stepped inside and sat for the assessed two minutes. And as wronged as I felt at that moment, I resigned myself to the penalty, hoped my hockey team didn’t get scored on, and waited for the two minutes to expire. Those are the rules. It’s the way the game is played.
I have watched our beautiful game nearly all my life. I have played it (some will point out, rather badly) for three-quarters of my life. I am in no way an expert on it (although I have written two books about hockey). I have had the pleasure of watching some of the greatest in person. I’ve been in Maple Leaf Gardens to witness the on-ice wizardry of Bobby Hull, Bobby Orr, Maurice Richard and Johnny Bower; I’ve sat in the ACC to see Brendan Shanahan, Sidney Crosby, Mats Sundin and Martin Brodeur. And, as a freelance radio reporter in Edmonton, I had the privilege of covering nearly 40 home games of the upstart Oilers, when Wayne Gretzky, Mark Messier, Kevin Lowe and Grant Fuhr were just beginning to threaten the traditional Stanley Cup winners.
I have watched all that skill and talent over my lifetime. I have roared aloud at some of the highlights of our national winter game. I have booed at referees for making horrible calls. Like the generation of radio listeners who heard Foster Hewitt coin the phrase “He shoots! He scores!” before me, I have become a habitual Hockey Night in Canada watcher. And like thousands of other fanatics, I have commiserated with the so-called “Leaf nation” about the 40-year drought. But, you know what? I’d almost prefer to endure another 40 years without the Cup, than endorse the fighting and bad-mouthing we’re witnessing in professional hockey right now.
It’s destroying a Canadian institution.
Ron MacLean may endorse fighting as a “code of honour.” Don Cherry will applaud brawling all the way to the bank with his 17 editions of “Rock ’em Sock ’em Hockey” videos. And NHL Commissioner Gary Bettman may dismiss criticism of it with his comment that “fighting has always had a role in the game.”
But I’m getting sick and tired of such mindless rhetoric. Fighting does not belong in the game. It’s as ridiculous looking as it is dangerous. And I don’t care how many U.S. cities the NHL tantalizes with the so-called “draw of violence,” Americans (outside of Detroit, New York, Boston and Chicago) don’t care about hockey. They never have. And fighting won’t change that.
It was one thing for Gordie Howe to wield his elbows up around an opponent’s ears or for Tiger Williams to land a thundering body-check. It’s quite another for players, barely into the game, to drop the gloves and spar at centre ice to “heighten the intensity of the game,” as some commentators would have us believe.
Now, we’ve gone beyond that. Some of our highly paid professionals have resorted to verbal sparring – epithets, racial slurs and quips about coping with disease. I’m sorry. Neither fists nor slurs should be allowed to tarnish the artistry of hockey.
Never mind game misconduct penalties. Never mind fines (unless it’s an entire season’s lost income). Never mind the highly publicized reviews in Colin Campbell’s league office. I say, if an NHL (or for that matter an OHL) player fights, he gets a warning. If he fights again, he misses a season. Fights again and he’s out of the game. Period. There are plenty of eager, willing and talented players waiting in the wings who can exhibit skill on ice without brawling and blathering. Saying that “fighting is part of hockey” is like saying “drunk driving is part of a night out.” Canadians have learned to make drunk driving socially unacceptable. The hockey fraternity can do the same with physical fighting and verbal slurring.
It had better. Too beautiful an institution is at stake.
