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[hockeygod]

Concussions, head trauma have some reconsidering hockey's quaint on-ice code of justice

Canadian Press 2011-05-16

Detroit Red Wing opponents knew better than to mess with Steve Yzerman. Take a cheap shot at him—or any of the other Wings, for that matter—and you'd have to answer to Bob Probert and, in later years, Darren McCarty.

It was an on-ice code of justice, and it's proven so effective over the years that players like Probert, McCarty and Derek Boogaard built careers dishing out punishing hits.

But Boogaard's sudden death Friday five months after a season-ending concussion, and his family's decision to donate his brain to the Boston University project that found Probert had signs of brain trauma resulting from blows to the head, is bringing added scrutiny to fighting's place in the NHL.

"I think the league does a good job. They're trying to limit head shots," Tampa Bay Lightning centre Nate Thompson said Monday. "I don't think they can (ban fighting entirely). That's part of the game. It's a physical sport and it always has been. If they take that out of the game that takes a part of the history out of the game."

Like football, hockey is a game of controlled violence. Players are skating full-speed around an enclosed rink, and collisions—some intentional, some not—are bound to happen. Referees are there to make sure transgressions are punished. But when they don't, or don't see them occur, that's when players take matters into their own hands.

Boston's Big Bad Bruins brought the rough-and-tumble style to the ice, and the Philadelphia Flyers' Broad Street Bullies are considered the role models for modern-day enforcers. What people forget is that the Flyers only started beating people up because owner Ed Snider got tired of other teams picking on his.

"That fighting stuff way overshadowed the talent we had on the team," Bob (the Hound) Kelly said. "We don't have talent, we don't win anything."

But the Flyers did win, hoisting the Stanley Cup in 1974 and '75.

By the 1980s, every team had an enforcer or two whose primary role was to protect his teammates by whatever means necessary, whenever necessary.

"These guys are so big and strong," said Dave (the Hammer) Schultz, who often wrapped his hands in tape for protection and set an NHL record in the 1974-75 season with 472 penalty minutes. "We weren't big and strong. I could punch a guy, hit him right in the nose, and he's not going to get a concussion. But I didn't train to punch."

Advances in equipment and rules changes elevated the level of fighting. Schultz said he never would have slammed into opponents shoulder- or headfirst because it would have hurt him. But players now wear helmets with face shields, and football-like padding.

Players can now pass all the way up to their opponents' blue-lines, increasing the speed of the game. And like every other sport, the players have been super-sized.

"The game has gotten very fast, much faster than it's ever been," said Stan Fischler, the MSG hockey analyst and leading NHL historian. "And the players are much bigger than they've ever been so, as a result, collisions are at a higher speed."

The NHL has tried to limit the damage from fighting, ejecting and suspending players who leave the bench for a brawl. It also passed the "instigator" rule, slapping a two-minute minor penalty of the player that started the fight—though some say the rule has caused more problems than good because it doesn't necessarily punish the initial troublemaker.

This year, the NHL banned blindside hits that target an opponent's head.

But fights are part of the game's appeal, much like NASCAR's fender-benders or driver spats. While college hockey has made its punishments so severe that fighting has all but disappeared at that level, NHL Commissioner Gary Bettman has made it clear the fisticuffs will never disappear entirely from the pro game.

"We celebrate the big hit, we don't like the big head hit," Bettman said last month. "There is an important distinction because we celebrate body-checking."

And the fighting does serve a purpose, players insist. There are only two referees and two linesmen, and they can't see everything. Without that fear of retaliation, the violence could easily get out of hand.

"It's a tool that you can use to help control what happens on the ice," said Rob Ray, the Buffalo Sabres enforcer whose habit of taking off his helmet, jersey and pads during fights prompted the NHL to punish the practice. "Since they put in the 'instigator' rule, the levels of hitting from behind and head shots and dirty shots and that kind of thing have increased.

"I'm not sitting here saying fighting is the greatest thing in the word, but know it curbed a lot of that type of play," added Ray, now part of the Sabres broadcast team. "If you were going to hit somebody like that, you knew there was going to be somebody you'd have to answer to."

Added McCarty, "What's going to stop a guy from slapping your best player on the wrist or being dirty when there's no retribution to it?"

But as more is learned about the devastating impact of concussions and head trauma, there is growing concern about players' long-term health. Sidney Crosby, the NHL's marquee player, hasn't played since January after absorbing hits in consecutive games. Boston's Patrice Bergeron missed the first game of the Eastern Conference finals with a concussion.

There is no known concussion connection to Boogaard's death, but his family donated his brain to the BU Center for the Study of Traumatic Encephalopathy at his wish. Boogaard was approached by researchers after Probert's death.

"You just wish somehow we could cut down on those concussions," Boston Bruins coach Claude Julien said. "Not necessarily for the game of hockey, but more for the individuals. We know how serious those things are, and somehow they seem to be creeping up in our game. We're trying to find ways to minimize those."

___

AP Sports Writers Jimmy Golen and Dan Gelston contributed to this report.

Dean
M.Ed (Coaching)
Ch.P.C. (Chartered Professional Coach)
Game Intelligence Training
"Great education depends on great teaching."

[hockeygod]

Boogaard family donates NHL enforcer’s brain to science

By Randy Starkman Olympic Sports Reporter Toronto Star May 14, 2011

Former NHL star Keith Primeau choked up a bit as he contemplated that Derek Boogaard may have saved his biggest assist for last.

Boogaard’s family told the Minneapolis StarTribune on Saturday night that they were donating the New York Ranger enforcer’s brain to the Boston University research group doing groundbreaking work in studying degenerative brain disease in athletes.

Primeau, who is donating his brain to the same study, expressed the hope earlier in the day while on the XM Home Ice radio show that the Boogaards would make such a decision.

When told by the Star the Boogaards were going ahead with the donation, Primeau was touched by the gesture.

“I suppose I can only imagine how difficult a time this must be first of all, and then to be presented with this type of dilemma,” said Primeau, who still suffers symptoms five years after his last concussion. “For me personally, I become very emotional when I hear these types of acts. It’s such an important subject for me. I did it because of the hope some day it has the ability to make a difference.”

Primeau, who runs a website http://www.stopconcussions.com, said the Boogaards were likely motivated by the desire to help the cause and to get some insight into a tragedy that has rocked the hockey world.

“For a family and the parents, you want to know. I’m sure they’re looking for answers, too,” said the 14-year NHLer. “I extremely hope this will help them get some answers either way and help in the healing process.”

Boogaard’s brother Ryan told reporter Michael Russo of the Star Tribune that his brother’s concussion issues spurred their parents Len and Joanne to sign the papers Saturday night to donate their oldest son’s brain to the study.

“Derek loved sports and obviously in particular hockey, so we believe Derek would have liked to assist with research on a matter that had affected him later on in his career,” Ryan Boogaard told Russo.

Boogaard played only 22 games for the Rangers last season because of post-concussion symptoms, but there’s no evidence the problems caused his death at age 28.

“The biggest reason people are reeling and for there to be questions is because he was so young,” said Primeau, now 39. “Aside from the fact he had a little bit of concussion problems and difficulty towards the end this year, it just brings everybody’s vulnerability into play. Certainly, the league and its members and friends and family are in disbelief today.”

The Boston University Medical School and the Sports Legacy Institute is at the forefront of examining the concussion epidemic in sports. On the hockey side, they determined that former NHLers Bob Probert and Reggie Fleming had the degenerative brain disease chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE) when they died. CTE is believed to be caused by repetitive brain trauma.

Primeau said the idea of donating your brain to science is finding less and less resistance among athletes.

“It’s become more accepted and very important. When I first told my brother that I was donating my brain, he was a little appalled, a little grossed out by the whole thing. But ultimately what the brain is is the most important organ, the most vital organ in the human body. And the more information we can garner, the more we can understand, the better we can fight head injuries and the difficulties people face through post concussion.”

Dean
M.Ed (Coaching)
Ch.P.C. (Chartered Professional Coach)
Game Intelligence Training
"Great education depends on great teaching."

[hockeygod]

Tracking down the Sharks' 'Missing Link'

By Mark Emmons

memmons@mercurynews.com
Posted: 05/16/2011

Link Gaetz, the fearsome enforcer who became a Bay Area cult figure during the Sharks' inaugural season two decades ago, was living up to his nickname: The Missing Link.

Friends hadn't heard from him in months. Somebody thought the retired hockey brawler might be working on a pipeline in remote Canada.

"I'm not missing," countered Gaetz when finally tracked down this month, amused that anyone thought he had pulled another disappearing act.

In fact, he is living in Surrey, British Columbia, just outside of Vancouver, where he works for a recycling company and is rooting for the Sharks in the Stanley Cup playoffs.

At age 42, he also wonders what might have been in a promising career derailed by alcohol-fueled incidents — punctuated by a Highway 101 car wreck that prematurely ended his NHL days.

"I made some really donkey decisions and did some stupid things," Gaetz said. "I definitely wish I could take a lot of that back. But when you're 23 years old and pretty much have the hockey world by the (tail), it's tough when you're not grounded. But there's nothing you can do now, eh?"

Except perhaps improve your life today. Gaetz said he has been sober for a year. He also has left something else behind.

"I don't fight anymore," he said.

For the uninitiated, Gaetz might be the most memorable player in Sharks franchise history.

"He's the legend," said Drew Remenda, a former Sharks assistant coach and current team broadcaster. "He's D.B. Cooper. He's Bigfoot. He's the Loch Ness Monster. And his legend has only grown with time."

With blond hair, a heavy shot and heavier fists, Gaetz was a 6-foot-3, 240-pound package of unpredictable violence — on and off the ice. Gaetz played just 48 games for the Sharks, all in that first year, and he still holds the team record for most penalty minutes in a season with 326.

"He was the scariest hockey player there ever was," said Nick Fotiu, a former NHL tough guy who tried to mentor Gaetz. "People talk about Gordie Howe being mean. But Link? He intimidated everybody, including his coaches."

For a Sharks team that won just 17 games its debut season, Gaetz's eagerness to drop the gloves with NHL heavyweights such as Bob Probert gave Cow Palace fans a reason to cheer.

"Everything was new, and we weren't very good, so people latched onto Link," said Ken Arnold, the team's senior director of communications. "He was the king."

But the Sharks knew they were getting trouble as well as talent when they claimed Gaetz in the 1991 expansion draft.

"One of the meanest kids playing hockey. … He's one of the meanest kids alive," Sharks director of player personnel Chuck Grillo said at the time.

The Minnesota North Stars originally had picked the British Columbia native in the second round of the 1988 draft.

"I knew he was different when he showed up for the draft with two black eyes," said Mike Modano, the team's No. 1 selection that year.

Those came in a bar fight.

After the Sharks took him off the North Stars' hands, Gaetz spent a few days in jail for shooting out a stained-glass window at a Minnesota church. He arrived at Sharks training camp with a cut below one eye that he joked was the result of a knife fight.

Such antics were why former North Stars general manager Lou Nanne famously said of Gaetz: "I drafted Mike Modano in the first round to protect our franchise. I drafted Link Gaetz in the second round to protect Mike Modano. I should have drafted a lawyer in the third round to protect Link Gaetz."

The Sharks paired Gaetz with their most stable player — team captain Doug Wilson, now the Sharks' general manager. It didn't help.

"It wasn't every day where he would be this wild man," Remenda said. "But once every couple of weeks something would happen, from speeding down a residential street at 80 mph to throwing a TV out a window."

In his final NHL game, Gaetz earned a 10-game suspension for instigating an altercation at the Cow Palace with the Pittsburgh Penguins' bench after the final horn.

Then on April 2, 1992, he was thrown from a car in a crash. (The friend who was driving was charged with DUI.) Unconscious for several hours, Gaetz suffered a brain stem injury that initially left him partially paralyzed.

He attempted a comeback with the Sharks, but his motor skills were never the same. When he was arrested for his own DUI that fall, the team had enough and traded him to Edmonton.

"Not a day goes by that I don't wish that I didn't get in my car accident, because it changed everything," Gaetz said.

He became a wandering minor-leaguer, playing in cities ranging from Anchorage to Mexico City, rarely lasting a full season and sometimes showing up on local police blotters.

Gaetz last played in Quebec's Ligue Nord-Americaine de Hockey, where players basically are paid to fight. His pro career ended in 2005 when he changed out of uniform and got a hamburger at a concession stand during a game. That same year he competed in a pay-per-view event called The Battle of the Hockey Enforcers, getting knocked down twice in an opening-round loss.

He hasn't picked up a stick since 2007.

"I don't know where all the stories about the bad stuff came about," Gaetz said. "But I guess if you do a few things, they get blown out of proportion. Well, at least there was a little exaggeration."

The passage of time has brought some reflection.

"I think it boiled down to drinking," Gaetz said. "Whenever I got drunk, I got into trouble. But now I'm clean and sober. It's been hard, but when your life gets worse and worse, the only thing left for you to do is quit."

Gaetz always had a soft side. He liked to mingle with Cow Palace fans and was especially good with kids. That's the guy James de Boer knows. A young Canadian filmmaker, de Boer has been trying to make a documentary of Gaetz's life.

"I was really nervous meeting with him the first time, but he's a nice guy," de Boer said. "He knows that if he had gotten his head on straight, he could have played a long time. It's kind of sad."

Then Gaetz dropped off the radar. Wilson and de Boer, among others, didn't know where he was. But he surfaced again this month.

"Heard you were looking for me," Gaetz said on the phone.

He has been working a few months for a rubber recycling company, driving in a truck to collect used car tires. He no longer gets recognized, but his name is remembered.

"When I met the boss, the first thing he said was: 'Hey, you fought Probert,' " Gaetz said.

His voice lifts when told that the occasional "Gaetz" jersey still is seen in the Shark Tank crowd.

"I miss hockey," he said. "But I really miss the fans, and of course San Jose."

He hopes to visit sometime after February 2013 when an old assault charge clears from his record.

"I can't cross the border until then," he said.
—–

I played in Spokane after Link had been there and the stories I heard were unbelievable… in a bad way. Booze really messed him up. I am glad to hear he is sober now and trying to change his life. He was crazy scary back in the day.

Dean
M.Ed (Coaching)
Ch.P.C. (Chartered Professional Coach)
Game Intelligence Training
"Great education depends on great teaching."

[hockeygod]

Crosby to meet with specialist

Postmedia News May 18, 2011

Pittsburgh Penguins superstar centre Sidney Crosby — who hasn’t played since early January — is expected to meet with a concussion specialist later this month.

The Pittsburgh Post-Gazette reports that Crosby is currently on vacation with a number of teammates at the Cannes Film Festival in France.

He didn’t see game action after Jan. 5. Crosby did resume practising with the Penguins and participated in non-contact drills and game-day skates during the Penguins’ first-round playoff series against the Tampa Bay Lightning.

His concussion symptoms flared up though and Crosby packed it in for the year.

Penguin general manager Ray Shero said the lengthy off-season can only help the process.

"There was no reason for him to get cleared for anything (once the Penguins were eliminated)," Shero said to the newspaper. "He was going on vacation to relax. He has all kinds of time at this point."

Dean
M.Ed (Coaching)
Ch.P.C. (Chartered Professional Coach)
Game Intelligence Training
"Great education depends on great teaching."

[hockeygod]

Concussions: the untold story (excerpt)

Eric Lindros and other pro hockey players on their depression, anxiety and suicidal thoughts

by Cathy Gulli on Thursday, May 19, 2011

Before there was Sidney Crosby, there was Eric Lindros. Both were hockey prodigies as young teenagers. Both were drafted first overall into the NHL. Both won the league MVP in their early 20s, both led Team Canada at the Olympics, and both were hailed as the next Wayne Gretzky or Mario Lemieux. And then, in a fraction of a second, both fell victim to devastating concussions. The toll on Crosby, who has been sidelined since January, remains to be seen. But most fans know that Lindros was never the same after a series of blows to the head—at least eight by the time he retired in 2007. What few know, however—what he’s never talked about publicly before—is the psychological and emotional toll of those concussions.

That a Herculean hockey legend such as Lindros (he is six foot four and 255 lb.) is speaking out with disarming candour about the panic and desolation that he has endured is unprecedented. “You’re in a pretty rough-and-tumble environment with this sport. Talking about these things—you don’t talk about these things,” says Lindros. So while he was playing in the NHL, Lindros mostly kept his game face on. “You got to understand, you want to wake up in the morning and you want to look at yourself and say, ‘I’ve got the perfect engine to accomplish what I need to in this game tonight.’ You are not going to look in the mirror and say, ‘Boy, I’m depressed.’ ”

But there were signs that the concussions had transformed him, both as a man and a hockey player, for the worse. “I was extremely sarcastic. I was real short. I didn’t have patience for people,” says Lindros, 38. That rudeness mutated once he stepped on the ice into fear that the next concussion was just one hit away. “That’s why I played wing my last few years,” he explains of changing positions late in his career. “I hated cutting through the middle. I was avoiding parting the Red Sea.” Off the ice, Lindros developed a paralyzing sense of dread at the very thought of public speaking or of being in a crowd—once routine activities for the sports superstar. “I hated, absolutely hated, that. I’d avoid those scenarios. I didn’t like airports. I didn’t like galas. It would stress me out.”

Although he didn’t realize it at the time, Lindros now believes there is one explanation for the downslide: the concussions. “The anxiety started in the late 1990s, in the midst of them all. I never had it before,” Lindros says. And he thinks that “there’s a real strong correlation.” Even after he quit playing pro hockey and the physical symptoms of concussion (headaches, fatigue) were gone, the anxiety persisted. His weight ballooned; he gained 30 lb. He also realized that the “great deal of frustration” he felt about the politics of hockey was depressing him as well.

To read the rest of this story, pick up the latest issue of Maclean’s at your favourite newsstand.

Dean
M.Ed (Coaching)
Ch.P.C. (Chartered Professional Coach)
Game Intelligence Training
"Great education depends on great teaching."

[hockeygod]

FRASER: MY FAVOURITE AND LEAST FAVOURITE COACHES IN THE NHL

KERRY FRASER 5/20/2011

Got a question on rule clarification, comments on rule enforcements or some memorable NHL stories? Kerry Fraser wants to answer your emails at cmonref@tsn.ca!

Kerry,

Who was your favourite and least favourite coach? You know – the one that rides you all game, but you know it's just his style or even the guy who can't shut up? Also, has a player or coach ever caught you with some saying that you couldn't reply to? Not swearing per se, but just a, "I can't believe you said that" quote?

G.H. McJannet, CD1

Dear "G.H.":

All participants bring their unique style and individual personality to every game. Relative to coaches, I found it was important to try and figure out quickly what they responded to in order to establish a good working relationship. Quite often, if a need arose, I would go directly to the coach to deliver a message rather than through the team captain. Two of the very best coaches that I observed during my 30-year NHL career were Scotty Bowman and Al Arbour. Both were extremely disciplined and astute. I respected all of the coaches that I encountered and accepted their unique styles and often efforts to gain an advantage for the next call. Often, it would become a game within the game itself. Here are few of the personalities I dealt with.

Glen Sather was the guy with the best wit behind the bench I have ever seen. He was a master at taking the pressure off his players by keeping it loose. In 1985, the Oilers won the Stanley Cup against Mike Keenan and his Philadelphia Flyers. Toward the end the regular season, I worked the Oilers game in Chicago Stadium. The Oilers were getting trounced and the score hit double digits. Glen didn't want his team to carry a spanking of this sort with them into the playoffs. Frustration had set in and Kevin Lowe demonstrated this when he broke a stick over a Blackhawk with a couple of minutes left in the game.

After assessing the penalty, I noticed Glen and his entire team standing up on the players' bench with their sticks up confronting a Hawks fan. The last thing I wanted was to have players scale the glass and an incident with the fans. I rushed over and hollered at Glen and got his attention. Like a maestro conducting a symphony orchestra, he waved the percussion section to sit. All the players took their seats. I asked Glen if he wanted me to get some additional security over to protect his players and remove the 'obnoxious' fan?" (I just wanted the game over without having to write a report.) Glen replied, "No Kerry, everything's all right now. That @#$%* said the penalty you called against Kevin Lowe was @#$%* but we stuck up for you!" I laughed, Glen laughed but more importantly all his players laughed. The ice was broken; the embarrassment of a humiliating loss was derailed.

—

His players called him "Iron Mike" for good reason. I got along great with Mike Keenan. As a matter of fact, when he left the Philadelphia Flyers and moved to Chicago in 1988, he had a great house for sale near the Flyers Skate Zone (practice rink) in Voorhees, NJ. My wife Kathy and I were relocating with our six children to the United States from our hometown of Sarnia, Ontario. We had decided that the Philadelphia market was most suitable to our list of needs and Mike's house was perfect for us. (NHL President, John Ziegler didn't think much of the purchase but that's another story)

So we made the transaction and moved into Keenan's old house. A few years passed as well as a few teams and several houses later for Mike until he ended up in Boston for the 2000-01 season. It was just before the playoffs and we were operating in the two-referee system. I was the back referee and Iron Mike was yelling at my young referee partner as play stopped. I raced over to the Bruins bench, stuck my finger in the coaches face and yelled, "Mike, that @#$%* house you sold me, the roof is leaking." The most innocent look appeared on Keenan's face as he backed up with his hand up and palms open and said, "Kerry, honest, I thought I got it fixed!"

All the players on the bench started to laugh. I knew by the look on Mike's face that he wasn't kidding and I backed away scratching my helmetless head. Two weeks later, we had a heavy rain and water started pouring down the chimney of the double sided fireplace. Upon inspection of the roof, Mike had applied excessive amounts of black roofing tar to the flashing which had finally let go. C'mon, Coach!

—

The coach that unloaded on me with the most foul, vile, offensive language ever was Marc Crawford. It happened when he was a rookie coach with the Quebec Nordiques late in the 1994-95 season in a game in Florida. 'Crow' won the Jack Adams Award as Coach of the Year but that night, he really ruffled my feathers and caused me to issue him a "career warning."

The frustration that Crawford felt as his team was heading in the wrong direction just prior to the playoffs erupted with a minute and a half left in the game. His Nordiques lost to Tampa 5-2 the night before and were about to go down to the Panthers by a score of 4-2 after giving up three goals in the first 10 minutes of the game on just seven shots at Jocelyn Thibault.

Rookie Peter Forsberg had just taken a penalty and Crawford waited me out at the bench before putting his players on the ice. I approached the bench knowing full well some form of verbal attack was forthcoming. I remained stoic as the Crow flew off the handle. When he was finished, I told him it was the most unprofessional dialogue I had ever heard and not one player on his bench believed what they had just heard but that he and I would save it for another day. What I needed from him right now was to put four players on the ice and I needed them now, PLEASE.

As calm and professional as I remained on the outside, I was burning up on the inside. I was still fuming as I removed my skates in the dressing room after the game when a knock on the door interrupted me. Opening the door, I found Crawford standing before me with his head down asking if he could apologize. I quickly invited Marc into our dressing room, shared with linesmen Ray Scapinello and Greg Devorski. I invited Marc to have a beer, which he accepted. We shared a beer and had open dialogue relative to what had taken place and the frustration he felt for the direction that his team was heading at this crucial time of the season.

I accepted Marc's sincere apology and made a pact with him before Scapinello and Devorski as my witnesses. I told Marc that I didn't hold a grudge but that I was issuing him a "career warning" which meant that if he ever swore at me again from the bench, he would immediately receive a bench penalty. Crow agreed and we shook hands to cement the deal.

About one year later at the same time of the season, the Colorado Avalanche (formerly the Nordiques) and I met up in Anaheim. Midway through the third period, I had assessed a holding penalty to Sylvain Lefebvre and then a cross-checking penalty to Craig Wolanin. Paul Kariya scored 13 seconds later to put the Ducks ahead by a score of 2-1. From the Colorado bench, I heard the distinctive high-pitched voice of Marc Crawford yell, "Kerry, what the fuh-." Those were the only syllables he got out of his mouth as I wheeled around and signaled a bench minor. Crow just hung his head knowing that a deal was a deal.

Dean
M.Ed (Coaching)
Ch.P.C. (Chartered Professional Coach)
Game Intelligence Training
"Great education depends on great teaching."

[hockeygod]

Hockey’s bare-knuckle anguish

ALLAN MAKI – Calgary – From Saturday's Globe and Mail – Published Friday, May. 20, 2011

He had fought his way up from the minors to the Toronto Maple Leafs only to end up years later in a living-room chair, watching a TV show he couldn't follow. In his hand was a fistful of Xanax and Valium. The physical pain had become so bad that month after month he had gone from taking one pill every four hours to taking at least four every hour.

His children didn't understand. His wife kept saying he needed help. “I was basically out of it,” he recalled. “I was thinking, ‘This is crazy. I'm going to die.'”

But Kurt Walker, the tough guy who broke his hands, separated his shoulders and ruined his back protecting his teammates, didn't die. He got lucky instead. His friends intervened. He went to rehab and reclaimed his life. The pain remains, said Walker, who underwent 17 surgeries, but at 56 he has learned to manage the discomfort that comes from having done the dirtiest job in pro sports – being a hockey heavy, an enforcer, a fighter.

We may love it. Teammates may applaud it. But for the men who stand on skates and throw bare-knuckled head shots at one another, there is no joy. Their usefulness, their livelihood depends on beating another player into submission or not getting beat in return. It's a taxing, exacting way to live, the buildup to that crucial shift, the challenge, the threat of being hurt or embarrassed in front of 17,000 people.

That kind of pressure, Walker said, has been shared by everyone who's ever had to drop the gloves for a living.

“You knew what you had to do and you had to create that anger to fight,” he explained from his home in Murietta, Ga. “I got screwed on pain meds. You'd be surprised how many of us fell into that pain opiate addiction. You fight, you wake up in the morning feeling like you'd been run over by a truck and there's this jar [of pills] and there you go. You take them.

“That's how I coped with everything.”

Talk to enough hockey enforcers, especially those in retirement, and Walker's tale of woe strikes a familiar chord. All too many were fun-loving sorts who became tortured souls. They needed something to get them through the exercise and on to the next fight. For Steve Durbano, Link Gaetz, Brantt Myhres, it was alcohol. For John Kordic and Bob Probert, it was alcohol and drugs. As former reigning heavyweight Georges Laraque put it: “It's the most dangerous job in professional sports. I know a lot of tough guys who had problems with drugs and alcohol from just that pressure.”

No one starts off playing hockey to break faces for a living. Somehow the opportunity finds them, then pushes them to the NHL, where losing a fight could mean being sent to the minors. No more big money, maybe no more job.

Knowing so much depended on roughly 90 seconds of on-ice fury made the emotional demands every bit as alarming as the physical.

“My wife would tell me I was in a different world before games,” said Ryan VandenBussche, the former New York Ranger who ended Nick Kypreos's career in 1997 with a devastating left hand. “I knew there'd be certain teams I'd have to fight against and I'd go into my zone 24 hours prior. It was draining and stressful.”

VandenBussche took his share of beatings, enough to have suffered so many concussions he took to hiding them from his team's trainers. The reason, he explained, was so he could stay in the lineup, otherwise someone else would take his place and perhaps his job. Three years ago, VandenBussche was cleared of assault charges stemming from a fight outside a Southern Ontario bar. After being slammed against a wall, he was tagged with pepper spray and three Taser blasts from police. Informed of VandenBussche's concussion history, the judge ruled his reaction “was not the product of an operating mind.”

“Before all this came out – postconcussion symptoms, [chronic traumatic encephalopathy], protein and after-effects – you had enough in your head worrying about getting knocked out,” said VandenBussche, now a realtor in Ontario. “Now we're hearing how concussions can speed up Alzheimer's and dementia. You've got to have a huge passion for what you do to be able to look past the consequences.”

Probert's death at 45 and Derek Boogaard's at 28 has raised new questions: Has an already hazardous job become even more so given our growing knowledge of brain damage? While Probert died last July of a heart attack, researchers at Boston University's Center for the Study of Traumatic Encephalopathy did a posthumous examination and determined he was suffering from a degenerative brain disease.

Boogaard was found dead May 13 in his Minneapolis apartment. On Friday, a medical examiner in Minnesota ruled his death was caused by a mix of alcohol and oxycodone. The Hennepin County medical examiner released Boogaard's cause of death and stated that no further details will be released. His death has been ruled as accidental.

A funeral service for Boogaard will be held at 10 a.m. Central Time Saturday at the Royal Canadian Mounted Police depot in Regina. Boogaard's family members have also donated his brain to BU.

Stu Grimson used to be regaled as The Grim Reaper, a nom de punch he picked up in major junior hockey and could never shake. In one of his early NHL scraps, he suffered a broken orbital bone at the hands of Edmonton Oiler Dave Brown. Right there, Grimson's career could have ended. He not only came back, he played 729 career games with eight teams and totalled 2,113 minutes in penalties, a hefty sum involving many a fight.

A university graduate and a lawyer with a Nashville firm, Grimson is both happy and healthy these days, an exception among most former enforcers. He rationalized his role as a way to earn a living. His conflict now has to do with fighting's place in hockey and mounting evidence it can lead to brain damage.

“Part of me says, ‘How does a sport so bent on cutting down blows to the head still allow two players to throw bare-fisted punches at one another's head? How do you reconcile that?” Grimson asked. “But part of me also says the way the sport is played, if you have someone like me on the bench, the other team knows it could be held accountable. It's a tough issue.”

Grimson, a born-again Christian even as a fighter, insisted it was Probert's death that made him examine his own health.

“Everyone is different, but there is no one who's a better comparable,” Grimson said. “We have the same birth year, the same body type. We played a similar role for the same length of time. I'd be naïve to say something like that doesn't get my attention.”

Laraque was often criticized for not being mean enough when he fought. He pulls no punches in retirement. As the NHL's most feared big man, he hated his job, hated having to live up to a reputation he never wanted. While he fought more than 130 times in 13 seasons, Laraque was quick to find solace in his charity work and religion. That was what it took for him to get past what he did on the ice.

“I always defend the job because I respect the guys who do it,” Laraque explained. “But I never liked it. What I hated the most was that I was promoting violence to the youth. You see kids at [NHL] games and they clench their fists and yell, ‘Kill him' and you're supposed to be a role model. Then they fight in minor hockey and that's my fault. That's how I felt.”

VandenBussche dreaded sitting on the bench waiting for the coach to tap him on the shoulder, the signal it was time for him to go out and make an impact. Grimson described that moment as a jolt, “like going from 0 to 60 mph.”

As for Walker, who took on all comers for an NHL salary of $70,000, all those fights, from the minors to the NHL, exacted a chilling toll. Every three months he needs an epidural to numb the ache in his lower back. His neurosurgeons have told him “what's happened to me is because of the trauma I put my body through playing hockey.”

He said it all came down to that night, sitting in front of the TV with a handful of pain pills, his children watching, his wife pleading. Who cares for the hockey heavyweight and what happens to him once the cheering stops? Walker does. He hopes others feel the same.

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Report: Boogaard died of alcohol, oxycodone mix

Amy Forliti – MINNEAPOLIS— The Associated Press – Published Friday, May. 20, 2011

A medical examiner in Minnesota ruled the death of New York Rangers enforcer Derek Boogaard was an accident, due to mixing alcohol and oxycodone.

The Hennepin County Medical Examiner released Boogaard's cause of death on Friday. The medical examiner said no other data will be released.

The 28-year-old Boogaard was found dead in his Minneapolis apartment last Friday, five months after he sustained a season-ending concussion with the Rangers.

The six-foot-seven, 265-pound Saskatoon enforcer became a fan favourite in his years with the Minnesota Wild. He played in 255 games with the Wild from 2005-10.

Oxycodone is a powerful painkiller that can be addictive and has been blamed in some overdose deaths.

Boogaard's agent and a spokeswoman for the Boston University School of Medicine said earlier this week that Boogaard's brain will be examined for signs of a degenerative disease often found in athletes who sustain repeated hits to the head.

Boogaard was known as “The Boogeyman” — one of the league's most feared fighters. He agreed to a US$6.5-million, four-year deal with the Rangers in July and appeared in 22 games last season, finishing with a goal, an assist and 45 penalty minutes.

His final game was Dec. 9 at Ottawa when he fought Matt Carkner and sustained a concussion and shoulder injury. That was the 70th fight of his NHL career.

He was out for the last 52 games of the regular season because of his injuries and did not play in the playoffs. He didn't skate again until about three months after the concussion. He was sent home to Minnesota late in the season to work on conditioning.

Boogaard was drafted by Minnesota in 2001 in the seventh round, the 202nd choice. He drew notice in 2007 when he and brother Aaron ran a hockey-fighting class in Saskatchewan. Some voiced concern about such a camp. Boogaard insisted he wasn't teaching kids how to hurt each other, but rather how to protect themselves so they don't get hurt on the ice.

This is the second death of a player in the Rangers organization in the past three years. Alexei Cherepanov, drafted in 2007 but never signed by New York, died at 19 in Chekhov, Russia, in 2008, after collapsing on the bench during a game.

Roman Lyashenko, who briefly played with the Rangers several years ago, was found dead in a hotel in Turkey in 2003. His death was believed to be a suicide.

Earlier this year, Boston University revealed that former enforcer Bob Probert suffered from the degenerative brain disease chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE). Probert died of a heart attack last July at age 45. Reggie Fleming, a 1960s enforcer who played before helmets became mandatory, also had CTE.

Wild fans held a memorial service for Boogaard last Sunday at the Xcel Energy Center. Family, friends and former teammates turned out, and remembered Boogaard as a rough-and-tumble guy on the rink, but a gentle giant when he wasn't on the ice.

“He exuded this aura about him that made people want to be around him,” Wild general manager Chuck Fletcher said Sunday. “He just brought smiles to everyone's faces all the time.”

Dean
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Dr. Boucher: The reality of time pressure

Denis Boucher 2011-05-21 The Hockey News

Time is running out fast. If your team doesn’t win the game, you’re done, eliminated. The skills you have mastered, such as passing the puck, shooting at the net, being in the right position at the right time, anticipating the opponent – all those “little things” you normally do with ease are suddenly much more difficult to do. Why? You are experiencing the effects of time pressure.

Every action on the ice takes place in a specific context. These actions or movements exist in relation to the manner in which your brain analyzes the environment. When time pressure builds up, you are still a hockey player skating on the ice trying to win. On the ice, nothing has changed. But in your brain, it’s a completely different world. You’re not only playing to win, you’re playing not to be eliminated and you must win before the end of this seventh game. Things have changed. Your brain feels time pressure. Instead of staying focused on mastering your game, you try to accomplish everything faster because time is slipping away.

Obviously, time passes at the same rate (60 seconds per minute), but in your brain, time goes by much more quickly; you’re facing the relativity of time. Since your brain perceives everything as moving faster, you will move faster. In this case, faster doesn’t mean better, because in this context, you’re losing your coordination, precision and ability to analyze the game. You make more and more mistakes, so pressure increases exponentially. You don’t master anything anymore. You’re moving on the ice and your only purpose is to get rid of the pressure. You don’t do what is necessary to win anymore.

Worst of all, your brain starts to lose its ability to analyze the situation from an overall perspective. It now focuses on insignificant details, which suddenly become the focus of your actions. For some players, negative emotions get so intense that all their attention is focused on trying to forget about them or to make them fade away. Such demands are unsustainable for your brain.

Your body may be on the ice, but your brain isn’t quite there with you. Can you regain “consciousness” when you’re in this kind of trouble? The answer is yes, if you can mentally separate your actions from time pressure. Before the game, a plan must be clearly set, the pace well-defined, the purpose of each action properly explained, etc., and all this in a context where the players set the pace. If you think of doing all this to avoid losing the game at the end of the third period, time pressure will take over your brain and you will lose.

Events on the ice happen fast, you can’t change that, but your brain must stay calm, focused on taking the right actions at the right moment, without the influence of the time running low. Even though victory is won in real time (60 seconds per minute), the subjective experience of time (time pressure) must never take control of your brain.

Dr. Denis Boucher holds a Ph.D. degree in experimental medicine. He manages an exercise physiology laboratory in Quebec and a human performance consulting company in the United States. He has conducted the pre-season on-ice fitness evaluation program for the Philadelphia Flyers. His clinical expertise is in the fields of exercise physiology, nutrition and sport performance. He currently hosts and produces a weekly radio show on XM172 entitled ‘The Little Scientific World of Doc Boucher’ (in French). He will blog for THN.com throughout the season.

Dean
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Boogaard died of booze and drug mix
Family says the ex-Wild enforcer "lived with pain" and struggled with addiction.

Article by: MICHAEL RUSSO , Star Tribune
Updated: May 21, 2011

Derek Boogaard was one of the NHL's toughest enforcers for six seasons, but in the end, the former Wild and Rangers player couldn't fight off what ultimately killed him.

One week after the 28-year-old fan favorite was found dead in his Minneapolis apartment, his family acknowledged he struggled with addiction and "repeated courageous attempts at rehabilitation."

The statement came hours after Hennepin County Chief Medical Examiner Andrew Baker revealed Friday that Boogaard died of an accidental, toxic mix of alcohol and the powerful prescription painkiller, Oxycodone.

Boogaard's family, which will gather Saturday for his funeral in his hometown of Regina, Saskatchewan, thanked the Wild, Rangers, National Hockey League and NHL Players' Association "for supporting Derek's continued efforts in his battle."

"Derek had been showing tremendous improvement but was ultimately unable to beat this opponent," the message from Boogaard's parents, Len and Joanne, and brothers and sister said. "While he played and lived with pain for many years, his passion for the game, his teammates and his community work was unstoppable."

While it's still unclear what Boogaard had sought treatment for – an addiction to alcohol, painkillers or both – a former Wild team official said his death should raise larger questions about the roles and risks players like Boogaard assume in the NHL. "We need to change the culture and understanding in this game that tough guys especially, but all players who suffer head injuries are especially susceptible to depression and drug and alcohol addictions," said Tom Lynn, the Wild's assistant general manager from 2000-09.

Alcohol increases risk

Oxycodone, which can be addictive and has been blamed in many overdose deaths, reduces the brain center that controls respiration, causing one to breathe less. Alcohol use while taking painkillers can enhance those breathing problems and increase the risk of overdose, according to the National Institute on Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism.

Sources say Boogaard, who didn't play for the Rangers after suffering a concussion Dec. 9, voluntarily admitted himself into rehab at least three times since 2009, once while playing for the Wild.

Lynn, now a player agent who did not work for the Wild when Boogaard entered rehab, says his death is a wake-up call.

"Making a better helmet or changing the rules is fine, but they're not going to protect a guy when he's going into a bar or when he's getting three different doctors to get him prescriptions for painkillers because he's in the throes of pain and addiction."

Lynn added, "Here was a guy, like so many other tough guys, who really put his health and a lot of pain on the line to protect his teammates. He wasn't a mean guy, and so many tough guys are like this, they don't go out there because they like hurting people. They're really out there to protect their teammates. … And in the end, we couldn't do enough to help Boogey, and that's the toughest part."

Back home from L.A.

Boogaard returned to Minneapolis on May 12 from Los Angeles. Witnesses say he spent that night into the wee hours of May 13 in downtown Minneapolis at several bars.

Sources say he was last seen alive by his brother Aaron around 4 a.m. May 13. Aaron Boogaard picked up brother Ryan at the airport that afternoon. When they arrived at Derek's home, they discovered him unconscious and not breathing.

The drug Percocet, a painkiller with small doses of Oxycodone in it, was found at the scene, according to sources close to the incident.

"He was a great guy," said Stewart Hafiz, manager of Sneaky Pete's bar in downtown Minneapolis, where Boogaard frequented. Witnesses say Boogaard was at Sneaky Pete's May 13. Hafiz didn't see him but had on other occasions.

"A lot of these athletes come in and never talk to the general public or take pictures," Hafiz said. "He always signed pictures, autographs. … He would always be amongst the patrons."

Wild players say they never knew Boogaard was in rehab. Many remember finding it peculiar that he disappeared during the 2009 training camp and first two weeks of the season, but via texts, Boogaard told them he was getting over a concussion.

Because of anonymity of the NHL/NHLPA Substance Abuse and Behavioral Program, the Wild also reported that Boogaard was sidelined by a concussion.

"Regardless of what happened, this doesn't tarnish my love for Derek," Wild veteran Andrew Brunette said. "He selflessly gave everything and did not want anything in return. He was a guardian angel to all his teammates."

His funeral will be at the Royal Canadian Mounted Police Depot where Boogaard's father, two uncles, stepmother and brother, Ryan, did their training.

On Saturday morning, Wild owner Craig Leipold and his son, Connor, planned to board his private plane with Wild players Brunette, Brent Burns, Nick Schultz and staff members.

Wild GM Chuck Fletcher will fly in from Hamilton, Ontario, where the Wild's minor-league team played Friday night.

Ryan Boogaard said NHL Commissioner Gary Bettman called Boogaard’s mother Friday to extend his condolences and left a voicemail with Boogaard’s father. NHLPA Executive Director Donald Fehr and many Rangers will also attend the services.

"For me, Derek's image will be the same as when he scored that goal against Washington last year — that smile on his face, that grin, that little laugh," Brunette said. "It was that same grin he'd have at the card table when he went all-in with pocket 3s and won the pot.

"Regardless of how he died, that'll never change that image."

Staff Writer Matt McKinney contributed to this report.

Dean
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Boogaard Is Remembered by His ‘Billet Mom’

By JEFF Z. KLEIN May 21, 2011 NY TIMES

As family and friends gathered for the funeral of Derek Boogaard in Regina, Saskatchewan, on Saturday, Boogaard was remembered in the context of a different kind of family — his last “billet mom,” in Medicine Hat, Alberta.

“I always looked at him as a kid in a big body,” said Doris Sullivan, who put the 6-foot-7 Boogaard up when he was with his last junior team, Medicine Hat Tigers of the Western Hockey League. “He never gave my husband or me any problems. He was always respectful.”

Players in junior hockey room with families in the towns and cities where they play, and Boogaard had such an arrangement when he was with the Tigers as a 19- and 20-year-old in parts of two seasons, 2001-2 and 2002-3.

He stayed in touch with Sullivan, starting the year after he left Medicine Hat and turned pro, when he returned to help Sullivan with the house while she battled cancer, and continued the relationship as he moved on to the N.H.L. with the Minnesota Wild and the Rangers.

“I want to tell these stories about Derek,” she said on Friday, shortly after the Hennepin County medical examiner’s office announced that its toxicology reports showed that Boogaard, who was found dead in his Minneapolis apartment on May 13, had died accidentally after mixing alcohol and the painkiller Oxycodone. “Otherwise, how will people know what kind of person he really was?”

Sullivan, a secretary at Medicine Hat High School, said Boogaard was the fifth or sixth of the roughly 25 young hockey or baseball players who have roomed in her house.

“He used to hang out in the house when Sean Connors lived here,” Sullivan said, referring to a Medicine Hat goalie who billeted with her. “They were always goofing around, but good things, nothing bad. There was a lady who roomed here who liked to bake cookies. Derek and Sean always found an excuse to come up from the basement and walk through the kitchen, and there’d always be a couple of cookies missing. They thought it was the funniest thing.

“Finally, one day, Derek came up to me and said: ‘Doris, I want to move into your place. I have to.’”

When Derek was 16, he was traded from the Regina Pats, where his family lived, to Prince George, British Columbia, and had trouble adjusting to the big change. He lived with four different billet families in one season in Prince George and was also the butt of jokes from teammates. But that was a couple of seasons in the past by the time he found Doris Sullivan’s home.

“When he moved here he’d had a few different billets,” Sullivan said. “But that can happen, and we never had any problems from Derek. He was a good kid.”

Sullivan remembered one night when Boogaard and a couple of his Tigers teammates came home after a game, and Boogaard leaned against the refrigerator. “He rested his arm on top of the refrigerator,” she said. “On top — that’s how big he was.”

But, she said, “he fit in — the only thing was that his clothes were bigger.” Boogaard also liked to cook. “He was especially good at breakfast,” Sullivan said. “He loved to cook, and not just making it taste good, but even the presentation. It got so I lost my job making breakfast — it became Derek’s thing to do.”

Boogaard had two coaches with Medicine Hat. The second, Willie Desjardins, is now an assistant with the Dallas Stars.

Desjardins remembered Boogaard as “a real quality person” during his last season in junior.

“He didn’t fight much when he was with me — he was so big that nobody wanted to fight him,” Desjardins said — and indeed, Boogaard’s 14 fights that season were second to the 40 engaged in by another Tiger, Ryan Olynyk.

“The thing that struck me was he was a really good person,” Desjardins said of Boogaard. “When things went bad, he didn’t say anything bad. He appreciated the things that were given to him.”

Sullivan remembered a day early in Boogaard’s second season with Medicine Hat, when “he came home from the rink looking so forlorn.” She asked him what was wrong, and he replied, “Well, I can’t go back to the rink for a while,” she said.

Boogaard told Sullivan that he had run into a 16-year-old rookie, who was badly injured on the play. “’Boogie, you don’t have to come back to training camp for a while,’ he said they told him,” Sullivan said. “He said it was just like when he was in kindergarten: ‘Derek, you can’t play with the little kids.’”

Boogaard was asked not to return to the Rangers late last season after recovering from a concussion, according to Georges Laraque, Boogaard’s friend. Laraque said in a radio interview last week that Boogaard told him that the Rangers had medically cleared Boogaard to return to play, but asked him to stay away until training camp next year because there was no roster spot for him. Laraque said that left Boogaard feeling “a bit down.”

But Sullivan also remembered a magical moment for Boogaard. While he was away on a road trip with the Tigers, a Minnesota scout arrived and asked Sullivan in-depth questions about Boogaard’s character at home. Sullivan answered that Boogaard was a person of good character.

“I called Derek and told him while he was driving back from a game in Calgary that a scout from the Minnesota Wild was asking about him. ‘What did you tell him?’ Derek asked me — he was nervous. I told him I said only good things. ‘Thank you, Doris,’ he said. ‘Thank you. Thank you.’”

Sullivan said that after leaving Medicine Hat and spending a year in the minor pros, Boogaard called to ask if he and a girlfriend could stay while he worked out with the Tigers for a few days at training camp. He came to the house to speak with Sullivan and her husband, and Sullivan explained that she had to undergo surgery for cancer in a few days.

“You’re welcome to stay, but could you do me a favor? I asked him,” Sullivan said. “‘What’s that?’ Derek said, and stood up straight. ‘Cook for the boys,’ I said, meaning the other billets living here.

“And he smiled and said, ‘I can do that for you.’ A few days later, I came home from the hospital, and there he was, serving pregame dinner to the boys. Barbecue steak and salad.”

Sullivan said she has spoken to Boogaard’s mother in the days since Boogaard died, and invited her to come to Medicine Hat sometime after the funeral so she could tell her the things she remembered about Derek.

“I said, ‘Joanne, those stories will make you so proud of Derek.’ She said, ‘I’m already so proud of Derek.’”

Sullivan remembered her last phone conversation with Boogaard, earlier this year. Sullivan confessed to him that with a new baseball team in Medicine Hat, she wasn’t sure she wanted to take in billets anymore. “‘I think I’ve had the best ones already,’ I told him, and said I didn’t want to go down to talk to the team.

“But Derek said, ‘Oh no — I think you should really go, Doris,’” Sullivan said.

“And he convinced me to talk to the team and to keep taking in billets, and I’m still doing it today. Because of Derek.”

Dean
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Concussions: the untold story

Eric Lindros and other pro hockey players on their depression, anxiety and suicidal thoughts

by Cathy Gulli on Thursday, May 19, 2011 – Maclean's Magazine

Before there was Sidney Crosby, there was Eric Lindros. Both were hockey prodigies as young teenagers. Both were drafted first overall into the NHL. Both won the league MVP in their early 20s, both were captain of Team Canada at the Olympics, and both were hailed as the next Wayne Gretzky or Mario Lemieux. And then, in a fraction of a second, both fell victim to devastating concussions. The toll on Crosby, who has been sidelined since January, remains to be seen. But most fans know that Lindros was never the same after a series of blows to the head—at least eight by the time he retired in 2007. What few know, however—what he’s never talked about publicly before—is the psychological and emotional toll of those concussions.

That a Herculean hockey legend such as Lindros (he is six foot four and 255 lb.) is speaking out with disarming candour about the panic and desolation that he has endured is unprecedented. “You’re in a pretty rough-and-tumble environment with this sport. Talking about these things—you don’t talk about these things,” says Lindros. So while he was playing in the NHL, Lindros mostly kept his game face on. “You got to understand, you want to wake up in the morning and you want to look at yourself and say, ‘I’ve got the perfect engine to accomplish what I need to in this game tonight.’ You are not going to look in the mirror and say, ‘Boy, I’m depressed.’ ”

But there were signs that the concussions had transformed him, both as a man and a hockey player, for the worse. “I was extremely sarcastic. I was real short. I didn’t have patience for people,” says Lindros, 38. That rudeness mutated once he stepped on the ice into fear that the next concussion was just one hit away. “That’s why I played wing my last few years,” he explains of changing positions late in his career. “I hated cutting through the middle. I was avoiding parting the Red Sea.” Off the ice, Lindros developed a paralyzing sense of dread at the very thought of public speaking or of being in a crowd—once routine activities for the sports superstar. “I hated, absolutely hated, that. I’d avoid those scenarios. I didn’t like airports. I didn’t like galas. It would stress me out.”

Although he didn’t realize it at the time, Lindros now believes there is one explanation for the downslide: the concussions. “The anxiety started in the late 1990s, in the midst of them all. I never had it before,” Lindros says. And he thinks that “there’s a real strong correlation.” Even after he quit playing pro hockey and the physical symptoms of concussion (headaches, fatigue) were gone, the anxiety persisted. His weight ballooned; he gained 30 lb. He also realized that the “great deal of frustration” he felt about the politics of hockey was depressing him as well.

Over the years, Lindros tried different treatments, including psychotherapy, to overcome post-concussion syndrome, the term for long-lasting symptoms. That’s helped a lot, he says, but the anxiety has been hard to shake: “It wasn’t until this year that I said, ‘Screw it, I’m going to get back into this,’ and I started doing career-day talks at high schools” and participating in public events. He has not made this progress alone, though. Along with the support of friends and family, he has a mental health professional to lean on. “I have someone I can call, and I can pop over and see,” Lindros says, “And I do from time to time.”

Since Lindros sustained that first concussion, awareness about the injury’s severity and complexity has improved, says Ruben Echemendia, a neuropsychologist and chair of the concussion working group for the NHL and the NHL Players’ Association: “We’ve gone from viewing this injury as laughable, a joke, to something people are recognizing can have serious consequences.” Part of that shift has come from seeing how concussions decimated the physical performance of players like Lindros. That he’s now opening up about how the injury wreaked havoc on his mental and emotional state is a breakthrough. “When people start to recognize that their idols have really struggled because of concussive injuries,” says Echemendia, “it starts to wake them up and move them away from the athletic culture of needing to be Superman.”

For whatever headway has been made, far too often concussion is downplayed by athletes and sports leagues, ignored by the public, misdiagnosed by trainers and doctors, and under-studied or not well understood by scientists. The same truths apply to mental illness such as depression and anxiety. Combine concussion and mental illness, and you have a truly perplexing situation: “We know that concussions are under-reported, some people say by a factor of three, others by a factor of 10. So I’m sure the effects of depression are also under-reported,” says Michael Czarnota, a neuropsychologist who works with the Professional Hockey Players’ Association, which includes many of the leagues that feed the NHL. “There is a stigma for people to come forward with these problems.”

Until now. Several former pro hockey players are breaking the silence, revealing to Maclean’s for the first time the anxiety, depression, isolation, broken relationships, loss of identity and even suicidal thoughts they experienced—and how they finally found a long road back to health. Lindros is first among them: “If no one says anything then it’s the status quo. The status quo is not working,” he says. “What most people don’t get is that underneath all the gear and styles of play, there’s a person. There’s a human being with feelings.”

It was Eric Lindros who gave former NHL player Jeff Beukeboom encouragement after his career-ending concussion in 1999. For two years, the hard-hitting defenceman couldn’t escape the pulsating headaches and a debilitating sensitivity to light and noise. “A real crowded area would knock the crap out of me,” recalls the four-time Stanley Cup winner. Worst of all was the relentless exhaustion, which compromised his ability to be a husband and father to his three children. “I couldn’t go out and play or do things with the kids physically,” says Beukeboom, 46, who had several previous concussions. Instead, he related to his toddler another way: “Me and him were on the same sleep schedule.”

No matter how much time passed, the symptoms didn’t lessen. “There was no alleviation. You get to the point where you say, ‘Oh God, here’s another day of feeling the same way. I can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel,’ ” Beukeboom recalls thinking. Eventually, after talking to Lindros about his struggle and using a combination of psychotherapy, antidepressants and active release treatment (muscle manipulation), he began to feel better. But the mental turmoil wasn’t easily shed. “After the recovery it was, ‘What now?’ ” says Beukeboom, who is the assistant coach of the Sudbury Wolves in the Ontario Hockey League. Back then, having played hockey for a living for 14 years, a different life was hard to imagine.

Kevin Kaminski had played four seasons in the NHL as a gritty centre when, on his 30th birthday in 1999, he also had to think hard about life after multiple concussions. “The doctor sat me down and said, ‘Look it, one more blow to the head, you might be killed or you might not remember your family,’ ” recalls Kaminski, now 42. “I was numb. I couldn’t believe it. Yet I guess I maybe knew in the back of my mind this could be it. When you have daughters, you want to be there for them.”

Kaminski was there for them and his wife, but only in the sense that he wasn’t on the road. “I isolated myself from my family,” he says, by shutting himself “in a dark room” to cope with the headaches and fatigue, as well as light and noise sensitivity. However much they offered support, patience and care to him, Kaminski couldn’t reciprocate. His moods swung from detached to enraged. Even Kaminski’s neuropsychologist had trouble getting him to work through the emotions. “He wanted to talk about how I felt, but I was just blah,” says Kaminski. So they’d resort to memory exercises, which agitated Kaminski because he couldn’t repeat back a list of four or five words. After grocery shopping, he couldn’t find his parked car. “My mind,” he says, “was just a mess.”

In time, and using antidepressants, Kaminski’s symptoms faded. But the injury had scarred him and his marriage. Last October, he and his wife finally divorced. “She said I wasn’t the same person anymore,” he explains. “And I don’t think I am. I don’t think I am.” Kaminski, who is now head coach of the Louisiana IceGators in the Southern Professional Hockey League, believes he knows what shattered his family. “I think a big part of it was the concussions,” he says.

The one solace Kaminski, as well as Lindros and Beukeboom, have had was the satisfaction that they had achieved their lifelong dream of playing in the NHL. For those pros who received their career-enders while toiling just one league down, the concussions have been all the more devastating. “Playing hockey my entire life, and hoping and planning for that to be my career—I was making all the right steps and working my way up to where I wanted to be,” says Rob Drummond, 25, who is still symptomatic two years after getting a career-ending concussion while playing right wing in the American Hockey League. “That’s been the most difficult thing, trying to find a different area to pursue. For me, nothing will ever really compare to playing in the NHL.” For now, he’s getting his business diploma and coaching youth hockey in London, Ont.

Still, Drummond has a few things in common with Kaminski. “I had one relationship that didn’t work out. I partly blame the concussion because it changed the person I was,” he says. “I went from being a person who enjoyed being around people to someone who just wanted to be alone and didn’t want to communicate.” It’s not that Drummond didn’t have the desire to get back to his old self. He just couldn’t. “The symptoms were too overwhelming. I just felt nausea and headaches all the time, and that overpowered my personality,” says Drummond, who has been diagnosed with concussion four times. Even expressing that much to the people around him was impossible. “You want to explain that you’re not feeling well, but you’re not well enough to have those conversations.”

Others have experienced a vicious internal battle, too. For one player, who prefers to remain unnamed, it became life-threatening at times. He received a career-ending concussion while playing in the minor pros. “It’s crazy the feelings that go through your head. I get emotional just thinking about,” he says. “I had a lot of suicidal thoughts. I’d be driving to the doctor’s office and thinking to myself, ‘What if I just swerved my car into oncoming traffic?’ ” he says. He felt weak and embarrassed for having such thoughts—he only told his girlfriend and, later, his neuropsychologist about what he was going through. Those sessions helped him. “I needed to get a lot of feelings out and deal with them,” he says, to gain perspective. But he wants to resume therapy to further heal. “It’s like you get trapped in your own brain.”

Max Taylor also felt imprisoned after he received four concussions over two years while playing centre in the AHL starting in 2008. “It was a huge roller-coaster ride. I was really depressed and even suicidal. It freaked me out,” he says. “It just didn’t seem like my life was going to get any better.” The physical symptoms were so bad that Taylor, 27, took to sleeping 12 hours straight just to avoid feeling the pain. Where he used to run a mile in six minutes, he now got dizzy walking down the street to the nearest stop sign. He’d avoid sports news because it reminded him that his NHL chances were slipping away. “There were days that I would lose my mind.”

Like when he learned that the Toronto Maple Leafs, his favourite team since childhood, were looking for a centre. Taylor was invited to the training camp, but couldn’t attend because he was still experiencing concussion symptoms. He became delirious. “I did a mini-circuit in my bedroom—push-ups, body squats and sit-ups,” repeating one mantra: “Just do whatever it takes to stay in shape so that when I’m ready, I’ll be ready.” Instead, the frantic workout set him back. “I ended up throwing up and feeling dizzy for the rest of the day, and having to lay on the couch with a cold pack on my head.”

It was then, says Taylor, “that I realized my injury was denying me my opportunity. And there was nothing I could do about it.” As the physical symptoms lingered, the depression deepened. Dark thoughts crept into his mind. “I was just like, ‘Geez, why don’t I just take a knife to myself right now? Why not?’ ” says Taylor. “It just got to the point where I was like, ‘This is not what I want.’ ”

Ashamed at the “selfish” deliberation to end his own life, Taylor could only bring himself to tell his girlfriend about what he was considering. She rushed over to be with him, and soon after, Taylor began psychotherapy. That’s helped him cope with the physical and emotional pain—and to find new purpose in life without hockey. “I ultimately had to change my goals,” says Taylor, who has just obtained his real estate licence in Toronto and eventually wants to start a family.

The concussion still haunts him—he gets headaches and infrequent anxiety, for example. “I feel like it’s going to be with me for the rest of my life,” says Taylor. “But I’ve kind of accepted that. I don’t really have an option. I either live with it or I don’t. I guess that was one of the things that I had to think about when I was suicidal: can I live with this?”

That players such as Taylor felt, however momentarily, that if they couldn’t keep playing pro hockey then they couldn’t go on living is shocking—except to neuropsychologists Echemendia and Czarnota, who see “slow-to-recover” concussion patients every day. This refers to the small group of individuals whose symptoms don’t go away within a few weeks, and who often have had previous concussions. Depression and anxiety “is definitely very common for those players,” says Echemendia. Left untreated, “that spirals,” he explains, “and it can get really bad.” All the more so, adds Czarnota, among those players whose concussions are career-ending. “Their identity since they were six or four has been hockey. And if you tell somebody you can’t do this anymore? I don’t know how many regular people have Plan Bs. I don’t know how many athletes have Plan Bs.”

That’s the irony: their single-mindedness to make it to the NHL is what got these players so far in their careers; it’s also what contributed to their anxiety and depression. Grant Iverson, a neuropsychology professor in the department of psychiatry at the University of British Columbia who specializes in concussion, says that studies show the more highly athletes derive their sense of self from a sport, the greater the psychological stress they experience once injured. That worsens, he continues, the longer the physical symptoms last. Further complicating matters, Iverson adds, is the fact that concussive symptoms are so similar to those of depression and anxiety—fatigue, sadness, irritability, nervousness, confusion, trouble concentrating. It gets tricky to discern what’s concussion and what’s mental illness.

A recent brain scan study showed that “the depression we see in a concussed person at six months [post diagnosis] is very similar to the depression seen in a non-concussed person who has depression,” says Dr. Karen Johnston, a neurosurgeon at Athletic Edge Sports Medicine and professor at the University of Toronto. “This is extremely interesting, giving a lot of credibility that this is metabolic and not just what you’re imagining because you’re sad that you’re not playing hockey.” That was one of the toughest parts for the anonymous player who felt trapped in his brain. “I didn’t know if I was making this all up,” he says. “You start to question yourself.”

As Echemendia sees it, two factors explain the emotional toll of concussion. One is pure psychology: “These are guys who are used to being strong, active, physical, and then all of sudden they are having these feelings that they don’t know what to do with, they don’t know where they’re coming from. They want to lay in bed and pull the covers over their head.” The symptoms can make them feel “confused” and “frightened” and “no one can give them an exact answer as to when they will be better. It’s not like a high ankle sprain where we can say six weeks.”

The second factor is pure physiology: “It’s the direct effect of the brain injury, where you alter the brain’s function in certain areas that brings about symptoms of depression and anxiety,” Echemendia continues. Depending on what circuits are disrupted, some patients may experience “emotional disregulation,” adds Czarnota, which is characterized by sudden mood swings. “They cry easily, they may not understand physical cues from other people.” They might have an angry outburst for no good reason. This loss of control is especially hard for pro athletes who often spend years with sports psychologists perfecting their ability to manipulate their emotions to enhance their game.

However tough the emotional upheaval is on concussed patients, it’s hell for those around them, especially partners. “Now a spouse has not an equal but a dependent,” says Czarnota. “They have to care for this injured adult and their children and deal with the loss of intimacy and the physical assistance.” That can feel like a burden, and create resentment, says Johnston. While that’s understandable, “people really need to know that that’s not the person’s fault, that’s the concussion’s fault.”

Adding to the trouble is how the concussed person feels they’re perceived by those around them. Taylor says he felt “100 per cent” judged by his teammates. “Everyone didn’t believe me and was making fun of me that I have a glass head,” he says, particularly when his physical symptoms had abated, but he still felt emotionally unready to return to play. Least empathetic are the players who’ve never had a concussion. “They are going to be snickering for sure,” says the unnamed player, and thinking, “ ‘He looks fine on the outside.’ ”

Many players admit that before they were concussed, they didn’t appreciate the pain of others either. “I knocked a guy out once in the playoffs, and somebody told me that he had a career-ender, and I didn’t feel any remorse at all,” says the anonymous player. Taylor didn’t have compassion for one of his best friends. “He had problems, and he was explaining them to me, and telling me how he felt, and I was like, ‘Come on, man, you should be able to play through that.’ ”

Playing through the pain, after all, is a requirement to make the pros, just like taking one for the team. “If you’re not scoring goals, you got to chip in somehow—whether that’s blocking the shot or fighting. Otherwise they’ll find somebody else to do your job,” says the unnamed player, who once played with a broken hand. But, “when you’re dealing with pain in your body, you have your wits about you. You can put the pain out of your mind. When it’s your brain, you’re dealing with a lot of other things; it’s not just the pain, it’s the emotional stuff.”

The current treatment for concussion is known as the “rest and wait” approach—no physical or mental activity until all symptoms have disappeared. That gives the brain time to heal itself, explains Iverson. But for slow-to-recover athletes, there is a growing appreciation for how exercise may actually benefit them once they are emerging from the acute phase of injury, say Echemendia and Czarnota. Low-level activity “has a mood-elevating effect. It has a stress-lowering effect. It also has a sleep-promoting effect,” says Iverson. More research is needed about the ideal treatment for—and the prevalence of—depression and anxiety in concussion patients.

For Lindros, who now works with ClevrU, a Waterloo tech firm that’s created an enriched platform to enable online and mobile education, the science can’t come fast enough. “There have been advancements,” he says, but “it’s got a long way to go.” He wants to see more collaboration between researchers, to maximize funding and talent. He also wants to see the NHL make the game safer, either by widening the rink by 10 feet, or by reinstituting the two-line pass rule to slow down the game. But Lindros is not hopeful: “Until the league can look good by change, it won’t take place,” he says. “There’s a tremendous amount of short-sightedness.”

Players have a role, too. “The most important thing is to be honest with yourself,” says Beukeboom. “You’re the only one who knows how it feels.” That doesn’t mean players have to go it alone. In every case, the pros who spoke with Maclean’s were passionate about how talking through their struggles has benefited them. As difficult as it’s been for Taylor to let go of his NHL dream, he still hopes to make an impact on the game. “Now, the way I can contribute is to help other people out who might go through the same situation.”

In this way, Taylor will share a legacy with one of the NHL’s greatest players, Eric Lindros. It took him years to get to where he is now: “I feel strong. I feel vibrant. I feel healthy. I feel productive.” And he encourages athletes and anyone dealing with the emotional and psychological issues that may accompany a concussion to see a mental health professional. “It’s a big step to take. Most people haven’t before. Not every therapist is a good match for each individual. Just because you might not have an experience that you find helpful in the first couple of visits, stay with it, do some research, and ask around as to who other people have approached with their needs,” Lindros says. “You’ll find that there are a lot more people out there getting help than you might have appreciated.”

Dean
M.Ed (Coaching)
Ch.P.C. (Chartered Professional Coach)
Game Intelligence Training
"Great education depends on great teaching."

[hockeygod]

Concussed, but using his head

On Second Thought
May 22, 2011 By Kevin Paul Dupont Boston Globe

Adam Micheletti’s final day playing hockey wasn’t nearly as he envisioned it. He was 18 years old, with a father who once played in the National Hockey League, and he was intent on following his hockey dream until … well, until it was over, until he was convinced there wasn’t a team somewhere in the world willing to give him a sweater and put his name on its roster.

“Absolutely, the whole dream,’’ Micheletti recalled. “You know, college hockey, the NHL, the Stanley Cup … hey, the typical dream when you’re growing up, right?’’

But as is so often the case with contact sports, the dream came with pain and injury, and eventually worry, concern that one day dreaming too big could mean living too little. Not an easy thing for a high schooler to grasp, and sometimes equally difficult, even anguishing, for a parent to put in perspective.

“From the day they’re born, we tell them, ‘Hey, dream big, you can get there!’ ’’ said Adam’s dad, ex-NHLer Joe Micheletti, today one of TV’s finest hockey commentators, his work seen regularly on the MSG Network, NBC, and Versus. “But it was going to a bad place for Adam. It was obvious he had to stop.

“I know he struggled with it. I struggled with it. My wife struggled with it, although, when I’d begin to waffle a little, Kathy would say, ‘Joe, will you stop? Will you please just stop? We’re saving his life, Joe, we’re saving his life!’ ’’

In the span of some 18 months, the 5-foot-6-inch Micheletti, while playing for a Long Island junior team, suffered three concussions, the final one delivered while playing in Boston in November 2002. As with the previous concussions, he didn’t think much of the hit, until he returned to the dressing room after the game and lost peripheral vision in his right eye.

“That was scary,’’ said Micheletti, whose vision did not return in full until a trip that night to a hospital emergency room. “Before, it had just been headaches, and they’d go away. But when you start to have problems with your vision, it kind of jumps up at you.’’

Concussions have been a hot topic in sports, especially hockey and football, in recent years. Neurologists frequently say the understanding of concussions continues to evolve. To a degree, they remain a mystery, making it difficult for athletes to cope with, to assess their ability to play.

With the Bruins alone, we’ve seen the struggles endured by Patrice Bergeron and Marc Savard, each a victim of multiple concussions.

For 30 or so days after Micheletti’s last concussion in 2002, his parents went about finding out all they could about concussions and the risks related to their only son’s desire to keep playing hockey.

Joe was at his son’s side when a neurologist informed Adam that continuing to play was not prudent. But before he could offer his own advice, Joe talked to more doctors, and to a few high-profile ex-NHLers, including star forwards Pat LaFontaine and Eric Lindros, who eventually had to retire because of concussions. He talked to trainers and coaches. He wanted to be certain.

“Part of it was Adam’s size, being only 5 feet 6 and 160 pounds,’’ said the senior Micheletti. “And when I say that, I mean his size and the gutsy way he played center, always going to the tough areas. He would get right in there, get after it.

“He played like he thought he was 6 feet 4, 220 pounds. And when you play like that, it means getting hit. And the way kids play it, they try to kill each other out there. He’d go right at them and they’d go at his head.’’

Over the course of a month or so, dad’s due diligence made the conclusion obvious.

“We had to tell him, ‘Adam, it’s over,’ ’’ said Joe, those words still difficult for him to repeat. “I still think about it. Not as much as I did at first, but it still tugs at me.

“No way do you want to take that away from your kid. Not when they love it, they dedicate themselves to it, when they’ve got all their hopes and dreams wrapped up in it.’’

“Parents have to tell their kids no all the time, but boy, that was hard.’’

Less than a year later, Micheletti was a freshman at Boston College, where he played pickup hockey and golfed more than he did before. He graduated with a bachelor’s degree in business in 2007. On July 16, he will marry Rachel Orlowski, another BC ’07 alum, from Dartmouth. They will live in Dubuque, Iowa, where Adam is director of hockey and business operations for the Dubuque Fighting Saints of the US Hockey League.

The dream that Micheletti was forced to give up at 18 has been reshaped. He hopes one day to be general manager of an NHL team.

“It was strange; initially, I was OK when my parents told me I had to give up hockey,’’ said Adam. “Losing my vision like that scared me, and I knew, deep down, it was the right decision to stop.

“Then some time went by, and it was those Tuesday and Thursday nights — nights we would normally travel for games — and I’d be doing nothing. I kind of got the itch back a little bit. That was after maybe 3-6 months, and I talked to my dad about maybe trying again, but we both decided it just didn’t make sense.’’

Thankfully, said Adam, he has experienced none of the devilish post-concussion symptoms that often come with brain injuries. He figures he’s a lucky guy in many ways. Had he kept playing hockey, he might never have gone to BC and never met Rachel.

Kids of all ages, and too many adults, face the kind of decision Micheletti and his parents faced eight years ago. What’s the advice of a son who had to accept the parental advice he really didn’t want to hear?

“I’d tell kids to take a step back,’’ said Adam. “Take a step back and look at everything — look at everything and think about their future. Playing hockey is great. I know. I loved it. But you know, it’s not the be-all and end-all.’’

So what is the be-all and end-all when you’ve been 18, singularly focused on a sport and a dream, only to be told that’s just not the way your life is meant to be?

“I’d say the be-all and end-all is just living,’’ said Adam Micheletti. “Just living a happy, healthy life.’’

Kevin Paul Dupont’s “On Second Thought’’ appears on Page 2 of the Sunday Globe Sports section. He can be reached at dupont@globe.com.

Dean
M.Ed (Coaching)
Ch.P.C. (Chartered Professional Coach)
Game Intelligence Training
"Great education depends on great teaching."

[hockeygod]

FRASER: THE NOT-SO GLAMOUROUS TRAVELLING LIFE OF A REFEREE

KERRY FRASER 5/22/2011 TSN

Got a question on rule clarification, comments on rule enforcements or some memorable NHL stories? Kerry Fraser wants to answer your emails at cmonref@tsn.ca!

Kerry,

First off, I am extremely impressed with your blog. It is extremely insightful. I've played the game, I've coached the game, but never have I officiated the game. My question is regarding traveling for referees. Are refs assigned to divisions or regions of North America? Or are they randomly assigned games? Do you have any interesting stories about traveling with fellow refs?

Timothy Bailey, Tampa, FL

Hey Timothy:

I am happy that you are enjoying the columns. I love your city as well, especially in January and February when the weather in Winnipeg can hit -90 C with the wind chill.

It was a special night for 22,717 wild Tampa fans at the Arena on June 7, 2004 when the temperature pushed into the high 90's. It wasn't the heat that I remember about that day but the energy and anticipation that was created throughout the day prior to Game 7 of the Lightning's eventual 2-1 Stanley Cup victory over Calgary. Andrew Ference put the Flames at a disadvantage with one minute and one second remaining in the game as the Flames attempted to score the equalizer when he blasted Martin St. Louis into the end boards. Charging was my call on the obvious infraction and put them one man down until Dave Andreychuk evened it up with a tripping penalty 38 seconds later. Miikka Kiprusoff was pulled for the extra attacker to no avail and the Lightning doused the Flames final flurry to capture their first and only Cup.

The only time I travel to your fair city now is to join other retirees when the 'Snow Birds' fly south with the Canada geese. This wasn't always the case. An NHL referee typically travels between 80,000-120,000 miles per season (including pre-season and playoffs). After a five-day training camp, which includes medicals and a demanding fitness test on day one, we head off to work our exhibition assignments. Unlike a hockey team that resides in an NHL city, the officials' home residences are scattered throughout North America. The league has attempted to accommodate requests made by officials who wish to relocate or they have moved young officials into hockey markets that would provide reduced travel costs through the assignment process.

When Kathy and I relocated from Sarnia to south New Jersey near Philadelphia in 1988 with our six children (number seven was born in 1990) there was tremendous benefit to the league in travel savings relative from my new base. When we lived in Sarnia, 60 miles north of Detroit, it was the only city where I could drive, work the game and return home afterward. Even working a game in Toronto required an overnight stay because you could never count on the winter weather on the drive home.

Based out of the Philadelphia market there are five teams that I was close enough to drive to and return home afterward. The Flyers, Devils, Rangers, Islanders, Capitals were all under a two-and-a-half hour ride, while Pittsburgh and Boston were a four-and-a-half hour drive each way, but also doable depending on weather. As such, if I was scheduled for five games in nine or 10 nights in what is now the Atlantic Division I would be home each night, as well as the off-day between games. When I was based out of Detroit it would have been a 10-day trip.

There is a concerted effort by NHL assigner Randy Hall to assign the referees to an equal number of regular season games in each NHL city over the course of their 73 game schedule. (Linesmen can work 75 games max.) Since each owner pays an equal share of the league officiating budget they want the top rated officials in their building as many times as the lower ranked officials. (I'll leave the ranking to you.) In theory it also provides a sense of fairness.

Through expansion and attrition which brought new officials into the league, Bobby Clarke proposed that officials work in set crews and remain in one conference for at least half of the season. He felt this way the players could get to know them better and develop some sort of relationship. He felt that under the current system a team might see a referee or linesman in a game and not see that individual again for a month.

One of the chapters in my book, The Final Call – coming out in trade paperback this fall and on e-book (more details later) – is entitled "NHL=No Home Life." I wrote about the demands placed on family life through this occupation. In a good month I would be home nine or 10 days. A busier month would result in as little as three or four days at home with family. Absence certainly makes the heart grow fonder and I am fortunate to have married a future saint.

Inclement weather is certainly one of the most difficult things to deal with when you have back-to-back games. In the 1985-86 Western Conference Final between the St. Louis Blues, coached by Jacques Demers, and Bob Johnson's Calgary Flames I worked Game 6 in St. Louis on May 12. It was a great game and a fabulous story (google "Monday Night Miracle" and you'll see why). The Blues won in OT to force Game 7 back in Calgary on May 14. I received a death threat at the end of the second period that night, but we can save that for another time.

The honourable Jacques Demers (now a Canadian Senator) told me that game was on of two games that he says are the greatest games he ever coached in the NHL. The other was Game 2 in the 1992-93 Stanley Cup Finals when he called for Marty McSorley's stick to be measured. On the ensuing power play, with goalie Patrick Roy on the Canadiens bench for an extra attacker, Eric Desjardins scored to tie the game and force overtime. Desjardins then scored the hat trick in to win it. The L.A. Kings never won another game in the series and the Canadiens won the Stanley Cup. Wayne Gretzky later said Game 2 of that Stanley Cup Final was the bitterest defeat he suffered throughout his career. I had the privilege to referee both of the games that Demers lists as his greatest games as a coach in the NHL.

Back to the 1985-86 Flames-Blues Game 7.

Ray Scapinello, Ron Finn and I flew from St. Louis to Calgary the next day and got in just before a blizzard of the century. Scampy and I were assigned as standby officials for the game and 'Huck' Finn was to work with John D'Amico on the lines and Andy VanHellemond was the referee. The storm hit in late afternoon and ended up dumping snow that was measured in feet. D'Amico was going to take the last flight out of Toronto the night before the game because he had family business to attend to. His plane couldn't land in Calgary and was rerouted to Edmonton. The road was closed and he couldn't even rent a car to drive between the two cities. You have to understand that J.D. was the consummate professional.

He would drive to Buffalo from his home in Toronto the night before a regular season game and check into the hotel just to get mentally prepared. I could envision him trying to rent a pair of snow shoes to try and walk from Edmonton. Some poor rental car agent must have been getting an ear full for not renting him a car due to the road conditions. The next morning the road was still closed and the plows couldn't open things up. D'Amico called director of officiating John McCauley and said he would get there somehow. McCauley had left for Calgary on the earlier flight from Toronto and arrived before the storm shut everything down. McCauley advised D'Amico not to put himself at risk because Scampy was there and ready to work the game.

That was like telling J.D. the game could go on without him and that just wasn't acceptable. John D'Amico hired a farmer that had a monster tractor with a big cab to drive him to Calgary from Edmonton. I've driven it in the comfort of a big Lincoln Town Car – I can't imagine riding in a friggin tractor. But that was John D'Amico.

The tractor couldn't make it either and had to turn around 20 miles outside of Edmonton but J.D. gave it a valiant effort. He was such a dedicated, loyal employee and fan of the game. John put the game above everything else, even his own personal safety. This is just one small reason as to why this legendary linesman was inducted into the Hockey Hall of Fame. What an honour it was to have known Mr. John David D'Amico and worked so many big games with him during my career. His legend still lives on. God bless John D'Amico.

Dean
M.Ed (Coaching)
Ch.P.C. (Chartered Professional Coach)
Game Intelligence Training
"Great education depends on great teaching."

[hockeygod]

Generation gap – Memorial Cup
This year's coaches compare today's tournament versus the ones they played in three decades ago.

Patrick King TSN May 23, 2011

MISSISSAUGA, Ont. — From bench-clearing brawls, to allegations of game-throwing, to hitch-hiking late at night along Highway 17, the MasterCard Memorial Cup has truly come a long way.

Long before Mark Reeds and Gerard Gallant fought at centre ice during their National Hockey League careers, the two bench bosses from Owen Sound and Saint John paved the road in tournament history for the many players who now play for them. But, boys being boys, these teenaged hockey players would rather poke fun at their mentors rather than reliving their glory.

"They just say, ‘did the goalies wear pads back then?’" said Gallant, who twice played for the MasterCard Memorial Cup in 1982 and 1983.

"The kids today — they don’t want to listen to stories about old days," added Reeds, a three-year tournament veteran with the Peterborough Petes from 1978 through 1980. "They’re not interested in that. They like some stories, but for the most part, it’s a different generation."

Stories like the one which pitted the two head coaches from Monday’s MasterCard Memorial Cup game in a fight while playing in the NHL?

"Yeah, they always like stuff like that," Reeds said. "They enjoyed that one."

Darn kids.

While they may not be interested in reliving their head coach’s glory days as a player, the history from those tournaments some 30 years ago helped shape the tournament to how we know it today. Reeds and Gallant combined to play in five national championships during a period of great influence in the game, and in particular, the MasterCard Memorial Cup.

Reeds’ second trip to the national championship is still considered one of the best tournaments ever played. The Peterborough Petes, the only of the three teams in the tournament not to have set a league record for points in the 1978-79 season, wound up upsetting the Brandon Wheat Kings, whose 125 points that season still stands as the Canadian Hockey League record, in overtime of the final.

After losing in the final the year before to the New Westminster Bruins, Reeds recalls his head coach, Gary Green, organizing a team meeting the night prior to the 1979 final.

"We felt we were maybe a little too tense the year before and (Green) brought us in, we sat around and shot the breeze a little bit," Reeds said. "Obviously that was a huge thrill winning the Memorial Cup — the town of Peterborough and just being involved in it was a great experience."

One of the stories that stood the test of time from the 1979 tournament was the complete team brawl in warm-up between the other two teams, the Wheat Kings and the Trois-Rivières Draveurs.

Such things were commonplace in those days. Revenge was a dish served cold with a side order of wood. Three years later, Gallant actually sparked a battle royale when he sought retribution for what he must have felt was a dirty hit from Kitchener’s Mike Eagles.

As Gallant, a member of the Sherbrooke Castors in 1982, remembers it, Eagles jabbed him in the back of the legs while Gallant was going in on a forecheck. Gallant spilled into the boards and cut his lip in the process. Gallant took matters into his own hands a few shifts later with a description that sounds eerily-similar to the Marty McSorley-Donald Brashear incident from the year 2000.

"Mike Eagles was breaking out and swinging up the boards and I sort of slapped him in the face with the stick and cut his face and he went down," says Gallant. "Me and Mike are pretty good friends, and it was a long time ago — but then from that time on the bench-clearing brawl started.

"I must have got a five-minute major – had to, because I fought three times in the bench-clearing brawl. It was more wrestling than anything else, but it was exhausting."

Gallant wasn’t able to replicate Reeds’ success in the final. The Castors wound up losing 7-4 to Eagles’ Rangers.

"Sherbrooke was an outstanding team that lost in the final," Gallant remembers. "We could have won just as easily as we lost."

Those are the breaks when playing a one-game final. Reeds agreed his Petes were probably more suited to win the 1978 and 1980 MasterCard Memorial Cups than they were the one time they did win in 1979. All three years the Petes played in the final, but as Reeds indicated, all bets are off once the puck drops.

"That’s the way the tournament works," he said. "We thought we could beat Cornwall (in the 1980 final) and I remember Scotty Arniel or someone saying, ‘we should have been able to win, but we didn’t.’ The bottom line is we didn’t, so how could you say they didn’t deserve to win?"

Reeds’ first trip to the Memorial Cup left him with more than just playing experience. Prior to 1983, the tournament only had three teams with a host city, but no host team guaranteed entry. The 1978 tournament was held in Sudbury and Sault Ste. Marie, Ont., another common theme to have dual host sites in those days.

The problem between alternating cities was the travel that was involved. Late one night while traveling between the Soo and Sudbury, the Petes’ bus broke down on the highway. As Reeds recalls it, vans were sent to pick up the stranded players, but not all of them waited. In a move that would send a chill down every parent’s back in today’s society, many of the teenaged players hitched rides.

"Just a different era," the player-turned-coach said. "Another part of the game and another story to tell."

One of many stories Reeds could share with his players — if they were interested.

As inconceivable as it may be to consider the notion a team would lose a game on purpose in this tournament, such allegations followed Reeds’ final two trips. A Peterborough win in their final round robin game against Brandon in 1979 would have eliminated the Wheat Kings and set a final between the Petes and Trois-Rivières. The Petes lost — eliminating the Draveurs — then beat the injury-depleted Wheat Kings in overtime in the final.

A year later, the Petes were again blamed for throwing their final round robin game when it was already determined they would play in the final. The tournament was partially hosted in Regina, and the hometown Pats were eliminated when Peterborough lost to Cornwall in the round robin. Fans showered the Petes players with coins, popcorn, pop containers and insults.

Peterborough wound up losing the final in overtime to Cornwall, and moments after the game was decided Petes players were hit by eggs from the angry Regina faithful.

The subject still seems a sore one for Reeds even now 31 years later, but he has a simple solution for anyone still pointing fingers at that Peterborough team.

"People can say what they want, but at the end of the day you’re here to compete and win," he said. "Win your games and you didn’t have to worry about it. Do your own work."

A rule change was put in the following year where, if a team had advanced to the final after four games, the other two would play twice in a total-goal series.

Then in Gallant’s second Memorial Cup in 1983, two years after the rule was put in, the tournament expanded to four teams with a host city team earning an automatic entry. But unlike the 1982 Castors, the 1983 Verdun Juniors, Gallant’s new team, were not expected to succeed. Aside from a future superstar by the name of Pat LaFontaine, the Juniors were ill-equipped to compete for the championship.

"We didn’t have a whole lot of depth," Gallant explained. "We weren’t going to win that tournament, but we had a lot of fun with it."

And while there were far fewer fights in 1983, the times were still clearly much different then compared to now.

"The game was definitely different," Reeds said. "The game has come a long way and as far as players. They’re bigger, stronger, faster — you can’t compare the athletes."

Nor can you compare the rules towards fighting since bench-clearing brawls now only have a place in history.

"The intimidation factor and I mean, you look at Slapshot the movie — it wasn’t far from it — some of the antics that went on in the WHA," Reeds said.

If one of his players finds himself in a similar position to Gallant in 1982, where a stick jab precipitated a brawl, the coach would offer differing advice than his own actions: "Stay disciplined," he said. "We’re a disciplined team and we try to play disciplined."

"Obviously, the changes I think have been good for the game," Reeds said.

"It’s good that it is (evolving)," Gallant concurred. "We get pampered pretty good here and the kids get taken care of real well so it’s a lot of fun."

Yes, the MasterCard Memorial Cup has certainly evolved.

Today’s generation doesn’t know what its missing.

Dean
M.Ed (Coaching)
Ch.P.C. (Chartered Professional Coach)
Game Intelligence Training
"Great education depends on great teaching."

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