Trade Demands

It always bothers me when players ask to be traded, like Jamal Mayers and Garnet Exelby of the Toronto Maple Leafs have. I’m not quite sure why. It isn’t always brought on because a team is losing, but no matter the reason, it bothers me when I hear of it happening.

Maybe it is because of the perception that the player in question is giving up on the team, something I never have, and I hope I never will do. Even when I played on a baseball team that went 0-26 a few years ago, I still showed up and still played as hard as I always do.

Maybe it’s the fact that these guys are paid obscene amounts of money to play a game for a living that I literally have to pay money in order to play recreationally. One of my lab instructors always used to say “money can’t buy happiness, but it can buy the gas to go find it”. You aren’t happy with where you play? I say deal with it. Even the seventh defenseman and the backup goalie make hundreds of thousands of dollars. Give me a break.

Maybe it’s because an unhappy player is often not a productive player. If they don’t want to play for the team they are on, are they really giving everything they’ve got? I’m not saying it happens all the time, but you will never convince me that every player who has asked for a trade is giving 100%.

Maybe it’s the perceived whinyness that goes with a trade request. One thing I can’t stand in sports, professional or recreational, is people who constantly bitch and whine about everything. Whether to teammates or to referees and umpires, I cannot stand it. Exhibit A: Dwayne Roloson. I can’t stand watching Roloson play. Every stoppage he’s working the refs; every time an opposing player comes with a foot of the blue ice, Roloson screams for a penalty. It bugs me.

Maybe it’s the fact that a player who publicly asks for a trade immediately devalues himself. It’s virtually impossible for a general manager to get full value for a player in a trade because they have to get rid of the player. The other general managers know this, and often take advantage of it.

I guess it is all of those things. Maybe that is why it bothers me so much.

-matt

Another Black Eye

Here we go again. The game of hockey has just been dealt another black eye by one of its own.

Not three months after the vicious hit dealt by Michael Liambis of the Erie Otters on Kitchener Rangers defenseman Ben Fanelli we again find another teenaged hockey player recovering from serious injuries as a result of another vicious hit to the head.

I’m sure we all have seen the video and while most people maintain that there was nothing wrong with the hit, I still believe Liambis deserved everything he got. Limabis skated as hard as he could from the blueline and struck Fanelli in the head with his elbow. He did not let up one bit, and that to me makes the hit dirty. To me it does not matter that Fanelli’s helmet flew off, the hit was unnecessary and Liambis got what he deserved. He was an overager and a fourth line goon who crossed the line.

And if that wasn’t bad enough, he was suspended again by the International Hockey League, which he joined as a member of the Bloomington PrairieThunder, for another hit from behind just two months later. Amazingly, he still hasn’t heard his lesson.

So here we find ourselves again. This time the culprit is Rouyn-Noranda forward Patrice Cormier, the captain of Team Canada at the World Junior Championships. We’ve all seen the video, and it was not pretty. After a line change, Cormier took a b-line for Mikael Tam of the Quebec Remparts during overtime and struck him in the head with his elbow. It was eerily similar to Cormier’s elbow on Swedish forward Anton Rodin during an exhibition game between Canada and Sweden.

You can argue that Liambis’ hit was in the heat of competition and that things happen so fast that he had no time to react, but that certainly is not the case in either incidents involving Cormier. Both seemed premeditated and he showed little or no remorse in both cases.

This calls into question what we are teaching these kids when they are growing up. Too much is made of “the big hit” these days. The body check is intended to knock an opponent off the puck, not put them in hospital. With all the hooking and holding taken out of the game at every level, the game has become faster and more dangerous even without all the headhunters roving the ice, waiting for their next victim with their head down.

I don’t know what the answer is. Do we take out headshots? Okay, that’s good and dandy, but what happens when Zdeno Chara tries to take Martin St. Louis off the puck? Do we take out body checking altogether? Might as well throw a soccer ball on the ice.

I feel like the changes need to come from the grassroots level. We need to teach respect; we need to teach kids that hockey is a dangerous sport at the best of times, and that trying to hurt other players is not acceptable because of what has happened to Ben Fanelli and Mikael Tam. Further, we have to punish those that refuse to show their opponent any respect as CHL commissioner David Branch has done with Liambis and as I expect he will with Cormier.

It’s like my political science professor always said to us: “Why do people obey the law? Because they are afraid of the consequences.” If the consequences are severe enough, if they risk their playing careers for “the big hit”, perhaps then players will play hockey the way it was meant to.

-matt

Stop the Madness

Enough already. It’s about time the NHL put a stop to the third jersey madness that has swept the league. In the past two years, more harm than good has come from NHL teams releasing horrendous third jersey after horrendous third jersey.

From the laughable Sens and Bolts jerseys of last year to the latest baby blue incarnations of the Panthers and Avalanche, it’s time to give it up. We’ve heard a million times how bad the Canucks “V” jersey of the 80s was or the Islanders’ Captain Highliner jersey of the mid-90s, but at least those jerseys kept the team’s colours rather than delving into something completely different.

It’s bad enough that Reebok forced every team to redesign their jerseys when they went to the Edge system after the lockout, but teams are taking it one step further by coming up with the worst designs and colour schemes imaginable

I have no problem with the throwback jerseys that the Islanders, Oilers and Flames are currently wearing as their third jerseys; those are classics that remind us why hockey has always had the best uniforms in all professional sports. But enough with the lame attempts at being cutting edge like the Thrashers, Stars, Panthers, Lightning, Senators, Avalanche, Kings, Predators … need I go on?

-matt

So Long Cujo

Today one of the true greats called it a career. Goaltender Curtis Joseph officially retired today.

Curtis Joseph was always one of my favourite goalies. Along with Ed Belfour and Mike Richter, he was one of my goaltending heroes growing up. Even during his time in St. Louis, I always enjoyed watching him play. He was a battler, a competitor. He never gave up on a puck. He relied on athleticism and reflexes rather than technique. It didn't matter what part of his body he used to stop the puck, only that some part of his body stopped it.

He was old school.

This style died in the 1990s, replaced over that decade by the butterfly style that almost every goaltender now employs. Curtis Joseph is one of the last of his kind. As youngster playing road hockey, I played a lot like Cujo. It wasn't until I was well into my teens that I began to incorporate the butterfly style, one that I now almost exclusively rely on. But there will always be that little bit of Curtis Joseph in me, the ability and willingness to make a sprawling save when necessary, saves that perhaps a more technical goaltender might not make. For that, I am grateful to number thirty-one.

With retirement comes the inevitable debate as to whether the player in question belongs in the Hockey Hall of Fame. If you ask me, there can be no debate in the case of Curtis Joseph. As far as I'm concerned, his ticket is punched, and it's merely a question of when rather than if.

I will start with statistics and get them out of the way. Over 18 seasons, Cujo compiled 454 wins (4th all-time behind only Martin Brodeur, Patrick Roy, and Ed Belfour; all sure fire Hall of Famers), 51 shutouts, a 2.79 goals against average, and a .906 save percentage in 943 games. The wins alone is impressive and when you consider the teams that Cujo played for, the goals against average and save percentage aren't too shabby either. The detractors have pointed to the fact that Cujo is tied with Gump Worsley for the most losses in NHL history with 352, but that speaks to Cujo's longevity and the quality of teams he played on and not his skill.

During the playoffs his numbers were even better, posting 16 shutouts, a 2.42 goals against average and .917 save percentage in 133 games. With numbers like that it's hard to believe that he never won a Stanley Cup. But then again, who knows how far the Red Wings would have gone in 2004 if they hadn't run into a Finnish netminder by the name of Miikka Kiprusoff (there is actually a story behind Game Six of this series which I will write about one of these days).

Let's ignore numbers for just a second, and get to what really made Cujo one of the game's greats. When you look at the teams he played for, it's a wonder he made the playoffs with regularity. What makes Cujo great is that he turned mediocre teams into good teams; teams that had no business being anywhere near the playoffs and single handedly putting them in. He even stole a few playoff series for good measure as Edmonton Oiler fans can attest to. If not for his heroics in 1999 and 2002, there is no way the Toronto Maple Leafs would have been one series away from ending their Stanley Cup drought.

All statistics and talent aside, there is no questioning the character and class of Curtis Joseph. Even a baseball writer would need an electron microscope to any kind of character flaw or classless act. He was one of those players that carried himself with nothing but class and gave generously to the communities in which he played.

And above all, he had one of the coolest masks ever. Enough with the debate already, put him in the Hall.

So long Cujo, the hockey world will miss you.

-matt

The Pond

There are a lot of things I miss about being a teenager. The feeling of waking up every morning and wondering what kind of trouble I'd get myself into (I still think this, but the word 'trouble' means something completely different when you're in your mid-20s than it does when you're 17); going about the day without a care in the world except getting my math homework done.

There is one thing that sticks out though, especially at this time of the year: the pond. Like many Canadians, I spent uncountable hours during my teenage years playing outdoor hockey. During high school I was lucky enough to have not one, but two good friends who had rinks in their backyard.

During those games, it didn't matter how good you were, what level you played at, or if you even played at all. If you had skates a stick, and a willingness to brave the cold, you were there. What mattered was that you were there and that you were there to play like everyone else.

We rarely kept score, it was more a war of attrition and the games would end only when the cold had claimed enough people that the game could no longer continue. Those of us that were left would go inside for hot chocolate, goad the people who left before us until they had no choice but to come back outside and we would do it all over again.

Outdoor hockey isn't the same anymore. It has become an excuse to get drunk in the middle of the day, or something to do on a holiday afternoon when there is nothing else to do. Back then, those games mattered. It was something we all looked forward to during the winter months that always came too late and always left too early. During those months, the weekend and Christmas holidays meant hockey on the pond.

During my first year of university, we played our last game on the pond. With my best friend's youngest brother leaving for school the next year, there would be no one at his house to build the rink. We knew this beforehand and gathered as many of our old friends as we could to play one last game on the pond.

We played as kids like we always had. Ten guys, two nets, and that one corner of the rink that would never freeze right. Just another night on the pond. For three or four hours, we played. Knowing this was our last chance, no one went inside. No matter how numb our toes were or how bad the ice got, we kept playing. When the teams were deemed unfair, we changed them; when we got bored of shooting at the same end, we switched; when the game got boring, we did a shootout. We played and played until sometime late in the night we realized it was over. Everyone had had their fill and now it was time to go inside.

Those are the times from my youth I will never forget, all those endless hours on the pond playing hockey. No amount of cold beer can duplicate the feeling I got playing on that homemade rink with the waist-high plywood around and the floodlights shining down from either end. Sure, I'll still drop everything to go play outdoor hockey and still enjoy myself, but it just isn't the same.

-matt

The Meaning of the Word Epic

epic - (n) a long, poem, book, or film about heroic events or actions - (adj) very impressive or ambitious

First, it was one of the most epic games of hockey I have ever seen in my life.

Second, I had a feeling before the game even started that this was where it would end. And even when Jordan Eberle decided that he was going to try to win it all by himself, I still had this feeling that the magic wasn't there; that Canada wasn't going to pull this one out as they had many times before.

The problem was that Canada had it too easy this year. Walking over Latvia, Switzerland, and Slovakia by a combined score of 30-2 only lulled this team into a false sense of security. On the New Years Eve matchup with real competition, it was clear that they were not up to par, winning the game in the last 10 minutes on sheer will. I wanted to believe they could make it six in a row, but in the back of my mind I knew it would end here.

That said, what a game. The third period was one of those rare 20 minutes that literally kept me on the edge of my seat, and when Eberle tied the game the roar I let loose was probably heard blocks away as I jumped up and high fived my friends. Even though the outcome was not what I and millions of other Canadians wanted, it was still one of the best games I have seen in the World Junior Hockey Championship.

It was a great run, initiated by the best team that Canada has ever sent to the WJHC and capped off by some of the most determined young hockey players I have ever seen. Even though it is over, I'm confident that another will begin as the next wave takes their turn at this tournament.

I give full marks to the US. They were the better team as evidenced by the fact that they outplayed Canada in essentially 100 of the 120+ minutes that the two sides faced off against each other. They were more skilled, faster, and in the end, got the clutch goaltending that they needed. More importantly, when the fierce Canadian charge came late in the game that counted, they didn't break. When they broke earlier in the tournament, facing the same charge late in the game, they held their ground when it mattered. They deserved to win.

I am very happy to see Swiss goaltender Benjamin Conz win the top goaltender award for the tournament. I watched the Switzerland/Russia quarter final and Conz was nothing short of spectacular in that game. He singlehandedly stole that game. As I watched I knew in the back of my mind that if Switzerland could somehow take the lead in the third, they would win the game. He had the kind of game where you could just tell that he would somehow win. Maybe it's my goalie sense, but every so often I get a feeling that a goalie is in a zone and isn't going to allow his team to lose. I had that feeling in that game. His effort in that game and throughout the tournament, on an underdog team missing team Olympic calibre defensemen after their first game, can be summed in one word: epic.

All in all, another great tournament. Epic.

-matt