Classy Through and Through

When talking about the Detroit Red Wings as a franchise, it has become a universal truth that they are, without a doubt, a classy organization.

From the mom-and-pop persona of the Illitch Family, to the way the players conduct themselves on the ice, the team has carved out a well-earned reputation as one of the classiest, and most well-run franchises in the history of pro sports.

Which brings me to this weekend, my father, and a man named Dave and a woman named Kathy.

For three years now, my father and I have taken a road trip to the Joe to watch the team we have both watched since I was but a small child of four or five. The trip is one that matters more than just the team, as it serves as some much needed bonding time, as that time has dwindled since I moved away to attend school.

The first year we made the trip, we purchased our tickets through Ticketmaster. The prices were high, the seats not so great, so last year, we made the switch to StubHub. I've used the service many times, and have never had a single problem. And so, naturally, for this trip, I navigated to the site, purchased the tickets, and we were ready to go to the Joe for our third annual trip.

Only this time, there was a hitch.

After arriving late to the venue due to delays in the Windsor-Detroit tunnel, we raced up the steps to the Joe, anxious to get in. The tickets were scanned at the door and - an error message appeared.

Sensing it could have been a mistake, the man at the door scanned again.

Error. Tickets already scanned.

My heart sank. My demeanour changed. I was no longer excited. I was terrified that I had not only purchased fake tickets, but that we would be refused access to the game, and thus, sent home empty handed and dejected.

Only it wasn't like that. The man at the door summoned a customer relations man named Dave, who told us to follow him, and that surely, this was all a big misunderstanding.

His attitude was upbeat, his demeanour pleasant, and even though bad news surely awaited at the end of the investigation of the tickets, he assured us that our seven hour drive wouldn't be in vain.

Down the winding staircase into basement of the Joe, through a solid steel door that could only be opened by buzzing those who waited inside, we were taken to find out the verdict.

And there, we met Kathy.

She took our tickets and performed her investigation. She returned, a frown on her face.

The seller had sold these tickets twice, on two separate sites. My heart broke. My father's brow furrowed. And Dave, this once complete stranger, asked if there was something that could be done to rectify this situation.

Kathy said she'd take a look, and she disappeared into the office to speak with someone about what was going on.

When she returned, she had an offer that made my heart jump.

New tickets. Seventeen rows from the ice. Closer than I'd ever been to the Red Wings.

So close that you could hear the hits, the on-ice instruction.

And so, in offering us these tickets, and turning a potentially disastrous situation into an extraordinary one, she personified everything the Red Wings strive to personify on and off the ice.

She gave me her number, so I could call and verify the tickets to Saturday's game. She remembered me the next day when I called, and asked if I had enjoyed myself.

But most of all she, along with Dave, made me proud to be a Red Wings fan. 

Because, she didn't have to help us out. She had no obligation to me, as I hadn't even had the decency to purchase my tickets through a site associated with the Red Wings.

But she did.

So thank you for this experience. It was exceptional, it was amazing, and it was everything that the organization strives for.

Only people like Dave and Kathy don't get enough of the respect.

So thank you, from my father, and from me.

Because of your kindness, I was able to see the Red Wings win for the first time in four trips to the Joe. 

Thank you.

Desperation in the Face of Demotion

For a young player, the NHL preseason is not a tune-up.

It is not a time to shake off the rust, nor is it a time to see if the legs still have it.

For young players, the NHL preseason is a job interview, from the moment their equipment bag hits the floor of the dressing room to the moment they have a meeting with the head coach behind closed doors. It's a time for young players, who fall asleep with dreams of the NHL so tantalizingly close, to be nearly 100% perfect so they don't have to spend the rest of the year shuttling between small towns on cramped Greyhound buses.

To say Brendan Smith flubbed his interview would be an understatement. However, to say he did so maliciously, would be incorrect.

It just so happened that his shoulder-to-head hit effectively ended his chance to impress the brass this year, and will undoubtedly leave him with more questions than answers.

For those unfamiliar with the subject matter, a refresher is in order.

As Chicago Blackhawks forward carried the puck into the Detroit defensive zone, Brendan Smith made a decision to play the body rather than the puck. It was an opportunity few could pass up as it offered him the chance to deliver and earth shattering, open-ice hit that would raise a few eyebrows, and earn him a few Gold Stars next to the chart hanging in Ken Holland's office.

Only it didn't quite go as planned. Ben Smith dodged to get out of the way, only his head didn't go with him. And Brendan simply had to watch as his shoulder made direct contact with Ben's head. And he watched the referee's arm go up. And he heard the crowd noise fade as he walked down the tunnel to the dressing room.

And, finally, the light at the end of the tunnel, his dream of starting the year in Detroit rather than Grand Rapids, grew a little further away.

As expected, the hit garnered excessive media attention, as our concussion-obsessed sport demands. Inquiries are being made, and Brendan Smith, the fresh-faced kid who entered camp so hopeful, will get his first taste of NHL action in the office of league Sheriff Brendan Shanahan. He will make his case. He will go home. And when his punishment is announced (and there will be a punishment), he will be forced to serve a suspension before his career can even begin.

For Brendan Smith, this moment of his job interview would rank somewhere on making a "that's what she said" joke about the boss's daughter, and admitting that the night prior to the interview he'd gone on an all-night bender.

And so it goes, not just for Brendan Smith, but for young NHL-hopefuls league-wide. If they're not perfect, then they're not ready. Which means more time on the bus, more time in the anonymous American Hockey League, and more time regretting every mistake they made during the course of the pre-season.

Ultimately, these experiences will only serve to make them stronger when they are ready, and make no mistake, Brendan Smith will be ready sooner rather than later. He will relive each defensive miscue, and will learn how to never make the same mistakes again. He will hone his skills, he will pick his spots better.

In short, he will review, fix, and then review again.

For veterans, the preseason is a means of dusting off the pads to go do what they're been doing for years. For rookies, draftees, and young players, it is a Darwinian battle to secure a spot on the opening roster, and to validate a lifelong struggle for a place alongside hockey's elite.

However, for now, Brendan Smith will sit and wait. Wait for the punishment that will surely fit the crime. Wait for his punishment to end, and his playing time to begin.

And ultimately, wait for next year, where he will get the chance to prove once and for all that he's ready to make the ultimate step.

You're not there yet Brendan.

But with these latest events, you've been given a chance to learn, to fine-tune, and to be better.

This time next year, you'll do just fine at the interview.

You may even pick out your own tie.

Gauging Performance Against the Backdrop of Futility

To say preseason hockey and I do not get along would qualify as an understatement.

While the last four-plus months have been a never-ending wasteland in terms of hockey news, one would expect someone who chooses to blog about hockey to at least be a little excited about the return of at least some on-ice action. Sad to say, colour me unimpressed and uninterested.

By now, many Wings fans are already no doubt hand-wringing and speaking in hushed tones about the team's performance last night, as they skated to a 3-2 loss at the hands of those hated steel town man-children from Pittsburgh. And to this, I say, don't worry.

You see preseason has, and always will be, about finding out the great unknowns currently sprinkled throughout the organizational depth chart. It's an opportunity for hockey minds far brighter than ours to take a look at a promising youngster, to see if he's added that extra bit of muscle, or lateral speed, or has since developed an enlightened mind to the subtle nuances and x's and o's that make up professional hockey.

In turn, it is a time for known commodities to "find it". For superstars like Zetterberg and Datsyuk to shake off some of that summer-on-the-lake rust so they don't deliver a performance more apropos to the opening game of a house league tournament.

In short, it is the time for Mike Babcock to put on his deathiest of death stares, to scowl harder then he's ever scowled before, and to watch new blood as they desperately try to impress his cold, steely eyes. It's an unenviable task to be sure, but a necessary development to team chemistry.

So, rather than bore everyone with yet another rundown of last night's game, I'll simply keep it short, and relatively sweet.

Paging Mr. Brunnstrom, We Have a Spot for You
Yes Fabian, that statement will be true if you show the kind of heart and hustle you displayed last night. Your skills were never the question, as you have the hands to embarrass damn near anyone in this league.

It's that hustle+heart (to borrow a Toronto Blue Jays marketing term) that was, and I'm afraid will always be the question. Play like last night, and it will be asked less and less frequently.

In fact, play like last night every night, and I'd be comfortable calling you a valued member of the Detroit Red Wings. Maybe management would be too.

Jimmy's Not Here Man
Everyone remembers that familiar feeling their first day on the job following a promotion. Butterflies in the stomach. Beads of sweat on your brow. Hands trembling as you open the doors to the conference room for your first meeting in your new role, and wondering as you stand in front of your colleagues whether you really earned your fancy new paycheck, or whether or not you're just a fraud that failed upwards.

That's what I'd like to think was plaguing Jimmy last night, as he consistently looked a little slow, and just a tad unprepared. Won't last. He just needs to get back in the swing of things.

Initiate Ludicrous Speed
Far be if from me to realize that iconic scene in Spaceballs was nothing more than a pre-cursor to the youngsters currently populating the Red Wings depth chart.

In fact, if Chris Conner, Jan Mursak and Darren Helm all skated against the earth's rotation, I think they would have a good shot at turning back time, thereby justifying Richard Donner's scientific theory of time.

Watching them take flight up the open wing is a sight to behold. Only you have to watch it on half speed to fully appreciate it.

Epic Conclusion
Datsyuk is good, but we all knew that. Everyone else looked fine/good/normal/rusty/Exelby (bad).

Preseason games. A series of events in which top players risk injury in order to not win anything and where youngsters and washed up veterans alike look to prove to everyone that they (still) got it. Exciting, and mind-numbingly boring, all at once.

Still, the countdown is officially on. In just a few short weeks, these games will mean something, and hockey will begin anew.

Colour me excited.

A Place to Preserve the Memories

The Lokomotiv tragedy has gripped us all in different ways.

It has caused some of us emotional anguish. It has caused some of rage and confusion. It has given birth to truly beautiful ceremonies, candlelight vigils, and equally great sportswriting from many in the hockey community.

It is, and will forever remain, one of the most catastrophic tragedies ever endured in the history of professional sports. Of that, we can all be certain.

Now before I begin the remainder of this post, I would simply like to re-iterate a point J.J. From Kansas made in his blog post surrounding the tragedy: the words that I write here are not meant to imply that certain players lives meant more than others, nor do they mean that I am only concerned with some, rather than all.

All players, coaches, team personnel and aircraft attendees alike will be mourned by everyone. That fact is assured.

My question, however, is whether or not Red Wings fans feel as though Joe Louis Arena should reserve a space somewhere in the arena for former players whose careers, or lives, were cut short due to extraneous circumstances, similar to the Toronto Maple Leafs policy regarding number retirement.

What I mean by this is an area in which the numbers and/or likenesses of Red Wings family members Ruslan Salei, Stefan Liv and Brad McCrimmon should be placed, or whether that would be disgraceful to the others that tragically lost their lives.

No life is worth more than any other.

However, these three deaths in particular touched the Red Wings family deeply.

The question is whether or not their memories should be preserved specifically forever in the home of the Detroit Red Wings, or whether the entire group should be honoured in some way.

Fabian Brunnstrom and the Road Back to Relevance

For professional athletes with tremendous skill sets, being highly hyped is nothing new. However, when those skills begin to diminish, or in other cases, have been over-hyped, the athlete must begin anew.

Which is why Fabian Brunnstrom now stands firmly back at square one.

Flash back to the year 2008. The Red Wings were Stanley Cup Champions, Woodward Avenue was filled with a red and white confetti soup, and Ken Holland was busy on his cell phone, trying desperately to woo yet another Swedish talent to don the Winged Wheel alongside many of his countrymen.

The Swede in question was Fabian Brunnstrom, one of the most highly touted undrafted Swedish forwards in recent memory, who was garnering interest from just about every team who could afford to be in on the negotiations.

Flash forward to now. Brunnstrom is finally going to be donning the red and white jersey, only this time, it may only be temporary. He's in Detroit, on a try-out contract, and at this point, he'd be considered a longshot to make the NHL roster.

For many athletes, this is a sign that they just don't have what it takes to stick. The weaker-minded players decide that, well shucks, they gave it their best and their best just wasn't good enough to stick.

Only Brunnstrom isn't willing to give up.

His stoicism is admirable, and his skills still sharp. Brunnstrom is, to anyone who can see, a great hockey player with loads of unrealized potential. He was rushed through the developmental system in Dallas, left to travel up and down the ranks like nothing more than a yo-yo, and through it all, he fought the urge to simply retreat back home to Sweden, where his employment, and no doubt his legacy, could flourish.

So, when Ken Holland's phone rang this summer, and Fabian Brunnstrom asked if the Red Wings were willing to give him a chance, it comes as no surprise that Holland's answer was a definitive yes.

Because as Holland has learned many times over, sometimes the best players are those who have seen their star burn out, and have been cast aside as reclamation projects looking for a home.

Take, for example, the case of Daniel Cleary who, as a fresh faced teenager was drafted in the first round by the Edmonton Oilers, only to bounce around the league before being given a try-out with these very same Red Wings.

Or Mikael Samuelsson who, after a promising start to his NHL career hit a roadblock, and was left to fend for himself before being offered a contract by, you guessed it, the Red Wings.

Or Patrick Eaves who, after scoring 20 goals in his rookie season for the Ottawa Senators, saw himself become a spare part on every team he played for before finding his niche as a hear-and-soul kind of player on the Red Wings.

Or, perhaps most famously, Todd Bertuzzi who, after nearly being forced to leave hockey entirely due to a much-publicized act of on-ice violence, started anew in Detroit, and rediscovered a passion that had seemingly long been extinguished.

And so, enter Fabian Brunnstrom, the very latest in a long line of once-promising athletes who've seen their star begin to falter. There's no guarantees that Brunnstrom will ever play in Detroit, or in Grand Rapids, or in North America for that matter.

However, he's more than willing to try his hardest. If that means playing for the Griffins this season, with spot-starts in Detroit, then it's OK by him.

And that's exactly the kind of thing a General Manager, or a Coach, or Joe Smith who sits in section 226 wants to hear.

Because it's a long road back to the top for any athlete.

As Red Wings fans, let's hope that Fabian Brunnstrom can get back there.

Credit Where Credit Is Due

The Lokomotiv Tragedy has left me in a lurch, to say the very least.

In fact, this very post has been started and restarted endlessly, only to have it be replaced with empty space as the words just don't describe the magnitude of the tragedy the hockey world felt yesterday.

Luckily for hockey fans everywhere, we have J.J. From Kansas over at Winging It In Motown.

Click this link. Read it. Feel it.

And you'll understand the universal sense of overwhelming sadness and confusion felt across the global hockey community, and in separate fanbases everywhere.

Congratulations on the incredible article J.J.

And thank you for being able to express the words I couldn't quite find.

Thank you.

On Crosby, Concussions and Careers Cut Short

Sidney Crosby's Press Conference is
set for 12:30 PM EST. It will be
streamed live on TSN.ca

Currently, the entire hockey community is abuzz about an event set to take place three hours from now. It is a press-conference, one in which the Anointed Saviour of the NHL is set to take the stage to address one of the dark spots that has plagued the NHL for years.

Today, we will finally see whether Sidney Crosby will come to play this season.

Usually, this blog is a sounding board for my disdain for Sidney Crosby; in fact, its no secret that many fanbases not based in Pittsburgh share this same disdain. But it was in conversation with a friend of mine yesterday that I realized that perhaps I needed to clear the air.

Why this sudden realization?

It was a simple question in which he asked me, "So, in those two Stanley Cup Finals when you were calling for Crosby's head, did you ever foresee it coming true like this?"

It was a humbling question, one in which I, however briefly, thought that somehow through my whining and frustration, I had somehow influenced the cosmic forces that make the world go, and had set the wheels in motion that would lead to David Steckel obliterating one of the NHL's most talented players.

I can assure you, the answer to my colleague's question is a resounding "no".

So, while the NHL media, fans and players wait on baited breath to hear the announcement, I find myself embarking on a retrospective journey, all the way back to a game played between the New Jersey Devils and the Philadelphia Flyers, a day in which the NHL lost their own media marketing machine forever to the awful storm cloud that is the issue of concussions.

When Scott Stevens destroyed Eric Lindros, it should have been the hit that woke the NHL up to the devastating power that brain injuries hold over the players they employ. Since then, Paul Kariya, Keith Primeau, Simon Gagne, Eric Lindros (of course)  and now Marc Savard and Sidney Crosby have or are at high risk of retiring solely due to the massive brain trauma they suffered due to concussions.

Prior to last year, no amount of noise making by the press amounted to any grand plans by the NHL to stop these injuries from happening. But now, finally, the NHL is seriously trying to stop this issue, only it may be too late for yet another of the league's cream of the crop.

I have no idea what Sidney Crosby will say today as he sits in front of the media masses. I don't think it will be a retirement announcement, nor do I think he'll be sitting out the entire season. I still firmly believe that his concussion will subside sooner rather than lather, and that, perhaps rather naively, he will return to his dominant self.

However, should I be wrong about that, where does the league go from here. Eric Lindros, believe it or not, was one of the premier players in the league before his brain was scrambled more times than my eggs in the morning. But even he can't even come close to the influence that Sidney Crosby has had on the game of hockey since he burst onto the scene in 2007.

So, while fanbases everywhere continue to spit venom at the mere thought of Sidney Crosby playing against their team, there is also some intensive hand-wringing taking place behind their closed doors. Star players are always hated, but hated not because they are maliciously trying to hurt your own team, but because they are just so damn good that they victimize your heroes every chance they get. Kobe Bryant in the NBA. Peyton Manning and Tom Brady in the NFL. And, hopefully sometime soon, Sidney Crosby in the NHL.

These are the players that make the game exciting. These are the players that children and grandchildren ask about when you're telling them of old sports memories. Their legacies span decades long after they've retired.

For Crosby, should that legacy come to an end due to an injury that has run rampant for years through the NHL, it would truly be yet another dark day for the NHL.