As a
sports columnist, and later as a blogger, I rarely wrote about the National
Hockey League except to criticize it. I found its tolerance of extracurricular
fighting to be an obnoxious pandering to its least-knowledgeable fans. College hockey exists nicely without brawling
and every four years the best professional players gather to stage a thrilling
Olympics tournament while keeping their hands to themselves. A league that
doesn’t respect its sport deserves no respect, I reasoned.
My unhappiness with the game was
specific as well as general. In 1969, when I returned to my native Chicago
after a 10-year sojourn, I fell into a piece of a season ticket for the NHL
Blackhawks, and thrilled to the exploits of Bobby Hull, Stan Mikita and their
mates. The trouble was that Arthur Wirtz, the portly pirate in a three-piece
suit who owned the team, raised the price of everything every year. When he let
Hull, an all-time Chicago sports hero, jump to a new league in 1972 for an
annual salary that was soon to become ordinary ($100,000 a year), I kissed the
team goodbye.
Arthur died in 1983 and bequeathed
the Hawks to his son Bill, nicknamed “The Commodore” for his fondest for
tooling around Lake Michigan on his yacht. Bill was as rapacious as his dad but
much less smart. I cheered when he ran the team into the ground in the 1990s,
causing attendance to dive and ridicule to rise. One news organization (can’t remember which)
named the Blackhawks the worst-run franchise in U.S. pro sports during his
ownership.
But Bill, too, passed on, in 2007,
and the team went to his son, William Rockwell, or “Rocky”, who proved to be
quite different from his forebears. From all reports he treats his team’s fans
as customers, and thoroughly revamped its image and front office. In 2010,
after some brilliant drafting, the Hawks won their first Stanley Cup in 49
years, and repeated that accomplishment in 2013 and last year. Chicago, which
the great ex-Tribune columnist Bob Verdi once called “the city of broad
shoulders and narrow trophy cabinets,” couldn’t be more pleased.
I’ve lived in Arizona for 18 years
now but, I blush to admit, the Hawks’ success and my own nativism has sucked me
back into hockey. I watched mostly playoff games in 2010 and ’13. Last season,
thanks to expanded TV coverage, I watched some regular-season games as well,
and this season I’ve further upped my viewing.
I was watching a Hawks’ game the
other night when it occurred to me that, of late, the NHL had changed. Although
I haven’t watched every minute of every one of the half-dozen contests I’ve
tuned into, I couldn’t recall seeing a fight this season, and remarked as much
to wife Susie, who watches with me. Last week Chris Kuc, who covers the team
for the Trib, confirmed my observation with a story that said on-ice fights
have been less frequent in the league as a whole, dropping to 236 in the 736
games that had been played to that point in the current campaign against 251 in
that span the season before, 323 in the season before that, and 347 in 2012-13.
A little math reveals that the three-year decline comes to about a third, a
quite-substantial figure.
The piece was short on reasons for
the reduction, venturing only that the recent advent of hard-plastic face
masks, which deter fists as well as pucks, could play a role. It
noted—significantly, I thought-- that neither the league nor the players’ union
had taken any actions to address the issue during the period in question.
That leads to the unavoidable
conclusion that the players have done this on their own—that they’ve wised up
and decided, individually, that bare-knuckles fighting is a distraction from
the skating, passing and shooting they are paid to do. Paid well, in fact, with
the average salary in the league having risen to about $2.6 million. That kind
of money has a way of making its recipients more protective of their careers,
as well as their facial features.
And, maybe, they’ve read the newspapers and
learned that the kind of serious head injuries that have received the most
attention in the National Football League can affect their game also. A lawsuit
by 10 former players against the league, alleging that it ignored or
underplayed evidence of the long-term effects of concussions, first was filed
for 10 plaintiffs a few years back. Now the plaintiff list has grown to 105.
Additionally, six former players
who filled the role of “enforcer” for their NHL teams (a unique position in any
sport, by the way) have died between the ages of 27 and 49 since 2010, of
suicide or drug overdoses. The connection to the lawsuit’s charges is not
difficult to make.
There’s been no indication that the
NHL is likely to follow the lead of the colleges and Olympics in cracking down
hard enough on fights to make them rare, so the old joke “I went to a fight the
other night and a hockey game broke out” still will get laughs. Indeed, the
continuing popularity of brawlers in the league was seen in the election of the
pugnacious journeyman John Scott to the league’s recent All-Star Game, even
though he’d been demoted to the minors for lack of other skills.
Other players, though, seem to have concluded
that that sort of celebrity comes at too high a price. Good for them and for my
enjoyment of their exercises.