I could tell you that everyone—everyone!—thinks the staged, bare-knuckle brawl in hockey is stupid. Like, a Homer Simpson level of stupid.
But who’d believe me?
I mean, as sure as many among the rabble in Rome once upon a very long time ago enjoyed the spectacle of hungry lions and other beasts gnoshing on no-goodniks, there exists a considerable constituency that lusts for the gladiatorial spilling of blood in our 21st-century ice coliseums.
They don’t think it’s stupid. More to the point, they believe people like myself are stupid for thinking it’s stupid.
Thus, when Nicolas Deslauriers and Ryan Reaves—or Reaves and Matt Rempe, or Rempe and Deslauriers—interrupt a National Hockey League game by agreeing to serve up their faces to each other’s fists, there is glee and delight among the blood-thirsters in the audience. They rise to their feet in unison and, depending on rooting interests, they either vilify or cheer on the combatants, and at no time in history has someone said, “Say, let’s go get a hot dog and a beer while these two clowns chuck knuckles.”
“People want to see blood,” former thug Jeff Odgers once told The Hockey News.
“Make hockey violent again,” Reaves crowed earlier this year, after one of his Toronto Maple Leafs’ foes incited mayhem by—egads!—slapping the puck with excessive force into an unguarded net.
That is correct. Ridly Greig…shot…the…puck…too…hard.
Now, after observing shinny for nigh on 70 years, I thought I’d considered every reason why one player might feel obliged to shuck his mitts and use his bare knuckles to raise welts on an adversary’s noggin—slew foot, knee-on-knee hit, blind-side assault, any blow to the head, etc.—but shooting the puck too hard? That’s kid stuff meant for frozen playground ponds, not guys wearing big-boy pants.
Alas, so aggrieved were the Maple Leafs that the normally passive Morgan Rielly shook off his halo and committed a criminal act, assailing Greig with two hands worth of graphite to the side of the head.
But, hey, that’s the players’ way of “policing” the only one of five major men’s professional sports leagues in North America that accepts and condones fisticuffs, staged or otherwise, and, indeed, they often use it as a sometimes deliberate gambit designed to re-tilt the freeze in their favor.
And now even the silliest of slights has become cause for violence, because the Lords of Puck continue to convince themselves that hockey can’t be hockey without bare knuckles bouncing off bare faces and helmets.
Well, we know that argument to be pure piffle, since fisticuffs is forbidden in Olympics hockey, and there’s no better shinny than best-on-best shinny.
Sadly, not even dying young is a deterrent.
Surely NHL players, coaches, managers, owners and the men and women in commissioner Gary Bettman’s ivory tower are familiar with the findings of a study that delivered this conclusion: “NHL enforcers with 50 or more career fights or three or more penalty minutes per game died 10 years earlier and more often of drug overdose and suicide when compared with age-matched NHL player controls.”
Chris Simon died of suicide this past week, the latest name added to a roll call of enforcers who left before their time—Bob Probert, Rick Rypien, Derek Boogaard, Wade Belak, John Kordic, Todd Ewen, etc.
Death doesn’t matter.
The Lords of Puck pooh-pooh science, disregarding the evidentiary link between brain damage and bare-knuckle brawling. They just offer thoughts and prayers, then permit the boys to fight on. Business as usual.
So ask yourself this: What exactly has the NHL done to eliminate fighting? Answer: Squat.
Yes, there are fewer incidents of fisticuffs compared to the 1970s and ’80s, when too many nights were bathed in blood, but that’s not down to executive decision-making. It’s been the evolution of the game, whereby the skill level has arrived at such a lofty level that knuckle-draggers need not apply, the aforementioned Reaves being an exception.
Maple Leafs general manager Brad Treliving made a misguided rush to recruit the throw-back forward last summer, believing his fists would mean a stronger playoff push, but, trust me, there shall be no Stanley Cup parade in the Republic of Tranna this June whether Reaves is available for his eight-minute allotment of ice time or not.
Reaves and those of his ilk are Sideshow Bobs, pitiable fragments of a time gone by. Yet he and Deslauriers or Rempe are still allowed centre stage for their bicycling bear routines, because the NHL—from players to owners to ivory tower—grants them the okie-dokie to satisfy the appetites of the blood-thirsters in the audience.
And it’s stupid. It’s a Homer Simpson level of stupid.
Make no mistake, media is complicit in perpetuating the fraudulent narrative that hockey can’t exist without fighting. I mean, consider this: The week another enforcer, Chris Simon, died from suicide, Sportsnet had a highlights package featuring Reaves and Deslauriers trying to beat each other to a pulp: “Watch as Ryan Reaves and Nicolas Deslauriers drop their gloves at centre-ice and get into it with one another to put on a show for the fans.” Yup, it’s all “for the fans,” with no regard to those who die young. Meantime, scads of newsprint and air time has been devoted to low-talent New York Rangers ruffian Rempe, who has achieved folk-hero status simply because his hockey gloves are off more than they’re on. Sigh.
I agree, the NHL is a high-speed bit of business. Emotions become frayed. But why is it that there must be immediate retribution (read: fighting) for a legal body check? I mean, even though a National Football League game is played at a slower cadence, it’s a very violent sport and emotions become frayed. Yet a large, menacing, hell-bent-on-destruction defensive end can blindside Patrick Mahomes with a hit that rattles the dead and there’s not a speck of retaliation. His mates assist him to his feet, they huddle up, and they run the next play. If fists fly, ejections ensue. So what part of “legal hit” do NHL players and their overlords not understand?
For those of you scoring at home (and I know many are), the folks at hockeyfights.com tell us there have been 265 fights in the NHL this season. And, no, Matt Rempe hasn’t been in all of them. It just seems that way. (The tally was 334 in 2022-23.)
I found it interesting that both DeMar DeRozen and Dillon Brooks were excused from the Chicago Bulls-Houston Rockets joust on Thursday night, after they engaged in a squabble that was barely a notch above a tiff. DeRozen ignited the dispute by gooning Jalen Green, which prompted the villainous Brooks to stick his nose where it didn’t belong. The two large men nattered, they grabbed at one another, they were quickly separated, and a pack of people tumbled into a scrum. Zero—zero!—punches were thrown. Still they were ejected from the National Basketball Association game for their roughhousing. The NHL could apply a similar standard, but no.
Things that make me go hmmm, vol 1,175: It’s about that dust-up between greybeard boxer Mike Tyson and 27-year-old YouTuber Jake Paul scheduled for July: Current WBC heavyweight champ Tyson Fury figures it’s a swell idea. “I just don’t know what’s not to like,” he told The Stomping Ground. “Okay, the guy’s 57 years old, but he’s a former undisputed world heavyweight king, and one guy plays computers for a living and he’s come to boxing about a year ago, so pretty even match. You got to admire them both. People say, ‘Ah, it’s shit,’ and this, that and the other, but I bet they still watch it. Who’s not intrigued?” Hmmm. I’m intrigued by those who are intrigued by it.
Our Pebble People came up short at the Scotties and Brier this year, so a tip of the bonnet to Kadriana and Colton Lott for delivering a reminder that Manitoba remains the epicentre of curling in Canada. Kadriana and Colton, who play out of Winnipeg Beach, went a perfect 10-0 to win Our Frozen Tundra’s mixed doubles title on Friday in Fredericton, and now they’re bound for Sweden for the world tournament in April. Bonne chance.
Sure wish I could watch Rachel Homan and her Canadian crew in the final of the World Women’s Curling Championship today, but TSN has decided that those of us who hang our hats on the Other Side Of The Rocks would rather watch a tennis tournament from Miami. Pathetic.
Things that make me go hmmm, vol. 1,176: Apparently, organizers of this summer’s Olympic Games in Paris have ordered 300,000 condoms for athletes. Hmmm. Wonder what they’ll do during the second week.
Oh dear. They’re in quite a tizzy in jolly, ol’ England because Nike and the FA had a fiddle-about with the St. George’s Cross on the collar of the national men’s futbol kit. Out is the red cross on white background. In is a navy blue/light blue/purple cross. “Trying to sneak that Woke, Gay communist nonsense onto the England national team jersey,” former player and manager Joey Barton posted on X. “It’ll be to appease all of the lesbians who play for the Lionesses and in women’s football.” Right, Joey, it’s all part of that dreaded global gay agenda that we keep hearing about.
Radio host and former Crystal Palace bankroll Simon Jordan was among many providing backup vocals in L’Affaire Kit and, while declining to malign lesbians, he harrumphed, “No other country would allow this to happen.” Actually, Simon, at least one other country would and has—Canada. Our flag has a red Maple Leaf with white background and red trim. Red and White. Yet our Lords of Sports have on occasion required our athletes to dress in black unis with a black Maple Leaf crest. (Yes, even the lesbians had to wear them.) It was kind of like putting a Canadian Tire label on a bottle of Molson Canadian. It was wrong and it was ugly.
Things that make me go hmmm, vol. 1,177: Tim Micallef of Sportsnet wonders if Zach Edey is “vastly underappreciated in his home and native land.” Hmmm. Let’s see: The guy is from the Republic of Tranna, which means nine provinces and three territories don’t really give a damn about him, and he plays college basketball at Purdue, which about 40 million Canadians couldn’t pinpoint on a map. So what are we expected to do? Have a parade for Edey?
We can count American scribe and squawk box Dan Le Batard among those who vastly underappreciate the 7-feet-4 Canadian giant. “Zach Edey just plants himself like a tree,” says Le Batard. “I haven’t seen a body like that since Yao Ming’s. And his ankles are bigger than anyone’s thighs. And we’re distorting the sport. Have you seen (Victor) Wembanyama? Like he just stands over these 6-10 people who are bigger than anyone you’ve ever seen and just places the ball over them in the basket. It’s so unaesthetically pleasing. Zach Edey is a plague, I’m sorry. Purdue, you’re a plague.”
Pete Rose after hearing about the Shohei Ohtani gambling scandal: “You mean I could have gotten away with betting on baseball if I’d have pretended I couldn’t speak or understand English?”
There’s no evidence to date that suggests Ohtani has wagered on sports with an illegal bookie, thus he’ll carry on swatting dingers for the Los Angeles Dodgers. Unless, of course, his now-former interpreter and now-former Man Friday, Ippei Muzihara, rats him out when the feds come calling and ask difficult questions. Then all bets are off (pun intended). As a Dodgers fan dating back to their days in Brooklyn, I hope for the best but fear the worst.
Will someone at Maple Leaf Sports & Entertainment please stand up and tell us that the Toronto Argos don’t plan to march into their 2024 Canadian Football League crusade with Chad Kelly at quarterback? The guy’s a bad egg.
Received an email last Thursday inviting me to stream the CFL combine, live and direct from Good Ol’ Hometown. “Get a front row seat” to the bench press and the 40-yard dash, it encouraged me. Hey, I realize I don’t have much of a life, but I’ll be ashes in an urn before I spend five seconds watching men lift weights. I see enough bad TV already.
Well, guess who’s pitching their tent in Victoria. That’s right, the B.C. Leos and Rouge Football. The Leos and Ottawa RedBlacks will grab grass in a regular season skirmish on Aug. 31 at Royal Athletic Park, which is exactly one block away from my humble dwelling on the edge of downtown. I might just walk across the street and ask Glen Suiter about that Keith Urban groupie thing.
To kick or not to kick seems to be a hot-button issue among the Lords of Rouge Football, and they’ve decided to punt the discussion about player safety on kickoffs down the road rather than tinker with the rules now. “The whole thing makes no sense for our game,” says longtime CFL coach and exec Jim Barker. “The injury thing? I don’t know the data, but I know it’s an exciting play in our game.” Yo! Jim! If you don’t know the data, then get the data before spouting off. (And this guy is an analyst on TSN’s CFL coverage?)
If Barker wants the data on the dangers of kickoff/returns in Rouge Football, he need only lend an ear to Kyle Walters. “From a kickoff/kickoff return standpoint, the rate of injury on that play is higher than an average offence or defensive play,” the Winnipeg Blue Bombers general manager told Ted Wyman of the Winnipeg Sun. “That’s what the statistics show, so then the Health and Safety Committee has to sit and say ‘If this is, in fact, the most dangerous play, statistically, how do we make this play safer?’ ”
I look at the top of the leaderboard at the Valspar Championship on the PGA Tour and I see these names: K. Mitchell, S. Power, P. Malnati, B. Todd, C. Phillips, C. Champ, R. Hoey. I ask myself, “Who are these guys?” Would someone please fix men’s professional golf?
And, finally, spring has sprung, the grass is riz, I wonder where my sunscreen is. Happy spring.
The River City Renegade 
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