On Colorado Eagles’ Wings

Cape Cod, October 2009

I sang “On Eagle’s Wings” from the front pew shared with my brothers. The urn storing my father’s remains rested on a table a few feet in front of us as hundreds of his friends and customers—several wearing hockey jerseys representing Fort Collins Muffler & Automotive—sang, too.

The lyrics, displayed on a white space above the altar, reminded me of Dad’s favorite minor league hockey team, the Colorado Eagles. He had season tickets since 2003, the team’s inaugural season.

On Colorado Eagles’ Wings, I thought.

Dad didn’t attend the Eagles’ home opener on October 25 because of his rapid decline. Alzheimer’s, dementia or whatever other potential undiagnosed disease led him to slip away over the past few years, would claim him two days later. He was ready for the Next Realm, ready to join my mom.

As the service progressed, I continued to think of hockey. Dad, or “Mr. Hockey” as many of his friends referred to him, played a big role in the building of Edora Pool and Ice Center (EPIC) in Fort Collins, CO. My dad was always quick to say that he had a lot of help.

Peter Jacobs, an integral part of that EPIC success and my father's good friend, told me during the reception, “It’s the end of an era.”

Nearly a month has passed since Dad ascended to that loge section in the sky or whatever you want to call Heaven, and “On Eagle’s Wings” continues to comfort me. When it pops into my mental playlist, I think of the drives to Denver to watch the Colorado Rockies and playing with my father and brothers on Wednesday nights—that one game in 1987 as Dad scored the only goal I can recall seeing him get, a tip-in. (Dad’s favorite hockey mantra was “head for the net.”)

These joyful memories balance the sadness I feel and lead me to gratitude. I’m grateful for Dad’s visits to the Land of Ben Affleck (inside joke to those who attended the memorial service), our walks in Maynard, riding the “T” to the TD Garden to watch the Bruins, and our road trips to Lake Placid, Ottawa and Hershey.

As the Colorado Eagles are a dozen or so games into their season and Thanksgiving Day is almost upon us, I find myself grateful for a sound mind that allows me to reflect back to my father’s memorial service once again: I hugged, shook hands and laughed with my dad’s former teammates, opponents and customers; I talked hockey with a father whose son I had coached at EPIC; I chatted with a former Colorado Rockie who had become friends with my dad; I served as a conduit between people who didn’t know how much they had in common.

I wonder now if the hundreds of people singing “On Eagle’s Wings,” realize how much they have enriched my life, how their thoughts and prayers and donations to the Alzheimer’s Association have comforted me.

Thank you, Dear Reader. Whether you knew my dad as a hockey player or horseman (his other great passion), whether you knew him well, met him once or are reading about him for the first time, thank you.

Thank you, too, Father Jan Michael Joncas, for composing “On Eagle’s Wings.”

Thinking Outside the Boxing Rink: Venting at Puck Daddy

Fighting in the NHL: To ban or not to ban; that is not the question.

Let's think outside the boxing rink, okay?

I posed other questions, posted at Puck Daddy's "The Vent," that I trust will spur more meaningful discussion about fighting's place in professional hockey.

Boston Bruins: My All-time Team

My wife asked me who I’d include on my all-time Bruins team. On the bench (and behind it), the list below has less to do with the players’ popularity or statistics than it soes with my personal connection to them.

Coaches:

Claude Julien, Don Cherry, Pat Burns. Who would be the head coach? Would they rotate executive leadership? I love Julien’s patience and imperviousness to those who question his line combinations. Grapes: Colourful with words and attire. Pat Burns: My wife once got special access to one of his press conferences (thanks, Steve Babineau) and developed a crush on Burnsie.

Goalies:

I didn't see Gerry Cheevers play, but I read about him first in George Plimpton’s book, “Open Net.” Cheesie was kind to me when he signed my copy of his memoir, “Unmasked.” Tim Thomas: Before the off-ice shenanigans tarnished his image, Timmy was superb between the pipes and delivered uncommon post-game quotes.

Defensemen:

Sorry Number fORR; I never saw you play and haven't met you yet. My wife and I did fly to the Big D to watch Ray Bourque, though. Ray-Ray (as my wife calls him), still wearing his Boston Bruins-issue hockey pants (magic marker couldn’t cover completely cover the Spoked B) was twenty days removed from The Trade. He logged more ice time than any other player as his Avalanche beat the Stars, 2–1. Don Sweeney, Bourque’s defensive partner, was under-sized and under-rated. One of the fastest players on any Bruins squad he played for, Sweeney’s work ethic and commitment to the Bruins lands him on my list. Gary Doak's  heyday was before my time here in Boston, but I hear tell of his shot-blocking acumen. Aaron Ward: His dedication to blocking shots and his proclivity with a stiff-arm to an opponent’s chest (as well as his fondness for the Boston Kreme) make him a favourite. Hal Gill: Yet another Boston Kreme fan, his most memorable goal was against the Avalanche (February 2003), a crafty shot from beyond the blueline that beat Patrick Roy.

Centers:

Patrice “Selke” Bergeron's demeanor and dedication to defense, as well as his face-off skills, endear fans to him. Derek Sanderson, who was also great on the draw, owned (owns?) a nobby Nehru jacket and a neat nickname. Reading Turk's memoir gave me hope for those who strive to redeem themselves. Jean Ratelle was before my time, too, but my dad (a Rangers fan) rooted for him. I’ve heard only fine things about Gentleman Jean.

Right Wings:

Stephen Herbert Heinze: I like this guy because he had the audacity to wear #57 (but not as a Bruin) and because I owned one of his game-used hockey sticks. I recall skating on a pond in Stow (MA), cradling the puck with that twig (remember my motto: wood is good). Willie O’Ree: Well-known for being the first black player in the NHL (again, before my hockey days), people respect him for his off-ice attributes. For example, he excused himself from his lunch guest to share, with my wife and me (on vacation in New Brunswick), his excitement about the Bruins winning the Cup in 2011. He said that after the Bruins swept the Flyers, he knew the B’s would go all the way. Miroslav Satan: The fire in the outside pit crackled and hissed as my wife and I joined a friend for Hockey Night in Hudson (MA). At this backyard gathering on a Saturday night in April 2010, we watched Satan score twice—the second goal in OT as the Bruins beat the Leafs.

Left Wings:

My wife’s favourite player is Marco Sturm. Whether he’s on a Bruins behind-the scenes show, wearing lederhosen, or front and center, scoring the game-winning goal in the 2010 NHL Winter Classic, Sturmie's smile is magnetic. John Bucyk: More Ukranian than Native North American, “Chief” is a happy go lucky whistler; at least that’s the way he seemed off-camera. Per Johan Axelsson: At a Wives' Charity Carnival (the year escapes me), I told him I admired his commitment to defense. “That’s my game,” he said. That was before he scored this beauty to beat the Blackhawks in 2008.

Healthy Scratch:

John Wensink played for my Colorado Rockies, but I don’t remember any of his game action. His wild hair and how his tough-guy persona is tempered by his fascination with doll houses (as documented in “Open Net”) means he belongs here.

 

 

Five-holes and Donut-holes: True Stories about Professional Hockey Players and Their Favourite Donuts

There’s a hole in the title. Professional goalies aren’t the only players featured here. The title, courtesy of creative collaborator Msr. Jean-Pierre Plouffe, (a.k.a. Puckbite) is a teaser, an appetizer à la the Timbit or Munchkin, to introduce those whose skills and diligence are or were sharp enough to play professional—at any position. Regardless of their goals-against average or plus/minus rating, each of the players listed below, like those of us not destined for hockey divinity, share an affinity; dare I say weakness, for that oft-round and tasty treat: We are all rendered enervated and yield to the yeasty (or cakey, as the case may be) feast that is the donut.

For the uninitiated: The hockey-donut convergence originates from my affiliation with the best morning hockey league evah, where would-be beer-leaguers are more prone to retire to bed before midnight, awaken before dawn, and then drive to Valley Sports Arena in Concord, MA. There in the venerable arena, we partake in the conviviality—the joie de vivre of the hockey and donut dream—that the AMHL (as in 6:30 A.M Hockey League) promises. This amateur co-ed confederation of pucksters/donut connoisseurs loves hockey and the post-game staple just as much as the pros love our game and donuts.

Gerry Cheevers: A few minutes before the Bruins-Islanders game on March 3, 2012, Cheesie sat at a small table outside the Bruins Pro Shop. My wife/AMHL Photographer then went inside to purchase Unmasked, Cheevers’s autobiography, written with Marc Zappulla. Book in hand, I approached the former netminder. We chatted about his hometown, St. Catharines Ontario, the Don Cherry-Colorado Rockies connection...and then I asked him about his favourite donut. “Chocolate Glazed,” he said. “Just had one.” (A portion of the poceeds from Unmasked will go to the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation.

Hal Gill: While the under-appreciated, in my opinion, defenseman was in Finland (during the 2004-05 NHL Lockout, Gill played for Rauman Lukko), he responded to my email query: His favorite Dunkin’ Donut franchise: “In Wilmington (MA) across from the practice rink (Ristuccia).” His favorite donut: “What else, the (Boston Kreme). It’s perfection washed down with a French Vanilla coffee.”

Aaron Ward: In 2008, at the first annual ‘Cuts for a Cause, a fundraiser for the MassGeneral Hospital for Children, I shaved Wardo’s head (true story). Afterwards, I asked him...you know... Because he lived in Carolina, the crucible of Krispy Kreme, I expected Wardo to promote his hometown favourite. “Boston Kreme,” he said. “True story.”

Adam McQuaid: In San Jose for the Bruins-Sharks game on March 22, 2012, the AMHL Photographer and I learned we were staying in the same hotel as the Bruins. As the B’s waited in the lobby for the bus to take them to the Shark Tank, my wife and I approached Mr. Mullett, a.k.a. Darth Quaider. My wife chatted about our visits to Prince Edward Island, McQuaid’s home province, and then she acquired his autograph for her co-worker. My turn. I introduced myself and the notion of morning hockey, handed McQuaid my business card, and then asked him The Question. “Krispy Kreme,” he said. I told him I’m not a big fan of that brand because the donuts are too perfect. No character. Upon further reflection, I accept them as part of the donut family, although their lack of flair could be considered akin to a mullet-less McQuaid.

Terry O’Reilly: At the Honda Center, before the Bruins would beat the Ducks, Taz walked along the mezzanine. I introduced myself and my purpose. Favourite donut? He paused to ponder The Question, so I prompted him with another: Perhaps something from the Land of Dunkin’? (By the way, I didn’t see one DD shop in California.) “Maple Frosted,” he said. I didn’t have a business card handy, so I told him if he Googled donut and hockey, he’d find me. He repeated my name, as if to consider searching for this true story.

Gratitude and Latitude

Before the AMHL Photographer and I leave the Lower 48 to cross the 49th parallel (another mission), I recall the last dozen days or so and count my blessings.

1. The Dunkin’ Donuts in Weymouth, MA, where you can listen to a Buddy Holly song, make a call from a pay phone, and enjoy donuts baked on the premises.

2. John Van Boxmeer and Randy Pierce, Colorado Rockies—once and forever—who celebrated birthdays.

3. The Boston Bruins, who have won three straight (before tonight’s game against the Minnesota Wild).

4. Patrice Bergeron: How does he know where the opponent is going to pass the puck just before the opponent does?

5. My local Shaw’s Supermarket, where they play great hockey songs like Kelly Clarkson’s “Breakaway”.

6. My iPod and Kool and the Gang’s “Celebration”, which always brings me back to about 1984 because that song was played after the North Stars scored at the Met Center. Good times.

7. Kenny “Kiss Fan” Tarr, who let me score two goals on about forty shots .

8. Challenges, for they serve as the platform of spiritual growth .

9. The Boston Globe’s Kevin Paul Dupont, whose work I follow (religiously) every Sunday morning.

10. Puck Daddy’s series of stories celebrating hockey’s greatness.

11. The leather Colorado Eagles jacket, which reminds me of Mike Chase, that my mom and dad gave me a few years ago.

12. Former (and hopefully future) AMHLer Mike Schneider and his commitment to November—I mean Movember.

The happiest of Thanksgivings to all--a bientot mes amis.

On the Shelf, Part VIII: Good Stuff

Image courtesy of Joe Fletcher

The saga of my mysterious upper lower-body/middle lower-body injury continues. Physical therapy didn’t do the trick, so it’s back to the doctor for a re-evaluation tomorrow. It’s a downer not playing—and worse, the not knowing what’s wrong or when I’ll be back—but Don Cherry’s Hockey Stories and Stuff has been a pick-me-up difficult to put down.

If Gordie Howe, who will turn 81 on March 31, is Mr. Hockey®, then Don Cherry, who celebrated his 75th birthday on Thursday, is Mr. Hockey Storyteller. In his book, as told to Al Strachan, “Grapes” delivers page after page of vintage vignettes, which he draws from his vast experience as a player, coach, and commentator.

Cherry’s down-to-earth delivery transported me to wherever he ventured: on the ice, on the road, and into the announcer booth. I had figured he’d include stuff about the Bruins; that he’d share nuggets about my beloved Colorado Rockies; and that he’d take me behind the scenes of Hockey Night in Canada. Cherry didn’t disappoint.

With his trademark brashness, that blunt-force honesty—that which people tend to love or loathe—Cherry sometimes made me wince. But more often than not, I either laughed (picture this: Wayne Gretzky in long—presumably—underwear) or felt a fondness for the flashy haberdasher’s delight. Cherry admits his mistakes and becomes vulnerable. This softer side shushes his insolence.

The most endearing anecdote, for me, was not about Bobby Orr or Barry Beck, but rather about his bull terrier. “Blue and I had a favourite song,” Cherry begins the tale.

I’ll let you discover for yourself what that song is and hope that you’ll find Cherry’s yarns as engaging as I did.

Thumbs up, Grapes. Good stuff.

On the Shelf, Part VII: Hockey Player for Life

I’m no Patrice Bergeron, but when yesterday I read about how he’s dealing with his slow-healing injury, I tapped into the recovery process, from frustration to acceptance. The prevailing coping mechanism seems to be patience. So while my ailing groin, which is responding to physical therapy, keeps me on the shelf, I submit another book report.

Hockey Player for Life won me over early on when author Howard Shapiro references Vic Hadfield (one of my dad’s favorite players), Lucien Deblois (I played pond hockey with one of his throwaway sticks), and Bruce Springsteen (need I say more?). What kept me reading this fictional account of a “can’t miss” future NHLer is how the protagonist’s relationship with hockey, his teammates, and his family develop. Teenager Tom Leonard, a puck-lugging defenseman for the Magic Rats, overcomes obstacles—some of his own making—and remains loyal to the game he—and I—love most. Shapiro’s deft maneuvering from scene to scene, in which he infuses forgiveness and redemption, is akin to Bobby Orr’s grace from goal line to goal line. Order the book from Amazon, here.

Hockey Journey: Don't Stop Believin'

Friday October 13, 2006

If life is all about the journey and not the destination, then sometimes I feel like I’m stuck in the driveway. It’s 6:50 a.m. I don’t want to get out of bed—not a major depression setting in because me and my AMHL Capitals fell to the Avalanche yesterday morning or because the NHL Bruins surrendered to the Blues last night—just because I’d rather not exercise or go to work. I get up anyway, turn off the alarm, and then trudge to the yoga/reading room. I roll out the purple rubber mat and then turn on my iPod.

The Corrs’ “Breathless” gets my legs a-jumpin’ and my blood a-pumpin’. Next, as I assume the crab pose—planting my palms under my horizontal torso and onto the mat and set my soles onto the mat so that I’m looking at the ceiling, Journey’s “Faithfully” jogs my memory banks. I recall the band’s video from the early 80s, Journey’s tour bus in a snow storm outside Denver’s McNichol’s Arena, home of countless music concerts and the Colorado Rockies, where Journey performed its greatest hits and where defenseman Mike Kitchen—the current St. Louis Blues’ head coach—spent the better part of six seasons.

“...Circus life, under the big top world… through space and time, always another show…”

Sure, “Faithfully” is a musician’s lament about struggling to maintain a relationship with his loved ones from the road. I’m glad I don’t have to do that, but I also realize that although neither the AMHL Capitals nor NHL Bruins will play today, it is a new day, another show, so to speak.

And, just like Saturday night is a new chance for the Bruins to shine, next Thursday morning, we Capitals can stop our four-game losing skid. After all, we’ll have one Mr. Hockey on the ice and another Mr. Hockey in the stands.

Until then, “Don't Stop Believin’.”

Fort Fun and Massachusetts Memories

Dunkin’ Donuts. Gone. My hometown, Fort Collins, CO, was not the same as I had remembered it. This past weekend, my wife and I (along with our friend Brian, from Milton, MA) returned to the Choice City, an hour north of Denver. I didn’t belly up to the donut bar, sitting on the round swiveled stools where we used to order Munchkins and donuts. I didn’t sit in the booth where we had almost applauded when my baby brother Dennis first learned to sip from a straw. I couldn’t look through the windowed shop front that my brother Chris had treated as a drive-thru, nearly bringing down the house that Fred “Time to Make the Donuts” had built, because the donut establishment had folded up—several years ago.

The hockey team of my youth, the Colorado Rockies, split town more than twenty years ago, turning into Devils almost overnight. But the memories of driving to Denver with my dad and brothers, cheering for Barry Beck and Randy Pierce at McNichols Arena, will last a lifetime.

Despite the inevitable changes, Fort Collins will always be my hometown because that’s where my family is, and I can always go home.

Home, to watch Colorado Eagles hockey games. The Central Hockey League is two rungs below the NHL, but the Eagles games also offer another opportunity to spend time with my family. This weekend, we enjoyed the game on ice and the peripheral sights and sounds: the fan wearing his blue, red, and yellow Eagle jersey, dancing to John Denver’s “Thank God I’m a Country Boy” and reconnecting with a former teammate whom I hadn’t seen in at least ten years. John Scott didn’t look a day older than when he was my teammate on EPIC ice.

Thank God for the Edora Pool and Ice Center, for which my dad had tirelessly lobbied and which is still standing. In 1985, building an ice rink to serve 20,000 Colorado State University students and some 80,000 regular residents was considered absurd by some, a dream by others—like my brothers and my mom and dad.

My dad and I walked into EPIC this weekend, saying hi to familiar faces like Paul Thibert, who has helped make EPIC into what it is today: a first class recreation facility that now sports not one but two rinks. The original rink is still there, the one where my dad and brothers played for the love of hockey, sponsored by my father’s business: Fort Collins Muffler.

EPIC now has a bubble hockey game. My dad watched me play my buddy Brian, who now lives in Marsh Vegas, (Marshfield) MA. I beat the South Shore visitor like a dusty rug. A new tradition started and savored.

The new traditions blended with the old at Bisetti’s Italian Restaurant in Old Town, Fort Collins, where my family has celebrated special occasions for years. Brothers and their wives and kids, a mother-in-law, a niece, Dad—adopted Brian last weekend as we feasted on chicken parm that would rival any North End establishment.

You can go home again. It may me different, but old memories don’t die easily, and new traditions are right around the corner.

At the same time, I’m also glad to be back—at home—here in Massachusetts. A decade or two ago, I wouldn’t have thought I’d say that, but here I am. I’m loving the AMHL, our Saturday trips to Dunkin’ Donuts, and the NHL Bruins—no matter how many leads they blow or shootouts they lose.

Family in Fort Fun and Massachusetts memories in the making: I wouldn’t have it any other way.