The Final Call (17 page)

Video replay has brought hockey into the modern age of technology. Back in the late 1970s, Leafs coach Roger Neilson was given the nickname “Captain Video” because of his extensive study of videotape and use of it as a teaching tool. And it wasn’t always a compliment! It was a novelty in those days. It is hard to believe today, but there was even a time when every game was not televised, which made it difficult for the league to determine suspensions on match penalties. I saw Tiger Williams, while playing for the Vancouver Canucks, use a non-televised game on March 23, 1983, to his advantage and mount the best defence I’ve ever heard in a disciplinary hearing to avoid a suspension. It was classic Tiger.

The game, a 1–1 tie, was played at the old Capital Center in Landover, Maryland. As there was no videotape of the incident, my report would constitute the only evidence presented at the hearing. Here is my account of what transpired.

Early in the game, Tony Tanti of the Canucks bumped into Capitals defenceman Randy Holt. Holt was neck and neck with Tiger for the league lead in penalty minutes, so you can be sure it
didn’t take much to upset him. The hit got his back up. Not long after, Patrik Sundström, a skilled rookie who got 30 minutes in penalties by accident that year, bumped into Holt in the corner, and the sticks came up. Holt threw his gloves down and started pounding away on the Swede. I thought, What the hell are you doing, Holt? This guy doesn’t fight and the game isn’t even five minutes old. I hoped the linesmen would get in quick, and as I turned to look out toward the blue line, I saw that they still had some distance to travel before they arrived. Williams, on the other hand, had less distance to cover.

I saw Tiger charging like the wild jungle cat he was nicknamed after; his stick was out in front of him in a cross-checking position, aimed perfectly at the back of Holt’s helmetless head. Tiger was still 20 feet away but closing fast when it occurred to me that if a zebra were to step into his path, he would discontinue his charge. I held my line in this game of chicken for as long as possible, but Williams was looking right through the stripes and wasn’t stopping for anything, least of all a referee. At the last second, I stepped aside and watched as Tiger shattered his wooden hockey stick on the back of Holt’s head. The impact drove Holt’s face into the glass, cutting his lip, but to both Tiger’s and my amazement, Randy remained on his feet.

The attack hardly fazed Holt, but it did get his attention. The two started trading punches, but Mike Gartner of the Capitals quickly jumped on Williams. Everyone else then followed suit and ended up in a heap on the ice. Rod Langway emerged from the pile with a nasty gash over his eye and needed repairs. I ejected Holt with a major and game misconduct, while Williams got a 10-minute match penalty for deliberate injury, plus a game misconduct for being the third man in an altercation. It was his third game misconduct of the year, so he would get a one-game suspension for that alone. The match penalty would require a hearing, and I expected Tiger would sit out the remaining games
of the regular season, especially since he had already been suspended for using his stick on Islander goalie Billy Smith.

I figured Tiger would throw himself on the mercy of Brian O’Neill after I read his post-game admission of guilt in the
Washington Post
. Tiger confessed that he was coming to the aid of Sundström. “I had no choice but to help my teammate,” he said. “In the same situation, I’d do it again. The kid has never dropped his gloves to fight in his life and here all three refs are standing there allowing the second-most penalized guy in the league to hit him five or six times.”

An emergency hearing was held in the NHL’s Toronto office the next afternoon. Tiger was, and remains, a very popular player from his days as a Leaf, and the media were hovering outside the office. Tiger and Jim Gregory, the former Leaf GM, had a bit of a reunion, and Tiger and I greeted each other cordially as we went into the boardroom for the hearing with O’Neill.

Brian read my report, which laid out the facts without any embellishment of details other than to say that Tiger’s stick broke on the back of Holt’s head from the force of the blow. O’Neill then asked Tiger for his version and whether he had anything to say in his defence.

For the next 15 minutes, Tiger talked about hunting grizzly bears with a bow and arrow. He was very detailed in describing the size and weight of these huge wild animals he had bagged and turned into rugs. Tiger made it clear that, when one of those beasts charges, you need to make sure you have the equipment to knock it down and stop it dead in its tracks. He said the only way to kill one of those monsters when they charge is with an aluminum arrow. I was fascinated to see where Tiger was going with all this, and then he set the hook.

Leaning forward in his chair a little, toward Mr. O’Neill, he looked the vice-president right in the eye and said, “Brian, that’s why I use a wooden hockey stick and not aluminum, because if I
hit Holt with an aluminum stick, even with the slightest amount of force, he wouldn’t have gotten up—Randy Holt would have been dead just like the grizz.”

I couldn’t believe this shit, but Tiger kept on going, driving it home. He spoke with such confidence and deliberation, even though it didn’t make any sense to me. “Brian, my wooden stick just splintered like a twig. They break easy—that’s why I use them. Randy Holt never even fell down when I ran into him, and my wooden stick broke. Ask Fraser.”

Now Tiger was using me as an expert witness! Brian asked me to respond, and I said, “Tiger is correct, Mr. O’Neill. Randy Holt did not fall and he turned to exchange punches with Mr. Williams.” Tiger finished up by saying he would never try to intentionally hurt a guy from behind and that he had always taken on players straight up and just wanted to get Holt off his Swedish teammate who couldn’t defend himself. That was it. Brian said he would advise Harry Neale, the Canucks’ coach, later that day of his ruling.

Tiger and I walked out of the hearing room together, and I said, “Tiger, that is the biggest load of horseshit I have ever seen shovelled at one time.” With a big grin on his face, he replied, “You know something? I think he went for it. I couldn’t believe Holt didn’t go down, because I really hammered him.” The only punishment Tiger Williams drew was the automatic two-game suspension that came with accumulating game misconducts. What a salesman, what a character, and what a big-game hunter!

Speaking of big game, one of the biggest guys ever to wear a Canucks uniform was Todd Bertuzzi. In 2002–03, Big Bert was an immovable object once he stationed himself in front of the opposing team’s goal. When teamed up with Markus Näslund
and Brendan Morrison, the big fella enjoyed his best offensive output to that point in his career. Bert had the habit of standing in front of the crease, and when a shot was coming from the point he would push the defenceman from behind, clearing a wide space for himself as well as gaining unimpeded access to a rebound if the puck didn’t enter the net. I told him that was clearly interference, since the guy he blasted from behind wasn’t engaged with him. He did it in Calgary one night after I warned him not to. Seeing me raise my hand for a delayed penalty, Bert then slashed the closest Flame. Still with my one arm up, I pointed with the other to signal I was acknowledging a second infraction. When Vancouver touched the puck and I halted play, Todd then tried to take someone with him by punching a defenceman in the face—penalty number three, for six minutes, on the same stoppage. Vancouver was scored on just once during the triple minor. When Bert returned, there were just over 10 minutes left in the period and coach Marc Crawford chose not to play him for the rest of the period. He also benched him for most of the third.

The very next night, I had the Canucks in Edmonton, and as I entered Northlands Coliseum the players were in a circle, warming up and kicking a soccer ball around. As I walked by, the game stopped and Bertuzzi gave me the icy stare. As I passed him, I nodded and said, “Bert.” He nodded back, but didn’t say a word until I was about 15 feet up the hall, when he called out, “Hey, Kerry, are we goin’ for the quad tonight?”

I turned and replied, “That’s totally up to you, Bert!”

Bertuzzi didn’t take a penalty that night. As a matter of fact, we got along just great from that point on. Any troubles he might have thought he had with me appeared to be over. All he had to do was the math to figure it out.

The off-ice crew in Vancouver seemed very sad to shake my hand for the last time as the referee of record at GM Place. When I arrived for this game on the night of January 25, between the Canucks and the Buffalo Sabres, they had a rocking chair waiting for me in the dressing room. It was set on a rug, decked out with a pair of slippers and an afghan to keep me warm on a cold Jersey night. They also threw in a box of Depends, some Preparation H, and a month’s supply of Polident! We all laughed and exchanged hugs, all of us feeling the melancholy of lifelong friends saying goodbye, uncertain when or if we would ever meet again. This great off-ice crew, headed by Dr. Jim Potts, was gracious enough to send me a framed picture of our last time together. The frame also held a picture of me standing at centre ice, helmetless with hand on my heart for the national anthems, with the great Vancouver fans as a backdrop. A third picture showed me helping an injured Vancouver Canucks player, Jannik Hansen, off the ice. I had these very special gifts shipped 3,000 miles from west coast to east coast, a route I’d travelled often over all these years. The beautiful city of Vancouver and this great group of men would be much missed.

T
he Air Canada pilot announced our final descent into “balmy” Edmonton, where he reported the temperature at minus-21 degrees Celsius. Looking out the cabin window, I could clearly see that I was about to drop into another major hockey market, one that had fostered so many great memories. The sight of the frozen tundra below, sparsely populated by naked trees sporting their winter-white coats, gave me a sense of what it would be like to land on the moon. Stepping off the plane into the frigid jet bridge brought me to the realization that the early settlers and trappers must have been a hardy breed. The cloud of frozen vapour emitted with each breath I let out immediately took me back to the winter of 1985, when I had to deal with a much different Oilers team.