The Final Call (27 page)

We had a rule, even back then, that a goalie should be allowed to stand in his crease and do what his job description entails—namely, to defend his net by stopping the puck without being interfered with. This was the premise that later led us to the ridiculous interpretation that a goal could not be counted if a player had his foot—even a toe—in the goal crease, or even on the goal line.

Players went hard to the net, and goalies such as Billy Smith and Ron Hextall had a technique for keeping their goal crease clear—and not the same one used by the “ice girls” on Long Island or in Philadelphia, who scrape away the debris during commercial timeouts. I made it clear to goalies that I would not allow them to be bumped, jostled, interfered with, or bodychecked when they were within the confines of their crease. On the other hand, if they decided to do their own housekeeping with their stick or any other appendage, I would penalize them accordingly. The arrangement worked extremely well.

It looked as though this game might continue for a while, since the game in Quebec two nights earlier had been sent to overtime with the exact same score. Montreal scored five and a half minutes into the extra period. When I saw Quebec’s Paul Gillis attacking the net hard, with Mats Näslund of the Canadiens chasing him on the backcheck, I immediately recognized all the makings of trouble in the crease. Sure enough, Näslund gave Gillis a little bump from behind that Gillis took advantage of to speed right into the goal crease, where he made solid contact with the left side of Montreal goalkeeper Brian Hayward. Gillis was not content
with that contact, however: he hooked his skate around the left skate and pad of Hayward while he applied pressure with his stick to the goalie’s upper torso. Gillis then used his momentum and force to drag Hayward to the side of the goal crease and beyond.

Seeing this take place, it would most likely not have drawn a penalty or a reaction from anyone in those days, especially given the score and the time remaining. Unless, that is, there was a consequence to Paul Gillis’s actions. Therein lies the problem. In the same instant that I saw Hayward being dragged out of the net, I also saw Côté ready to fire a shot from the high slot into the now-empty Montreal cage. Before the puck left Côté’s stick, the whistle was in my mouth and I was blowing as hard as I could. The Nordiques’ celebration was short-lived as I waved off the goal and penalized Gillis for goaltender interference. I also gave Näslund a token interference penalty for his nudge on Gillis that triggered the events. The penalties were a wash, and I felt justice had been served.

With a faceoff in the Montreal end, the Nordiques seemed to be in shock. The Canadiens won the draw and marched down the ice. Guy Carbonneau set up Ryan Walter for the winning goal with 2:53 remaining. With his team down one goal, and certainly with enough time to score an equalizer, the very last thing I wanted to do was to give Bergie a bench penalty—or, worse yet, throw him out of the game. As
Le Petit Tigre
began to growl and bare his fangs, he was providing me with all the ammunition I would need to make such a call, but none would be forthcoming at this particular time. After the horn sounded, though, the fireworks started up in the hall outside our dressing room. Michel was out of his mind, his face so red I thought he was going to blow up. There was no sense pouring gasoline on an inferno, so Bob Hodges, Leon Stickle, and I made our way into our dressing room as Michel and his people were moved elsewhere.

I had worked the Stanley Cup final the previous two seasons, and to this point in these playoffs, I had worked in seven games in the first round and now five games in the second. I returned home to Sarnia the next day to await the call for a sixth or seventh game if needed. That night, the Leafs played Game Six of their series in Detroit. The next games were played in Quebec and on Long Island. I was not assigned to any. I was listening to radio station CHOK in Sarnia when it was reported that a lawsuit had been filed against Sarnia native and NHL referee Kerry Fraser by a group in Quebec claiming prejudice. I couldn’t believe my ears. Wait a minute, I thought. I had just worked a game involving two teams from the province of Quebec, and I was being sued for prejudice? Against whom and on what grounds? I called the NHL office in Toronto, got Jim Gregory on the line, and told him what I had just heard. I asked if there was anything to it. Jim’s response was, “Have you been served with a summons yet?” I thought,
Holy shit, this is bizarre
. Jim said they’d had a report that a group of fans in Quebec City were behind the suit and that he had notified the NHL’s legal department in New York. He told me that, if served, I should just send the paperwork to New York and that the league would stand 100 per cent behind me. That was reassuring—for the time being.

When all three playoff series went to Game Seven, and I wasn’t called on for any of them, I knew I was done for the year, even before John McCauley completed the unfortunate task of telling me. I know it was not something John relished doing. Not only had he relied heavily on me to that point in the playoffs, John knew I was going through a very difficult divorce at the time. He had been extremely supportive as I maintained a balance between my work and caring for my three boys. If all this weren’t enough, I contracted hepatitis in late June after a terrible allergic reaction to medication I had been prescribed for a sinus infection, and missed the first five months of the 1987–88 season. As I recuperated,
John told me that he got calls from all over the league on the Quebec ordeal and that I had many friends in very high places. He promised that someday he and I would sit down and he would let me in on all that had transpired. We never did have that conversation as John passed away after the 1989 Stanley Cup final in which Calgary beat the Canadiens in six games. I cherish the many moments that we got to spend together during his final series of life.

In the summer of 1987, I received a personal letter from Serge Savard, general manager of the Canadiens, along with a videotape with enhanced footage of the play. It clearly showed Paul Gillis hooking Hayward’s skate and using his stick to drag him out of the crease, as I suggested had been the case. With the class that Serge Savard always demonstrates, he said it had taken courage to make that call and he thanked me for being able to put the game ahead of my own self-interest. That, in a nutshell, is why I think of the word “class” when I think of the Montreal Canadiens organization. Serge’s letter came at a time when I felt alone and abandoned and his kindness will always be very much appreciated.

Savard’s sentiments were repeated by E.M. Swift of
Sports Illustrated
, who wrote, “Kerry Fraser’s only fault with the Montreal–Quebec call was that he had the courage to make it.”

After Michel Bergeron had retired from coaching and moved on to become a very popular television and radio personality in Montreal, I got word that he had been hospitalized. In his first return to radio, I arranged to call in and surprised him on the air. I had written a message, which my friend and colleague, linesman Pierre Champoux, had translated into French. Bergie was a good sport, and we both had a laugh over my poor French dialect.

A couple of years later, while I was in Montreal for the playoffs,
Denis Morel’s wife, Debbie, arranged a round of golf for us at Le Mirage Golf Club, where she is director of golf. The course is owned by Céline Dion and her husband, René Angélil. Ray Scapinello, Dave Newell, and I were playing the last couple of holes, while Bergeron and René were on the opposite fairway. We yelled and joked with one another, then played on. Later, we were sitting in the clubhouse, about to order a beer and a sandwich, when Michel came by and said that René wanted us to join them for lunch in the private dining room. I was on my cellphone with Kathy, so I said I would join them shortly.

As I entered the private dining room, there was a long table with one vacant seat at the opposite end to where René sat. To my immediate right—not by accident, but by René’s design—sat
mon bon ami
Michel Bergeron. Behind me, there was a giant flat-screen television. René proudly announced that, before we started lunch, he wanted to give us a preview of a commercial Céline had just shot for Callaway, in which the old-fashioned microphone she is singing into is transformed into a Callaway driver, with which she makes a perfect swing. It was a great commercial, and we applauded. “Not so fast,” René said. “I have one more thing to show you.” Immediately, the disallowed goal was shown, complete with Michel standing up on the bench and looking more like Don Cherry than Grapes himself. Sitting beside me, Bergie went crazy again.

When the laughter had subsided, I called Kathy back on my phone and told her to please speak to Michel Bergeron. I said he still didn’t agree with the call, and suggested maybe she could convince him otherwise. I handed the phone to Michel, who sat patiently through Kathy’s attempt to convince him her dear husband is never wrong! When Michel’s turn came to respond, he said, “Kat’y, I knew you love dat man, but it was an awful fucking call!” We roared with laughter and then enjoyed a wonderful lunch as Céline joined us after a practice session with Debbie.

At the Bell Centre, on the occasion of my final visit as a referee, I stood alone outside our dressing room and waited for the media scrum to arrive. Like a swarm of locusts, 20 or 30 members of the media rounded the corner, led by Michel Bergeron! We embraced as friends do, and Michel offered his most sincere congratulations on what he described as a Hall of Fame career. It was very touching for me to be received by him at this time and in this special way. Michel was an outstanding coach, and the passion he brought to the game was like no other I have ever witnessed. Michel and I then bid each other adieu in a much more peaceful and civilized fashion than we had the night of April 28, 1987. This was a new building, and a new foundation of friendship had been laid with it.

After answering all of the media’s questions, I had one last request for a private meeting. It was from Canadiens coach Jacques Martin. In a very sincere and meaningful way, Jacques wanted to congratulate me on my (as he put it) tremendous career and thanked me for the way I had always shown respect for players and coaches and communicated with them. He appreciated that particularly after the lockout season, when I attempted to explain and “coach” the players on the new rules, to help keep them out of the penalty box. Nothing goes unnoticed by astute coaches like Jacques Martin, and I thanked him for all his co-operation over the years. Everything that Jacques said, I could tell, came from his heart.

It was now time to go to work for the last time with this great franchise. Tonight was not only my final game in Montreal, it was also the last for linesman Mark Paré. Mark joined the league in 1979 and has been a steady performer for all those years. He certainly goes about his business much more quietly than I have,
but his integrity and character are what quiet heroes are made of. Mark is not only a trusted friend, he is the most outstanding employee the National Hockey League could ever hope for. His young protégé this evening was linesman Steve Barton. It has been my honour to observe this fine young man and his outstanding work. So much of what it takes to do this job well and in the best interest of the game comes from a depth of unshakable character. These two fine men, now at the opposite ends of their respective careers, have this quality in common.

The Carolina Hurricanes were the visitors. They suffered through an early-season drought and just ran out of time after Christmas to catch the rest of the pack. After the Olympic break, they beat teams on a consistent basis and were not to be taken lightly by anyone. Tonight, the Canadiens and their coach, Jacques Martin, with a trip to the playoffs riding on the outcome, showed a great deal of discipline, but Carolina hung on to win 2–1.

When the game concluded, Mark Paré and I were met by the majority of the Hurricane players, coaches, and trainers, as we received their expressions of appreciation for our many years of service to the NHL. It was an extremely classy thing for them to do, and I know that Mark appreciated it as much as I did. No different from Montreal, where class starts at the top, Hurricanes boss Jimmy Rutherford is one class act as well.