The Final Call (42 page)

Fortunately for Jeff Carter and the current Philadelphia Flyers, he prefers to move around opponents as opposed to going through them. If Jeff takes care of himself, I can see him plying his trade for many years to come. Having set up the tying goal this afternoon, he has inspired his Flyers’ teammates to mount an even more ferocious attack against Henrik Lundqvist, who stops everything the Flyers throw at him.

In the final 30 seconds of the period, the Flyers are buzzing all around the Rangers’ end zone. With 14.6 seconds remaining, Daniel Carcillo follows his shot to the net despite Lundqvist having already frozen it, causing me to kill the play. Rangers defenceman Marc Staal engages Carcillo at the side of the Rangers’ net. Fire is streaming from Carcillo’s eyes as both players bring their hands up toward each other’s chest and face. This is the tipping point for Carcillo, where a glove to his face could instinctively result in a retaliatory punch—and a penalty. As I blow the whistle and kill
the play, I anticipate a hot spot in front of the net. I move quickly from behind the net, arriving behind Carcillo just as he appears ready to throw a punch. I decide to fully take on my role as an “enforcer.” I grab Daniel by the sweater and spin him toward me, skating him quickly toward the corner and away from the scrum.

Carcillo snaps his head toward me. He thinks I’m a Ranger, and is ready to let fly with a barrage of punches. Realizing who has grabbed him, Daniel, still fired up, says, “You’re lucky it was you that grabbed me.” I respond, “No,
you’re
lucky it was me that grabbed you. You do not want to take a penalty at this time.” I pat Carcillo on the chest with my open hand and calm him; the team player in him quickly returns, and he regains his focus. My last call in regulation time turns out to be one that I prevented.

The third period ends with the score tied at one. This nail-biter is heading to overtime.

But overtime doesn’t resolve anything. The Rangers play it conservatively, doing nothing to risk making a mistake that could result in a Flyers goal. At one point, they seem to be content to let the clock run out, as they pass the puck back into their own end. Whatever the outcome, one thing has already been settled in my mind: I would be hard pressed to remember a better display of goalkeeping than the one Henrik Lundqvist is putting on today. After 65 minutes, Lundqvist and his Rangers teammates have been outshot 47–25 by the Flyers. This guy is an All-World player!

With the score still tied, there will be a shootout. Kelly stations himself at the Rangers’ end, while I prepare to make the calls at Brian Boucher’s goal line. Philadelphia’s Danny Brière scores first on a nifty move, while Erik Christensen of the Rangers is foiled by a Boucher blocker save. After Lundqvist stops Mike Richards’s shot, P.A. Parenteau has the puck hop off his stick momentarily, before he regains control and catches Boucher off guard, sneaking a shot past him.

Claude Giroux now approaches Lundqvist slowly and makes a slight move to freeze the Rangers’ backstop. With enough daylight showing through the five-hole, he finds the back of the net with his shot. The Flyers hold a 2–1 lead in the shootout with the Rangers’ third shooter, Olli Jokinen, ready to bring his 40-percent success rate down on Flyer goalie Brian Boucher. I check to make sure Boucher is ready. He gives just a slight nod of the head, and his gaze communicates an intensity of focus that he does not wish to break. His eyes are now set firmly on the puck that sits on the centre-ice faceoff dot as Jokinen circles in the distance, at his own goal line. I blow my whistle loudly and point to him to take his shot. He builds speed, then winds up. Brian Boucher teases Olli with an open five-hole, and he takes the bait and goes for the gap. Just as quickly, Boucher seals it off—save! I wave my arms, signalling NO GOAL! The Philadelphia Flyers have won the game and will move on to the Stanley Cup playoffs. And I have now made my
“final call”
as an NHL referee.

As the Flyers vault over the boards to tackle their new hero in his goal crease, I can’t help but think of Lundqvist skating off alone at the other end. While the Flyers clearly outplayed the Rangers and deserved the win, the Rangers’ goalie deserved a better fate for his outstanding performance. His dejected teammates, with the exception of a few, filter off their bench into their dressing room. I stand near the penalty box outside the blue line closest to the Flyers’ end, waiting for their celebration to wind down so that I can skate to the Zamboni entrance to my dressing room. New York centre Vinny Prospal climbs over the boards from his bench with the heaviness that a crushing loss can display and skates toward me. He then takes off his right glove and extends his hand. As I shake it, Vinny wraps his other arm around me, and, embracing me, utters the words, “Congratulations on a great career; you are the best.” Others—Marián Gáborik, Artem Anisimov, Chris Drury, and the player who might be the most disappointed of
them all, Olli Jokinen, offer a congratulatory embrace as well. I can’t tell you how meaningful it is to have these players recognize me in this way after suffering such a devastating defeat.

As the Flyers make their way off the ice to continue the celebration in their dressing room, I am approached first by Brian Boucher, who embraces me, then Ian Laperrière, Mike Richards, and Jeff Carter, who offer their congratulations. Just as I am about to skate off the ice, I hear an excited voice beckon me back. It is Flyers coach Peter Laviolette. He hugs me and offers some very complimentary remarks and hopes that we can remain in touch with one another. In spite of the differing emotions that each team was experiencing, there is a common sentiment in the way all of them approached me. I feel humbled, and feel that my journey is now complete. The most important thing I ever wanted to achieve in my career was to be respected for a job well done and make a positive difference to the game. The heartfelt outpouring of respect I am now receiving is the greatest reward I could have hoped for.

After congratulations are extended by each of the other officials, the telephone line from the Toronto war room rings. It’s Mike Murphy, senior vice president of hockey operations. Mike is a good man and says he wishes to thank me for all the great years of service, as well as the excellent work each of us has done today. In closing, he says “they” will be in touch next week. (As this book goes to press, I’m still waiting for “them” to get in touch with me. Still, I appreciated his call to the dressing room.) I’m quite sure they were heaving a big sigh of relief when our game finished without incident or controversy.

After showering and dressing, I am paid a visit by an unexpected guest: Ed Snider, chairman of Comcast Spectacor and co-founder of the Philadelphia Flyers. Since his company owns the building, I guess he doesn’t really need permission to enter. Back in the days when he brought the Flyers franchise to Philadelphia, this
passionate owner’s occasional visits to the officials’ dressing room were not, as in this case, to congratulate a referee on anything. It is truly a surprise and pleasure to have Mr. Snider make a special trip to my dressing room to congratulate me and to thank me on behalf of the Flyers organization for, as he puts it, my outstanding service to the game. I introduce him to my colleagues, and he is most gracious with his time. Mr. Snider makes each of the guys feel appreciated for their contributions to the game as well. I invite Ed to join my family and friends at a reception up the hall at the Lexus Club.

Instinctively, I sign the game sheet presented to me by Augie Conte, the official scorer in Philadelphia, as I’ve done so many times before. Augie asks me to sign an extra copy for him as a keepsake of our long tenure together and our friendship. I notice a tear forming in his eye. I am struck once again by the reality that I can’t delay the inevitable. There are no more destinations marked in my day planner or a schedule to keep. All this adds to the uncertainty and apprehension as to what I will do next. For the moment, the only appointment I have to keep is in the Lexus Club, where 100 people are gathered to toast me and offer their best wishes. Have my 30 years in the NHL come down to this final hour in the Wachovia Center, my last place of work? (Just one of 30 offices I have worked out of this season.) Am I truly being swept out with the popcorn boxes, empty beer cups, and other refuse discarded by the patrons?

Of course, before I join the party up the hall, I have one last detail to attend to—my hair! Standing in front of the mirror in my dressing room, brush in one hand and a bottle of Paul Mitchell hairspray in the other, I am stopped in my tracks, spellbound by the piercing gaze of the face looking back at me. I examine the
image as closely as I ever have before, searching for some revelation of a new direction. On the surface, my face exposes signs of age and scars from battle wounds, the perfect hair is now traced with hints of grey, and my eyes are wearing a glaze of fatigue from the many miles travelled and battles that have been fought—some won, but many lost. It is not vanity that causes me to study my reflection in the smudged glass in this moment, but to find the answers to those elusive questions. Who is Kerry Fraser? What is Kerry Fraser? None are forthcoming. Perhaps I need to delve more deeply and enter that space where hurt and love are held simultaneously and can meld together to confuse the mind. But the wall is up, one I am unable to penetrate in this room, alone with my thoughts and shallow reflection.

NHL security representative John Malandra snaps me out of my frozen pose in front of the mirror and advises me that Kathy and my guests are anxious for me to arrive. It’s time to go. I take one last fleeting glance at my reflection before heading out the door. The connection is broken—or has it just been made?

With each step of the walk from the dressing room, I continue to ponder the man in the mirror. Passing by the vacant Flyers locker room, I wave to Rock Oratorio and Mike “Huggy” Craytor as they finish hanging the players’ equipment that, thanks to the shootout win, will be used again in a couple of days, up the turnpike in Newark, New Jersey.

As I approach the empty visitors’ locker room, I am pleasantly surprised to see NHL deputy commissioner Bill Daly standing in the hall. He is waiting for me. Bill was in Washington this afternoon to present the Presidents’ Trophy to the Capitals, who, despite losing to Boston in a shootout, finished first in the overall standings. He made a special trip to Philadelphia, even though he missed the game, to stop by and congratulate me on my final game. It would have been so much easier for Bill to continue up the turnpike to join his wife, Gloria, and their new baby at home.
Instead, he took this detour and has been waiting for me. I invite Bill to come and join my family and friends up the hall. He protests that he doesn’t want to crash my party, so I ask him if he didn’t hear me say the gathering included my
friends
, and I would be honoured if he, as my friend, would join me there. Walking up the hall together, Bill and I reminisce about many of the good times we have shared—and even a few that weren’t so good.

As Bill and I continue up the hall, I am greeted by the ushers and hallway attendants I have seen many times over the years. They have remained at their posts just long enough to wish me well before they punch out. With each hand I shake and warm smile I receive, I am brought one step closer to communion with the man in the mirror I left in the dressing room a few short minutes ago.

As I walk into the party at the Lexus Club, I finally confront the depth of my reflection face to face. The wall is down at last, and I can see clearly into my heart, where I find the answers to the questions that have eluded me. My first answer comes in the misty eyes of my dear wife and soulmate, Kathy, whose tight embrace sends a statement that I had been away from her far too long and our time had now come. I get more insight from the adoring eyes and loving words that each of my children offers me. They all connect with me in a very distinct and special way in our moments together. It is as though they are telling me, “It’s okay, Dad, that you had to be away so often. We understand, we love you so much, and are so proud of you!” The next generation greets me with the innocence and tenderness that melts the heart of every proud grandparent as they jump into my arms and squeeze me tightly around the neck.

As I look beyond my family, I see more than a hundred friends greeting my entrance into the room with applause. Perhaps even more important, they are applauding the newly acquired blessing of time, knowing that Kathy and I will be able to be more active
participants in their lives as friends. Yes, I have found the answer to my questions. It has only taken 30 years or more, but my search is over!

I have finally arrived at my destination. It’s time to let go.