The Short, Nasty Life of Hockey Enforcers
They go by many names, some more flattering than others: goons, enforcers, policemen. Whatever you call these National Hockey League brawlers, they’ve been in the news lately for an unsettling reason. Derek Boogaard, Rick Rypien, and Wade Belak all passed away in recent months. Rypien and Belak apparently committed suicide, whereas Boogaard overdosed on drugs. A fourth, retired ruffian Bob Probert, died prematurely last year after a long battle with drug and alcohol dependence.
The media have been connecting the dots, beginning with the obvious fact that some hockey players suffer from too many blows to the head. Probert’s family donated his brain to the Sports Legacy Institute, whose researchers announced evidence that Probert had chronic traumatic encephalopathy. We’re growing accustomed to a fact somehow little recognized until recently -- football players and prizefighters often end up with scrambled brains. Hockey brawlers figure to be no different.
The media have also recognized a possible psychological aspect linking the recent deaths. To the casual observer, the idea of hockey toughs as unhappy may seem odd. Remember the movie Slap Shot? The Hanson brothers, the insouciant brawlers, steal the show from Paul Newman. And, in the real world, such “athletes” seem to be among the luckiest folks alive. Though lacking skills, they command handsome salaries and a degree of celebrity. All they have to do is what they enjoy doing anyway – slug away at one another from time to time.
Fortunately, not everyone is buying that skewed version of the goon’s life. To its credit, the New York Times recently debunked the idea that the hockey ruffian lives gloriously. The paper of record quoted former enforcer, Brant Myhres: “All people see is 20,000 people standing and cheering you on. They don’t see the dark times. They don’t see you curled up in a ball in a hotel room, scared to death for the next fight.”
You may be skeptical. Are these behemoths, made of brick and protected by helmets, really scared of anything? But anyone who doubts Myhres’ account probably hasn’t read the memoir of the sport’s most notorious goon, Dave Schultz. Shultz played lead villain for the Broad Street Bullies, the two-time Stanley Cup champion Philadelphia Flyers of the 1970s. The team’s violent styled stemmed from Coach Fred Shero’s realization that you gain a significant advantage when your unskilled players abuse the opponent’s skilled players. Of course, front offices did not stand idly by and watch the Flyers’ bullies pound on their stars. Teams acquired tough guys of their own, and Schultz got his comeuppance many times over.
His memoir, written with (by?) Stan Fischler, should have laid to rest misconceptions about the goon’s enviable existence. Especially for the high-profile hit-man, life can be brutal. You live with a target on your back. Fans hurl abuse (and, all too often) objects at you, opponents blind-side you. To maintain your reputation and value, you have to take on waves of younger (and ever larger) goons looking to make their mark at your expense. And in the cruel locker room world, teammates routinely remind you that your skill lies in something other than hockey. Meanwhile, fighting skills, just like more conventional athletic skills, fade over time. You get beat up increasingly often.
Schultz found it hard to play hockey, or even keep his sanity, when he spent his time on the ice “looking over my shoulder like a paranoid puckchaser.” He explained how the goon’s self-esteem, often low to begin with (since goons know better than to think of themselves as legitimate athletes), diminishes further along with their ability to throw punches. Schultz described suffering from “an endless nagging pain in and around my stomach that could otherwise be described as depression.”
Revisiting this book in the context of the deaths of the deaths of Probert, Boogaard, Rypien, Belak, gives one a keen sense of opportunity lost. Three decades ago, Schultz warned us that the macho hockey culture exacts a terrible price from those it superficially glorifies. That’s one more reason to abolish fighting from hockey.
