The Final Call (14 page)

Eric Lindros’s first game in the NHL was also the Flyers first pre-season game. The Flyers vs. Quebec Nordiques, the team The Big E refused to play for. September 1992.
PHOTO BY BRUCE BENNETT

The Great One vs. The Next One: opening faceoff in first game between Gretzky and Lindros at the Philadelphia Spectrum, 1992.
PHOTO BY BRUCE BENNETT

Relax
paesani
, I never said I didn’t like Italian food! With good friends, linesmen Pat Dapuzzo and Ray Scapinello, at Philadelphia Spectrum, November 22, 1992.
FRASER FAMILY COLLECTION

One of many cartoon caricatures by the incomparable Dave Elston spoofing my hair. 1994.
REPRINTED WITH PERMISSION OF THE ARTIST

Former President of the NHLOA, Assistant Director of Officiating, and friend Dave Newell presents me with my 1,000 game milestone award at Madison Square Garden as Kathy, Mom, Dad and all our children applaud (Kara’s going the wrong way!). December 6, 1996.
COURTESY OF BRUCE BENNETT

Tony Amonte deflected puck into my face in Chicago Stadium, 1997, resulting in broken nose, fractured tooth, seven stitches to lip
but not a hair out of place!
PHOTO COURTESY OF RAY GRABOWSKI
/
GRABOWSKIPHOTO.COM

The War Room calling again! December 9, 1997.
PHOTO BY ACTION IMAGE, MARK A. HICKS, COURTESY OF THE DETROIT RED WINGS

One of many intense debates with Chris Chelios. This one occurred in a 3–1 Blackhawks playoff loss to the Stars at Reunion Arena in Dallas, April 18, 1998. Like fine wine, Chris and I both mellowed with age.
STEPHEN DUNN / GETTY IMAGES

Fraser family in summer 2000 in front of Keenan’s old house. Back, left to right: Ryan, Matthew, me, Ian. Middle, left to right: Jaime, Kathy, Jessica, Marcie. Front: Kara and Muffin.
FRASER FAMILY COLLECTION

Picture commissioned by Kathy for my 1500th game. Artist Phoebe Darlington sketched highlights of my career. Pictured are four of the greatest players I refereed: Mario Lemieux, Wayne Gretzky, Guy Lafleur, and Mark Messier. Inset of my Dad taking me skating and the late John McCauley, friend and mentor. Pucks depict career highlights. Presented by Mark Messier at MSG pregame ceremony November 30, 2004.
ARTIST PHOEBE DARLINGTON—FRASER FAMILY COLLECTION

“I’m gonna fucking kill you! I don’t care who you fuckin’ think you are. Let’s meet outside in the parking lot, you fucking shitbag asshole!” [Fraser] immediately gave me a 10-minute misconduct, throwing me out of the game. It was too much. I took my helmet off and threw it at him.

—Theoren Fleury,
Playing with Fire

I
felt the anger well up in me as Fleury’s helmet landed at my feet. For a fleeting moment, I considered kicking it back at him. But I quickly regained my composure and my professional demeanour and ejected him from the game.

It was April 19, 1996, Game Two of a first-round series between the Calgary Flames and Chicago Blackhawks. The Hawks had won the first game, 4–1, and now, in the third period, were up 3–0 and were on the power play. In a corner of the rink, I could see Fleury slashing—in retaliation—at the Hawks’ Murray Craven. I assessed a penalty, which would again put the Flames two men down—and which triggered Theo’s outburst, in which he
threatened me with a passion that only men with nothing left to lose can muster.

It has always been my objective, in a game sometimes characterized by force and brutality, to show respect to all who cross my path, both on and off the ice. I believe that sportsmanship is key and that there is a certain baseline of conduct and comportment that one should never slip below. Unfortunately, there have been a number of times when I, as well as other players, have fallen prey to a crudeness, even a cruelty, that is way out of line.

Theoren Fleury has been on both the giving and receiving side of that equation. He always talked a big game, and wasn’t afraid to act on his claims if he thought it could benefit himself or his team. Calgary profited quite a bit from this fiery, controversial character and his great heart, speed, and grit, not to mention the goals he scored prolifically. Theo wouldn’t learn, however, until four years later, the venomous potency that words can have when aimed low.