The Final Call (34 page)

Prior to the start of the 1984–85 season, all the referees were invited to Bill Wirtz’s farm in an attempt to ease tensions that had resulted from the Lysiak–Foyt affair. The next time I saw Mr. Wirtz was in 1998 at the Winter Olympic Games in Nagano, Japan. I was seated with Kathy in the NHL’s VIP section; I had been assigned as the standby referee for the gold-medal game between Czechoslovakia and Russia. The VIP section was situated at centre ice in a very steep-stepped balcony. We were in the front row with a low railing in front of us. I stepped out to allow Mr. and Mrs. Wirtz into their seats, and Mr. Wirtz caught his foot and appeared to teeter on the brink of falling over the rail. I immediately grabbed him by his belt and yanked him backward into his seat. Most appreciative of my quick reaction, and a little embarrassed by his stumble, Bill offered me his thanks. Fortunately, his seat was right beside mine.

Our conversation led to Bill asking who I thought would win. I told him the Czech team was the best I had seen through the games that I had worked in these Olympics. He said, “I’m glad you said that, because I placed my money on them in Vegas. I made the mistake of losing Dominik Hasek once, and I’m sure not going to bet against him again!” Hasek shut out Russia 1–0 to win the gold, and Mr. Wirtz got some return on his initial investment in the Dominator.

While I loved working in the old building, the fans of Chicago have Bill Wirtz (and Jerry Reinsdorf, owner of the Chicago Bulls)
to thank for the beautiful new United Center, which opened in 1994. Long gone are the rough-and-tumble days of Chicago Stadium: my shoes no longer stick to the concrete, nor do I walk past the beer kegs to access my dressing room. Something, however, has a very similar flavour to my early years in Chicago. Under the direction of Bill Wirtz’s son Rocky, changes have been made and fans have returned in droves, and they’re as vocal and boisterous as ever. A new winning tradition has been established. Rocky Wirtz hired marketing guru John McDonough from the Chicago Cubs to serve as president of the team, Stan Bowman replaced Dale Tallon as general manager, and the coaching experience of Joel Quenneville replaced Hawk fan-favourite Denis Savard, who remains in the organization as a community ambassador—along with Blackhawks legends Bobby Hull, Stan Mikita, and Tony Esposito.

Stan’s father, Scotty Bowman, was hired as senior advisor of hockey operations. Scotty’s tremendous contribution to every organization he has worked for is well documented. His understanding of the game and all its facets is unparalleled. Maybe surprisingly to some, Scotty’s thirst for hockey knowledge is also unquenchable. Whenever I worked a game in his building, he would seek me out to ask a question. Usually, when a coach does this, it pertains to a call I had made the last time I had officiated a game involving his team. Not Scotty; he would ask about some play he had seen in one of the three games he had watched on TV the evening or two before, which included a late-night West Coast game. Scotty’s fingerprints are all over the Blackhawks organization.

In 2009–10, Chicago has all the ingredients for a championship-calibre team. The core of young players are surrounded by such quality veterans as John Madden, Patrick Sharp, and Marián Hossa. Their top defence pair of Duncan Keith and Brent Seabrook, combined with Brian Campbell, comprise a top three as good as any in the league. The two young Blackhawks superstars, Jonathan
Toews and Patrick Kane, have come of age and both have the ability to take over a game. Toews reminds me so much of Steve Yzerman, it’s uncanny. He hasn’t quite developed the “edge” or “look” yet, but I know he’s working on it. I recognized very early in the season that Jonathan would become a more “vocal and active” leader in his role as a 22-year-old captain.

On October 12, 2009, their rival the Calgary Flames were the guests at the United Center when they scored five goals in a span of just 4:30 midway through the first period to grab a commanding 5–0 lead and silence the usually raucous Madhouse crowd. John Madden got one back for the Hawks just before the teams went to the dressing room at the end of the first period. The momentum shifted and the crowd reignited when Patrick Kane scored at 7:37 of the second period, and assisted on two other Hawks goals and brought them within one goal of the Flames. Sandwiched between Kane’s goal and one by Dustin Byfuglien, however, was a goalie interference penalty to the Hawks’ Troy Brouwer when he charged hard to the Calgary goal and knocked Flames goalie Miikka Kiprusoff into the net. Fearing their comeback effort might be thwarted by the penalty, the young captain, Jonathan Toews, protested the obvious call vociferously with an attitude I had not seen from him since he had arrived in the league. He got a little fatherly attitude back when I said, “Son, I was calling that a penalty in this league when you were in diapers, so I think you better be a little more respectful and pick your spots when and how to complain.”

The very next stoppage in play Jonathan came to me and apologized for his conduct and admitted he had crossed the line. This young star, mature beyond his years, has not only earned the respect of all of his teammates, but on this particular night from the most senior referee in the NHL. The Chicago Blackhawks came from behind to tie this game as they also scored five consecutive goals and then won it 26 seconds into overtime on
defenceman Brent Seabrook’s goal. It demonstrated to me, very early in the season, just how poised this Hawks team was to make a run at the Cup.

I watched the Blackhawks toy with Edmonton on January 26 in Rexall Place. The Hawks owned the puck, and I couldn’t help but think of it as a game of keep-away on a frozen pond. Kane, in particular, skated throughout the entire Oiler zone, from blue line to goal line, and no one could get the puck away from him. The Hawks reminded me that night of the Oilers of the early 1980s. At the end of the game, as I made my way off the ice, Hawks coach Joel Quenneville walked alongside me. I pointed up to the rafters, where all the Oiler greats’ retired jerseys hung, including Gretzky’s, Messier’s, Kurri’s, Anderson’s, and Coffey’s. I asked Quenneville, “When you were playing, do you remember chasing those guys around the ice when they were still kids?”

“That’s why they’re up there,” Joel replied with a grin.

I said that it was now the Oilers’ turn, along with everybody else in the league, to chase
his
group of young stars. He acknowledged they are fun to coach, and I acknowledged they are fun to watch.

After my final game at the United Center, Quenneville would be chasing
me
—out of the building into the parking lot.

The line of fans waiting to get into the United Center for this afternoon’s game was as long as the one that circled the entire block for the 10 a.m. Mass at Holy Name Cathedral in downtown Chicago. The Blackhawks were looking to clinch first place in the Central Division, while the visiting Calgary Flames were fighting for their playoff lives. The pressure on one team, at least, was relieved when it was announced that Philadelphia had beaten Detroit, 4–3, handing the division crown and a preferred playoff seed to the Hawks. But you wouldn’t have known it; the
Blackhawks looked like the more desperate team, as if they were the ones clawing for a spot in the post-season tournament. I got the sense of a team that is turning on the afterburners at just the right time.

The announced crowd of 21,537 (9.2 percent higher than the official capacity of 19,717), gearing up for a long playoff run, was using this game as a tune-up for when the “real season” began just over a week later. The outcome was in little doubt as Tomas Kopecky put Chicago ahead just 2:56 into the game. The Hawks snuffed out the Flames’ hopes as Troy Brouwer scored a back-breaker with just 56 seconds left in the first period. When Patrick Kane put the Blackhawks ahead 3–0 at 15:32 of the second period, I could see the shoulders of the Calgary players and coaching staff sag. Ian White put the Flames on the board a minute later, but Chicago wouldn’t slow down. Dustin Byfuglien scored for the Hawks late in the third period to put the cap on a convincing 4–1 win.

I was just relieved that big guy they call “Buf” shot the puck at the net and not at me, as he had in a previous game. On that night, he was about to carry the puck into the attacking zone and decided he would dump the puck in hard and get off the ice for a line change. His head was down the whole time, looking at his skates and the puck. I anticipated a dump-in and moved a good 15 feet off the side boards as I backed to the top of the end zone faceoff circle to allow Buf to ring the puck in around the boards. Instead, he pounded it right at me without looking and hit me in the thigh. It really stung and left a huge bruise. I just raised my two hands to him in a confused gesture as if to suggest,
What the hell are you doing?
At the first stoppage I went over to the Hawks’ bench and said, “Buf, the rink is 85 feet wide. I occupy two feet of it, which leaves you with 83 feet of available space to shoot the puck. Can you advise me where the safest place would be for me to stand when you shoot it?” With his head half down and an embarrassed look on his face, Dustin Byfuglien said, “Your safest place would probably be by the net.”

Leaving United Center ice for the last time, I paused to take one final look as the crowd remained on their feet and cheers continued to erupt, even after the Blackhawk players had left the ice. While the fans hung around, I had no time to linger. I had to shower quickly and rush off to the airport on this Easter-Sunday afternoon to catch a flight home. I said some final goodbyes before joining my crew in the parking lot. Just as I was getting into the rented SUV, I saw Joel Quenneville running out of the building, shouting my name. I found it rather unusual for a winning coach to be yelling in the parking lot, but after 30 years I don’t take anything for granted. As I greeted Joel, he gave me a big hug and said, “They told me inside that you had left. I’m glad I didn’t miss you. I just want to congratulate you on a fantastic career. You have been tremendous for the game and it will miss you.” I was so touched that Joel would make this kind of special effort for me. I knew he would be delivering an emotional post-game address to his players for clinching first place in the Central Division; followed by media interviews he would have had to accommodate, yet he sprinted out of the building to bid me farewell. While the game will certainly survive without me, I will miss interacting with people such as Joel Quenneville, the fans cheering through the national anthem, and the big ship’s horn over my head, sounding every time the Chicago Blackhawks score another goal.

While this book was being edited, Game Six of the Stanley Cup final took place at the Wachovia Center in Philadelphia. At 4:06 of overtime, with the score tied at three, Patrick Kane shot the puck from an impossible angle, it eluded Flyer goaltender Michael Leighton … and promptly disappeared under the protective fabric that lines the base of the net.

For a brief moment, Kane seemed to be the only person in the world who knew what had happened. The goal judge didn’t turn on the red light, and referee Kelly Sutherland, who was forced out of position while avoiding player traffic, didn’t point to indicate the puck was in the net. The clock continued to tick as Kane made a beeline toward goalie Antti Niemi. Finally, after a few seconds of confusion, the whistle blew, and after a brief review it was official: the Chicago Blackhawks had claimed the Stanley Cup for the first time since 1961.