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Giving Thanks

November 28, 2013, 9:37 AM ET [5 Comments]
Paul Stewart
Blogger •Former NHL Referee • RSSArchiveCONTACT
Unbeknownst to me, Thanksgiving 1977 was a turning point in my struggling professional hockey career. On that night, in a World Hockey Association game between the Birmingham Bulls and Cincinnati Stingers, a bully-laden Bulls team pulverized a bunch of undersized skill players on Cincinnati.

Shortly thereafter, the Stingers signed me to a contract to protect their skill players and provide some more toughness to the lineup. That was my entry into the WHA and, later, into the NHL.

Thirty-four years ago on Thanksgiving, I got to live out my ultimate boyhood dream. This native son of Boston not only had the opportunity to dress in a National Hockey League game, I got to do it at the Boston Garden as a member of the visiting Quebec Nordiques.

What's more, I earned a Dorchester Hat Trick in this game!

Hang on... you've never heard of a Dorchester Hat Trick, you say? Then you must not be from Boston or at least familiar with that traditionally rough-and-tumble area.

I'm sure you know what a Gordie Howe Hat Trick is -- one goal, one assist and one fight in the same game. Well, a Dorchester Hat Trick is three fights and the automatic game misconduct that comes with it.

On that night in my hometown, I fought Terry O'Reilly, Stan Jonathon and Al Secord in succession. I had a lot to be thankful for on that Thanksgiving.

I'm not being facetious here. As a hockey player with rather limited natural ability, I had to fight the odds (usually quite literally) just to play minor league hockey in the NAHL and AHL. The odds were even steeper against making it to the WHA, much less to the NHL. But I managed to do all of that because win or lose, I was fearless and willing to do whatever it took to stay in the game.

My role was to be an enforcer and drop the gloves. But an enforcer also needs people to help him establish his reputation. People nowadays scoff at the idea that there ever was a "code" among fighters, but there truly was. Part of that code was that, once you were an established fighter, you would oblige a new kid on the block by giving him a chance to prove himself.

To those who don't like or understand hockey, especially the old-time variety, it may be strange to wrap your mind around the notion that someone is doing you a favor by fighting you. But it's true.

Once a fighter earned his stripes as a recognized NHL tough guy and became a regular in the lineup, he was able to fight less. He could reserve the fisticuffs for situations where a teammate needed to be defended or in which his team listless and there was a chance that a fight could light an emotional spark.

Fighting an unknown was much more of a risk to the established enforcer than to the aspiring one who challenged him. The unknown guy had a reputation to gain, even if the fight was indecisive or he held his own but the big-name guy ultimately won. The other guy was fighting to protect his own reputation, and a dismissive wave-off of the challenge was an even bigger insult to the upstart than if they dropped the gloves and the established guy beat the dog out of him.

I am proud to say that I held my own in all three of my fights that night. O'Reilly was a legend and Jonathan was an undersized player in terms of height but was, pound-for-pound, one of the strongest and toughest sonofaguns in the game.

It was people like O'Reilly who were the truly elite tough guys in the NHL, and who gave someone like me the chance to be perceived as a tough guy because I sought him out and fought him was something that I was legitimately very grateful about then and now.

The only thing that could made that night better for me is if my team had won the game. Alas, as was usually the case on the Bruins' smaller-than-standard home ice on those days, the Boston team was a little too much for the visiting side.

In a future blog, I will tell the story of my first NHL training camp in 1976 as an aspiring member of the New York Rangers (I never made it to NHL with them, unfortunately, but it wasn't for lack of trying). For now, what I will say is that my big goal at camp was to prove myself with Nick Fotiu -- another legendary NHL tough guy, and perhaps one of the best fighter ever -- and to show the organization that I might have the potential to be an NHL enforcer.

I didn't give my roommate Nick much choice in the matter and I didn't succeed in beating him, but I was the persistent type and I learned some things from him. Again, I am grateful just for the opportunity I had to be in an NHL camp and to try and show that I belonged.

Going back a little bit earlier than that, I am also thankful to Dave "the Hammer" Schultz and the other members of the Broad Street Bullies for how they treated me when I was a student-athlete at the University of Pennsylvania, working and training at the Class of 1923 Skating Rink where both the Flyers and the Penn hockey team practiced.

I have to be honest here. I didn't always like some of Dave's fighting methods, such as taping his fists, and sometimes resorting to things like pulling hair and/or headbutting. I did enjoy some of his flair and showmanship. On a personal level, there are no mixed feelings whatsoever. Schultz was always extremely nice to me -- approachable, friendly, and willing to share of his knowledge and experience as the NHL's most prolific enforcer.

During the Flyers' Cup years, there were times in Philadelphia where Dave's individual popularity rivaled that of even Bobby Clarke or Bernie Parent. He was a local celebrity during my college years in Philly, and yet he (and the other Flyers, from coach Fred Shero on down) were humble and gracious people who were helpful to me.

Years later, when Schultz was with the Penguins, I played against him in a preseason game. We came together in the corner. Schultz had privately grown pretty tired of constant fighting by that late stage of his career but needed to in order to stay in the game. Recognizing me, he winked and grinned. I couldn't help but laugh. I wasn't going to force the issue in this situation.

Moments later, a diminutive Penguin gets in my face -- actually, my neck -- and starts yapping at me. He should have had a frothing chihuahua crest on his chest instead of a hockey-playing Penguin. I told the player to get a stool if he wanted to fight me. The Napoleon wannabe was a player named Colin Campbell.

If ever there was a harbinger during my playing career of what my future life would be like as a longtime NHL referee, this was the moment.

Anyway, while I did not fight Schultz in that situation, I would have done so if the situation were a little different. I liked and respected him too much to force him into a fight he didn't really want for his own reasons.

One player whom I never would have wanted to fight was the New York Islanders' Clark Gillies. Not even in my own grandest delusion of grandeur do I think I would have stood a chance in a fight with him. He was strong as an ox, knew how to fight and packed a wallop.

Gillies didn't even fight that often, because he didn't have to. He quickly got the reputation as someone not to challenge, and there weren't very many players -- even one like me -- who dared to tangle with him. That, to me is the ultimate tough guy: One who is so tough that he doesn't even need to fight except when absolutely necessary.

A few years ago, I had a chance meeting with "Jethro" and told him that he was the one player I was legitimately unwilling to fight. He smiled affably.

"You would have destroyed me," I said.

"Maybe," he said. "But you would have gotten up ten times and kept coming back at me."

I will wrap this blog up by saying a collective thank you to all the hockey world's true tough guys who let me have a chance at being admitted to their fraternity. As an NHL referee, I tried to pay it forward by recognizing when a young player wanted the same shot I'd once been given and when a more established opponent was giving him a chance to fight him.

No "giving thanks on Thanksgiving" blog would be complete without once again expressing my debt of gratitude to people like John McCauley and Scotty Morrison for believing that I could make a second NHL career as a referee and painstakingly teaching me how to be a referee through their wisdom and guidance. There were others who helped me along the way, too, but it started with them.

Along with my late father and grandfather, there are many times when I hear the voice of John McCauley talking to me. It is a very powerful and deeply personal sensation, but they still guide me to this very day. Last and most certainly not least, I am grateful to my wife and my children. They are the reason why I am alive today and still fighting the good fight.

Happy Thanksgiving! I will be back blogging on Monday.

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Recent Blogs by Paul Stewart

A Slap Shot Story: My Day as a Long Island Duck

Officiating Without Fear

Referees and Maitre D's

Accountability, Acceptability, and Reputation Penalties

Uniformity: The Tuck Rule and Related Matters

A Challenge to the Hockey Media

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Paul Stewart holds the distinction of being the first U.S.-born citizen to make it to the NHL as both a player and referee. On March 15, 2003, he became the only American-born referee to officiate in 1,000 NHL games.

Today, Stewart is a judicial and league discipline consultant for the Kontinental Hockey League (KHL) and serves as director of hockey officiating for the Eastern College Athletic Conference (ECAC).

The longtime referee heads Officiating by Stewart, a consulting, training and evaluation service for officials, while also maintaining a busy schedule as a public speaker, fund raiser and master-of-ceremonies for a host of private, corporate and public events. As a non-hockey venture, he is the owner of Lest We Forget.

Stewart is currently working with a co-author on an autobiography.
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