I don’t know if you heard, but George Parros traveled to Pittsburgh to watch the Penguins and Capitals first hand after what transpired in Game 2. What he got was a firsthand account of his gross negligence. George Parros is the head of the NHL’s department of player safety. I know, it’s 2018 and we have a goon heading up that department. It still looks as idiotic as it sounds.
Tom Wilson is going to do what Tom Wilson is going to do. He is never going to change. He does not care. Why should he? There are never any repercussions for his reckless behavior. His latest incident left Zach Aston-Reese with a broken jaw and concussion. Aston-Reese needs surgery and his season is over. People will get into semantics over the “principle point of contact”, but it is all nonsense to anybody with a set of functioning eyeballs. Even if Wilson did lightly graze Aston-Reese’s shoulder first the main point of contact was his head. Unless of course the base of the head of the humerus bone magically ripped out of its own socket and delivered a blow to Aston-Reese’s jaw on its own. The physics involved there would probably be something only somebody from Princeton would understand.
Some people will get mad at Barry Trotz and Alexander Ovechkin for their comments calling it a good shoulder to shoulder hit. Their opinion doesn’t matter because it isn’t actually an opinion. It’s a robotic response. The players and coaches are programmed when they hit the NHL to never admit to one of their own doing something out of line. It’s immaterial and quite frankly a waste of time to work up your cortisol levels.
The real issue is George Parros and his band of idiots. They are accomplices to further brain injury by facilitating an environment where everybody knows there is no accountability. Substitute teachers have better command of their environment than these buffoons. The Portland Trail Blazers had a better gauge of Michael Jordan’s value. Even Peter Chiarelli has a better handle on trade value than these guys have on keeping players safe.
I can’t help, but think of one of the most memorable conversations from Breaking Bad between Mike and Walt about not taking half measures. The league might as well be the National Half Measures League (NHML).
Mike: I used to be a beat cop, a long time ago. I'd get called on domestic disputes all the time. Hundreds, probably, over the years. But there was this one guy, this one piece of shit that I will never forget. Gordie. He looked like Bo Svenson. You remember him? Walking Tall? You don't remember?
Mike: Anyway, big boy, 270, 280 but his wife or whatever she was, his lady was real small, like a bird. Wrists like little branches. Anyway, my partner and I'd get called out there every weekend and one of us would pull her aside and say: "Come on, tonight's the night we press charges." This wasn't one of those "deep down, he loves me" setups. We got a lot of those, but not this. This girl was scared. She wasn't gonna cross him, no way, no how. Nothing we could do but pass her to the EMT's, put him a car, drive him downtown, throw him in a drunk tank. He sleeps it off, next morning, out he goes. Back home. But one night my partner's out sick, and it's just me. The call comes in and it's the usual crap. Broke her nose in the shower kind of thing. So I cuff him, put him in the car and away we go. Only that night we're driving into town and this sideways asshole is in my back seat humming "Danny Boy." And it just rubbed me wrong. So instead of left, I go right, out into nowhere. And I kneel him down and I put my revolver in his mouth and I told him, "This is it. This is how it ends." And he's crying, going to the bathroom all over himself. Swearing to God he's gonna leave her alone. Screaming, much as you can with a gun in your mouth. And I told him to be quiet. That I needed to think about what I was gonna do here. And, of course, he got quiet goes still and real quiet. Like a dog waiting for dinner scraps. Then we just stood there for a while, me, acting like I'm thinking things over and Prince Charming kneeling in the dirt with shit in his pants. And after a few minutes, I took the gun out of his mouth and I say, "So help me, if you ever touch her again I will such and such and such, and blah, blah, blah."
Walt: It was just a warning?
Mike: Of course. Just trying to do the right thing. But two weeks later he killed her. Of course. Caved her head in with the base of a Waring blender. We got there, there was so much blood you could taste the metal. Moral of the story is I chose a half measure when I should have gone all the way. I'll never make that mistake again. No more half measures, Walter.
I am certainlyt not condoning running over George Parros with a car like a certain individual did after this conversation, although George oversees many collisions that might as well be car accidents on a nightly basis.
Some people will think the proper full measure would be to goon it up in return and take runs at scumbags like Tom Wilson. This isn’t true. The only full measure is to take player’s money away.
“They don’t get paid in the playoffs”
Take it from their next year’s salary. I don’t care. Money is the only thing that will keep these players in line. I’m sick and tired of taking a bat to this gross pile of goopy mass that used to be a horse. The answer is so simple. Ban all head shots and hammer the players’ wallets. That is the full measure needed to secure the safety of the NHL’s players.
Those who fight against this are like the soldiers that talk a big game about the things they did while on active duty. You know those people are frauds. The people that are actually tough and saw real shit would never talk like that. Could you imagine Major Richard Winters speaking in those tones?
This applies to the writers and fans who view player violence like an erotic fetish. They are fake tough. They are the people that overcompensate by having fake testicles hang from their over the top pickup truck that isn’t ever used for any meaningful work. You know the type. Insecure and loud.
Stop catering to these degenerates and most importantly stop hiring them.
George Parros and the department of player safety can go to hell along with the people who make excuses for them. You’re all gross.
Thanks for reading!