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Clutching and Grabbing: The Life and Times of BD Gallof....Part 3 |
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FISTS OF FURY
Not many know how easy it is to get from Detroit from Buffalo. It takes me 4 hours to by going through Canada and around Lake Erie. Going from Buffalo to Detroit is a complete change in hockey weather. The mean streets of Detroit, Hockeytown, require thicker skin and a toughness that the Eastern Conference simply has not yet matched. You need a jockstrap in Hockeytown. Maybe a steel cover slipped in also to protect yourself also. Detroit doesn’t kid around, and neither does Calgary, their opposition. Between the two, it will be a human pinball of pucks, sticks, fists and blood. Think of Grindhouse, but instead of Quentin Tarantino and Robert Rodriguez, it is Playfair and Babcock, the coaches to a grizzled bunch of animals, seething for blood and guts. You might half expect Hasek to remove his robotic leg to machine gun the Calgary offense.
But not all of Calgary is violent. I recall having a drink with Calgary backup goalie, Jamie McClennan back when the playoffs first started. Not many know this, but McClennan is actually studying to be a Tibetan monk. He meditates often and is known for finding small insects and capturing them, then letting them go outside as he skips merrily through the streets. He sometimes sings carols door to door with Jerome Iginla, who comes over to drink hot tea and eat biscuits every Sunday morning, discussing peace and happiness..
Jamie once said to me, as he closed his eyes, trying to make the tea bags float into the air from the table, “Fear is the path to the dark side. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering,”
Such deep insightful words from a peaceful man. John Lennon, eat your heart out. Here was a man who would not be swayed from the physical violence of a Detroit/Calgary series. No matter how crazy it got. And crazy it got in the 2nd period in that game, when the scores and fists went flying.
No man was more excited than Pierre McGuire, NBC’s analyst, who despite a career of soft European hockey, seems to love all sorts of drama…yet has made many arguments for the removal of fighting in hockey. Pierre sat sweating between two benches as they snarled at one another for 60 minutes of pure mayhem. His throat raw from screaming for help, he hides under the seat when the cameras aren’t on him.
Between the second and third period, Pierre swings by, having spied me laughing at him from directly behind his seat.
“You know”, he sniffs, “You are not supposed to smoke in the building.”
He has the NBC staff serve him lunch, removing the poor auto working fan who was sitting beside me. An intern sweeps and then vacuums his seat. Another attaches a bib around Pierre’s neck. Pierre puts on two white gloves, and is served a covered silver platter. He opens it up and eats some croissants.
“I do know that you completely disagree with my stance on hockey fighting,” he says, with French pastry hanging from his lip.
“That’s right, Peppy,” I respond, blowing the smoke from a La Aurora Preferidos into his face making Pierre turn a shade of green, “I don’t believe in the neutering of a sport, especially when the excuse if that the American audiences won’t stand for it. The American audiences have made Ultimate Fighting like the UFC even bigger than Wrestling and Boxing. So it’s a load of bunk, my snarky friend.”
“Listen, Gallof, please don’t blow that horrid stuff in my face. It will give me hives, or something worse,” Pierre complains. “Oh intern, please fan me.”
I can’t stand anymore. I slap Pierre across his face.
“Wake up man!” I shout, as he starts sobbing. “There is a whole world that wants physicality and pugilistics in their hockey games.”
The crowd roars its approval.
“Mommy!” Pierre cries.
I blow more smoke on him and I walk away. I need to refill my beer, but before I can get to the exit, Pierre McGuire run up behind me and throws himself onto my back.
“Get back here you fat bastard!” he screams.
We fall down into the seats. Pierre’s white gloves begin raining down on me. Each fist making my head ring and blood spray up in the air. Last thing I see his Pierre’s maniacal grin and beady eyes as I fall into darkness.
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