The Final Call (21 page)

I responded, still with my head down, eyes focused on the cold ice under my skates, “I don’t know, Al. I’m really struggling tonight and don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Finally, I raised my eyes to see this coaching icon scratching his head, uncertain what to say. He stared back at me, silent for just a moment, then pressed his lips together and said, “Well, get the hell out there and try harder,” as if admonishing one of his players. Like a child who had just been scolded by his father, I responded, contritely and meekly, “Okay, Al, I’ll do my best.” We weren’t all that far from Notre Dame University, and I felt like I had just been told by Knute Rockne to go win one for the Gipper.

The fatherly treatment I received from a frustrated Al Arbour stood in total contrast to what I would encounter 10 years later, in a similar visit to the bench with Quebec Nordiques coach Marc Crawford (more on that later). I would, however, remember this lesson of respect and self-control that the veteran coach had demonstrated to me as a young referee. Al Arbour and Scotty Bowman were, without a doubt, the two best coaches I have ever known in the NHL.

Arbour retired from coaching after the 1994 season, after the Islanders were swept in the first round by the New York Rangers, who went on to win the Stanley Cup that spring. Al had won 739 regular-season games as the Islanders’ coach, and a banner bearing that number was later raised to the rafters of Nassau Coliseum. And on November 3, 2007, at the age of 75, Al Arbour was signed to a one-game contract and, at the behest of then coach Ted Nolan, took his place behind the New York bench to coach his 1,500th game. Al is the coach on record in a 3–2 win over the Pittsburgh Penguins, giving him 740 victories as an Islander. It was my good fortune to be the referee of that game, and I remained on the ice immediately afterward as the old banner was replaced with one bearing the number 1,500. Al was joined for the ceremony by the current players, his family, and Islanders alumni including Bryan Trottier, Mike Bossy, and Pat LaFontaine. On this particular night, the coaching legend didn’t have to call me over and tell me to “Get the hell out there and try harder.” He got the best I had to give; he deserved nothing less.

A
n hour up the New Jersey Turnpike from my home, there’s a sports complex that rises out of a swamp. Legend has it that a Devil once resided there.

When Dr. John McMullen purchased the Colorado Rockies and moved them to their new home at Brendan Byrne Arena in the Meadowlands in June of 1982, the only things that changed were the team’s name and geographical location. The Devils were still the same hapless group that posted a league-worst record of 18–49–13 in their final season in Denver. The New Jersey Devils made their debut with an almost identical 17–49–14 season—though the Pittsburgh Penguins and Hartford Whalers were even worse in 1982–83.

After a 13–4 shellacking at the hands of the Edmonton Oilers in their second season, Wayne Gretzky labelled the organization “a Mickey Mouse operation” that was “ruining hockey.” I worked an Oilers–Devils game in the Meadowlands a little later, and those Devils fans who showed up wore Mickey Mouse ears and shirts. I’m not quite sure whether they were in agreement with Wayne’s
statement or mocking him. Somebody was listening, however, and a coaching change was made. Billy MacMillan, who came over from Colorado, was replaced by a fire plug, Tom McVie. I first ran into Tommy in 1973 in Dayton, Ohio, when he was the playing coach of the Gems of the International Hockey League. Tommy’s voice always reminded me of the big cartoon rooster Foghorn Leghorn. McVie is a great guy and always seemed to keep things loose. I could hear that booming voice from anywhere on the ice when he would yell, “
BATTLE STATIONS, MEN—BATTEN DOWN THE HATCHES!”
When Tom took over the Devils that year, he had to keep his sense of humour, because his battleship was a leaking rowboat.

McVie’s replacement at the end of the season, Doug Carpenter, would benefit from some reinforcements added in the 1983 entry draft. Defenceman Joe Cirella and forwards John MacLean, Kirk Muller, and Pat “Beeker” Verbeek would form a good nucleus to build on. Beeker was born in my hometown of Sarnia, and played with a lot of grit and determination. His family farmed in the neighbouring town of Petrolia, and in 1985 Pat put his hand into the fertilizer machine to pull out a piece of a bag that had gotten stuck in the cutter. He didn’t pull his hand out in time and had his thumb cut off. Pat’s dad, Jerry, rushed him to hospital in London, 45 miles away, while Pat’s brother found the thumb, packed it in ice, and brought it to the hospital. Pat’s thumb was reconnected, and he was back on the ice that year. It was truly amazing. When I saw Pat in a game in New Jersey, I asked him if it was true that, because the thumb was so well fertilized, it grew back twice as long. He laughed, thank God. He was a very intense player and made an instant difference on that team.

As the Devils’ young players improved, so did their record, but the Patrick Division—with the New York Islanders and Rangers, Philadelphia, Washington, and Pittsburgh—was a tough one to move up in, and the Devils missed the playoffs in six of their first
seven years. That was all about to change when McMullen went outside the old boys’ club of coaches and general managers and plucked the saviour of the franchise from Providence College. Lou Lamoriello was the long-time hockey coach and athletic director at that school, and was a relative unknown outside the college scene. Lou became the Devils’ president and general manager just before the 1987–88 season, when New Jersey posted a winning record of 38–36–6 and made the playoffs for the first time, reaching the Wales Conference final against Boston. That series lives in infamy for the phrase “Have another doughnut!”

I was the referee at Chicago Stadium on April 3, 1988, the final day of the regular season, when the Devils clinched their playoff berth. Both New Jersey and the Rangers had 80 points heading into that last game, and during the game, the out-of-town scoreboard reported that the Rangers had shut out the Quebec Nordiques, 3–0. The Devils now knew they had to win in order to reach the post-season; a tie would not be enough. If both teams ended up with 82 points, New Jersey would make the playoffs because they had won more games over the course of the season.

It was an extremely hard-fought game, and the Devils were behind 3–2 until John MacLean tied it up halfway through the third period, off a rebound given up by Chicago goalie Darren Pang. At the other end, rookie goalie Sean Burke stopped a Rick Vaive breakaway late in the game that would have ended the Devils’ season. The third period ended with the score tied 3–3, and we were headed to overtime. John MacLean was the hero again, as he scored from the high slot on another big rebound, and the Devils bench erupted as the players jumped over the boards and mobbed MacLean and Burke. It was the biggest goal in franchise history to that point. The celebration was reminiscent of a Stanley Cup final. Coach Jim Schoenfeld went wild and hugged every player on the ice before they headed off to celebrate their victory in the bowels of Chicago Stadium. It wouldn’t be the last time that season that
Schoenfeld would let his emotions run wild. The next time, however, there would be a price to pay for his lack of control.

The Devils were a team possessed as they disposed of the first-place Islanders in six games and Washington in seven, putting them in the conference final. During that series, I found out the hard way that John MacLean used his hands for more than scoring goals.

Director of officiating John McCauley assigned me to Game Two in Boston on May 4. The Devils won the rough-and-tumble affair 3–2 in overtime, but before we reached that point a line brawl broke out when Bruins player Moe Lemay went hard to the Devils goal, bumping Sean Burke. The cavalry came to the defence of their goalkeeper, and linesman Gerry Gauthier was tied up with Willi Plett of the Bruins and Perry Anderson of the Devils against the boards in the end zone. Linesman Ron “Huck” Finn was trying to separate Lemay and MacLean, but they had dropped their gloves and were ready to rumble. Poor Huck Finn was on his own, so I came in from behind to grab Lemay and pull him out of the altercation just as the punches started. I moved around Lemay to tie up his right hand and skate him out of the exchange when, unfortunately for me, Finn didn’t realize that MacLean’s left hand was free. MacLean unloaded with his best shot from over the top. The closest head to the punch was mine—he drove me right in the freakin’ head. It staggered me momentarily, but thank heavens he was a better goal scorer than a puncher. I was still on my skates. More than anything, the punch just made me mad. I aggressively tied up Lemay and moved him out of there so that I wouldn’t have to take any more shots. When the dust settled, MacLean got 14 minutes in penalties and Lemay ended up with 17. Coach Jim Schoenfeld was sending a message to the Bruins and their coach, Terry O’Reilly, who had prevailed by a score of 5–3 in Game One. The Devils’ subsequent overtime win sent the series back to “The Swamp” tied at one game each.

The next dust-up of the series didn’t occur on the ice. McCauley assigned Don Koharski to referee Game Three, and the Bruins really put it to them by a score of 6–1. I don’t care what anyone says: if a referee misses one or maybe two calls in a game, it sure as heck doesn’t result in a 6–1 rout. The responsibility for that kind of shit-kickin’, especially in your home arena, needs to be readily accepted by the losing coach and his team. But the pressure of playoff competition makes people react in ways they normally might not. Schoenfeld let his emotions get the better of him and confronted Koho after the game in the hallway as he and linesmen Ray Scapinello and Gord Broseker were heading to their dressing room. Aside from the fact that it never should have happened, the confrontation became highly personal and very public as the television cameras rolled. Schoenfeld cut Koho off a bit, causing him to stumble into the wall. A shouting match ensued, and Koharski told Schoenfeld he was “Gone!” (The game was over—Koharski’s reference to “gone” meant a report to the president of the NHL, John Ziegler, would be written and suspension might result.) Schoenfeld fired the last salvo with the infamous line “Good, because you fell, you fat pig. Have another doughnut! Have another doughnut!”

NHL vice-president Brian O’Neill suspended Schoenfeld for Game Four. But, 40 minutes before the game, Judge James F. Madden of the New Jersey Superior Court granted Jim Schoenfeld a stay. Dave Newell was the referee assigned to work that game, with the linesmen from the third game, Scapinello and Broseker. Newell was the president of the NHL Officials’ Association and brought the association’s lawyer, Jim Beatty, with him to the game in the event that a legal opinion was required. Beatty’s presence certainly was needed, because Newell flatly refused to work the game if Jim Schoenfeld was behind the bench.

John Ziegler was out of the country on family business and unavailable for consultation about the incident. Instead, Bill
Wirtz, chairman of the NHL’s board of governors and owner of the Chicago Blackhawks, instructed McCauley to advise the officials that they would be fired if they did not take to the ice immediately. McCauley pleaded with Newell to work the game and let the matter be settled in court. Newell remained firm and would not allow the linesmen or standby official to work the game either. It was a show of solidarity for Koharski, who was back at his home in the Hamilton, Ontario, area by this point.

The game was delayed for over an hour. John McCauley’s efforts to broker a truce failed, and three amateur officials from the off-ice crew were pressed into service as replacement officials. Goal judges Paul McInnis and Vin Godleski served as referee and linesman, respectively, while official scorer Jim Sullivan worked as the second linesman. They officiated while wearing bright yellow practice jerseys. I don’t know what they got paid, but those poor guys earned every cent of it. The game turned into a free-for-all. It was a mess.

McCauley tried to referee the game from the penalty box, instructing the replacement crew. John’s two sons, 16-year-old Wes (now an NHL referee himself) and 12-year-old Blaine, were at the game with John and saw the stress their dad underwent as this bizarre situation unfolded. Gang warfare broke out; it was so bad at one point that Bruins coach Terry O’Reilly, one tough hombre when he played, challenged Devils players on the ice—as well as their coaches behind the adjacent bench.

While all this was going on, I was sitting in the comfort of my hotel room at the Detroit Marriott Renaissance Hotel, watching the game on ESPN. I was scheduled to work Game Three of the Western Conference final between the Red Wings and Edmonton Oilers the next night. I had already gotten a call from Newell, who said he, Scapinello, and Broseker had been fired and that Jim Beatty was trying to arrange a meeting in Toronto the next morning to restore peace. My crew would be advised as to our status
before game time the next day. I also got a phone call from Bill Clement, who was covering the game on air as a colour analyst and asked me what we were going to do. I informed Bill that we would not take to the ice in Detroit until our colleagues were reinstated. The stage was set to see who would blink first.