Thread: MLA mini-bio

Several SRP members have recently contacted me regarding my NHL career seeking clues and hints about my identity. I post this message in an effort to allow you to get to know me a little whilst protecting my privacy, which is every SRP Member’s privilege, and one I choose to exercise.
Growing up as a fairly typical Canadian kid in 1960s northern B.C., all I ever wanted to do was play hockey. Sound familiar? My abilities gave me the opportunity to play collegiate hockey in the U.S.A. Upon graduation (double major: history and psychology with a teaching certificate) I reported to an ECHL team that had a working agreement with my parent NHL club, but the dream remained a constant in the foreground of my mind. That dream came true in the late autumn of 1981 when I was called up for my first NHL game against the defending Stanley Cup champion New York Islanders at the old Nassau Coliseum. My first shift was noteworthy for the fact that I did nothing at all. I recall my assignment was to keep Jethro (Clark Gilles) and Bob Nystrom out of the crease. As we were all big boys that presented quite a challenge! Bossy lit us up for 2, Trottier had 3 assists, and Jethro and I fought to a draw in the 2^nd period. By the way, we lost 5-2.
The decade of the 1980s is when I truly learned how to play the game. I had to learn to cope with the inhuman speed of Gartner, the awesome agility of Savard, the foresight of Gretzky, the grittiness of Claude Lemieux, and the brilliance of SuperMario. I never saw myself as a prototypical “tough guy” in the sense that fighting was not my first love. I really thought myself a “hard guy”: strong defencively, capable of chipping in offencively when the opportunity presented itself, and willing to foil up and drop ‘em to defend my goaltender. The men I fought in that decade constitutes a “Who’s Who” of NHL baddies: the aforementioned Gilles, Dave Schultz, Dave Semenko, Cam Neely, Chris Nilan, Mark Messier, Harold Snepsts, Joe Kocur, Bob Probert, Craig Berube, Marty McSorley, and Dirk Graham to name a few. Pound for pound the overall toughest guy I ever fought was my buddy Stumpy Thomas: he just didn’t ever give up! I won some, and didn’t others.
In the 1990s – the latter half of my 16-year career – saw my pugilistic endeavours in decline: I was getting older, and the reigning goons were a whole lot younger. Fortunately, I’d acquired a reputation as a guy who wouldn’t shy away, and to an extent that protected me from all but the most eager cup of coffee looking for a permanent spot on a team. I think back to how many face washes I gave in those days, which usually ended it right there.
I recall my last game in the spring of 1997. My family and best friends were all in attendance as we lost in the playoffs. After 16 years and two NHL teams the ride was over. No Stanley Cup for me. My first year of retirement was the weirdest 365 days of my life. I visited saloons almost daily, and nearly bought one. Women came and went out of my life with surprising regularity. I just wasn’t a very nice guy to be around. When the 48^th Highlanders of Canada ushered the Leafs into their home opener that October I could hardly watch, even though I was in attendance. My father, sitting next to me at MLG, put his arm around me and told me of the pride which filled him every shift I took in my career. He stated that his biggest regret was not teaching me to duck! Time and the sport moved on without me. I spent the rest of the 1990s and early 2000s in graduate school completing my M.S. in psychology, and five years ago I settled semi-permanently at my fishing cottage on Lake Michigan. The northern B.C. winters just became too much for my arthritic joints and healed broken bones. I hope to be able to return to my home in B.C. in the near future when my health permits.
I fill my days with fishing, hunting, ferrying SWMBO to work and back on my bike – which usually leads to me riding along Lake Michigan’s spectacular coastline, watching baseball, football and hockey, and repeatedly declining the same coaching offers year after year from local amateur teams. I haven’t been on the ice in 2 years, and I love it! No more locker room BS from the guy who “could’ve played pro except for …” Retirement has been very good to me, and has allowed me the opportunity to treat every day of the year as a Saturday. No boss, no time clock, no phone, no BS.
I truly enjoy the fellowship I’ve found here on SRP. I’ve met young men in their very early teens seeking wet-shaving guidance, senior citizens with decades of experience willing to share the wisdom of past mistakes, twice-per-week shavers like myself, and guys who take advantage of every opportunity to slay the 5 o’clock shadow. Honers, scalers, forgers, smiths, restorers, experts, novices, stroppers and Snafflers. Just about every trait of cutthroat and DE shaver may be found in our membership rolls. Moscow to Melbourne, Abilene to Aberdeen, Rochester to Rio de Janeiro, Winnipeg to Wales, Vancouver to Vladivostok: we’re all proud members of SRP! In that sense I’m no different than any of you.
Please don’t PM me for additional details. Your messages will be ignored.

Cordially,

MapleLeafAlumnus