Dear Hawks: Roenick, Belfour Belong In Your Rafters

CHICAGO --- It was 1996. I was 19 years old, without a care in the world.

I'd have to dig deep to know for sure, but somewhere, tucked away in a dresser or a box, there's a ticket to a Chicago Blackhawks Stanley Cup Playoff semifinal game that year which is so chiseled into my brain, it feels like yesterday.

Youngins, meet Ed Belfour, a Hall of Fame NHL netminder who was something to behold.



He was fit for the Old Chicago Stadium (You know, the original Madhouse on Madison?) like peanut butter goes with jelly, or like yin goes with yang.

In 17 NHL seasons, the man we knew as "The Eagle" appeared in 963 games. He compiled 484 regular season wins, had 320 losses and 125 ties or overtime/shootout losses. Belfour also posted 76 shutouts.

That's just the start.

In his rookie season of 1990-91, Belfour led the league in wins (43), games played (74), goals against average (2.47), saves (1713) and save percentage (.910). He captured the Calder, Vezina and Jennings Trophies, and would later lead the Hawks to the Stanley Cup Finals against the Pittsburgh Penguins in 1992. And he did some of this, until 1994 when the Hawks moved to the United Center, lest we forget, on a sheet of ice half the time that was smaller in size than the NHL rinks in use today.

Go look it up, friends.

Back to those playoffs I mentioned earlier. It's where Belfour was unlike any goaltender I have ever seen.

It was May 8, 1996, to be exact.

http://www.hockey-reference.com/boxscores/199605080CHI.html

The Hawks were in conference semifinals against the Colorado Avalanche and goalie Patrick Roy, who by the way, now owns the second most regular season wins in NHL history, with 551. Guess who -- yep Belfour -- is third all-time, with 484.

For 60, then 80, then 100 minutes, these two men went head-to-head the way Ali-Foreman did, the way Magic and Bird used to. These games, back then, they never got they hype other sports did.

Save after ridiculous save, by the time they got to the second overtime, not only was my voice gone, but my nerves were shot. Literally.

Belfour made 54 saves that night. The more he made, the more the crowd roared. Trademark chants of Ed-die, Ed-die ripped through the very same rafters guys like Kane, Toews, Crawford and Niemi have since made famous. The majority of saves were of the ridiculous variety against a team (Colorado) loaded with Hall-of-Fame worthy talent.

Do I have your attention now?

Belfour, folks, was far better than both Crawford or Niemi. His Butterfly style of goaltending was not only breathtaking and spectacular at times, but his cat-like reflexes and longevity, he often said, came from his affinity for training for triathlons.

And even though he only donned a Chicago Blackhawks jersey for seven-and-a-half-seasons, he posted a 35-28 postseason record while in Chicago alone, including three shutouts. Belfour played until age 41, compiling 88 total postseason wins, 14 of which were shutouts.

He was inducted into the NHL Hall of Fame in 2011. His defining moment came when he won a Stanley Cup with the Dallas Stars in 1999. Belfour then lost in the finals the following season.

Belfour's lone crime? He didn't win a Stanley Cup with the Hawks.

He probably should have, which is why I keep referring to that night.

Because you see, Belfour's destiny, for better or worse, is forever linked to that of one of his teammates that night, Jeremy Roenick.

Roenick, a center who donned the number 27 on his Indian Head jersey, almost won the game for the Hawks that fateful night, May 8 ... and 9th ... 1996.

In the second overtime, with the Hawks leading Colorado 2-1 in the series, the game tied 2-2, Roenick had a breakaway.

In the NHL playoffs, however, especially in the 1980s and 90s, referees would let your own mother steal $20 from you and not blow the whistle on her, so long as she were in overtime.

As Roenick raced across the blue line with a burst of adrenaline, several strides ahead of the nearest Colorado defender, myself and 20,000 other Hawks fans rose from their seats. You can bet your ass there wasn't a person there who didn't think Roenick was about to finish.



He was the Patrick Kane of our time, for lack of a better comparison. The one guy who when he touched the puck, electricity suddenly would engulf the building.

I don't recall who the defenseman was. But from that moment on, I never forgave the Colorado Avalanche. Roenick was blatantly tripped to the ice, and instead of a penalty shot giving the Hawks a chance to go up 3-1 in the series, the officials said "play on."

Below is video of that moment, clear as day. Does this look like it should've been a penalty shot to you? It wasn't, or so said the officials.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pW1aSTmwrOE

Boos ripped through the United Center for parts of the remainder of the period. Not at the Hawks, but at the inexplicable no-call. I feel like I'm still there as I type this, even.

Then, 4:33 into the third overtime --- the following morning now, at 1:30 a.m., a man named Joe Sakic broke my heart.

He scored a soft goal, of all things, between the legs of Belfour, tying the series, 2-2.

The Avalanche won the next two games after that, then the Stanley Cup.

Heartbreak for years, for this Hawks fan.

Because the following year, the Hawks chased Belfour out of town, trading him to San Jose for Jeff Hackett and Ulf Dahlen, I believe, never to be seen or heard from again locally, or so it seems.

And it's a damned shame.

Soon thereafter, we have the trading of Roenick to the Phoenix Coyotes for Alex Zhamnov, and the dismantling of what could've been a Hawks dynasty, with guys like Chris Chelios, Gary Suter and other now NHL legends left hung out to dry on Chicago's roster at the time.

When Hawks fans nowadays look back and wonder why there are so many stories about how the Hawks franchise almost collapsed in the early 2000s, this is the epicenter of where it all began.

Which is significant because the contributions of Roenick in a Hawks jersey from 1988-1996 were stunning. He's the last Blackhawks' player to score 50 or more goals in a season, a feat he accomplished with Chicago in both the 1991-92 (53 goals) and 1992-93 (51 goals) seasons. He followed that up with a 46-goal season in 1993-94, which was also his third consecutive 100-plus point campaign.

Roenick not only averaged more than a point per game as a Blackhawk, but also racked up 513 career goals and 703 assists in 1363 career games. In 82 playoff games in a Chicago uniform, Roenick tallied eight game-winning goals, while notching 122 total points in 154 career postseason games with four teams.

Incredibly, 15.8 percent of all shots Roenick took throughout his career found the back of the net, a staggering number given how often this man was in scoring position. He had 20 career short-handed goals, and a whopping 92 regular season game-winning tallies.

Yet he wasn't selfish, on or off the ice. He's 50th all-time with those 703 assists, and was well-known for always making time for kids. One time, during an NHL strike in the 1990s, I encountered Roenick, who had achieved rock star status, at a Chicago Wolves minor league hockey game.

As I approached Roenick, a bodyguard stepped in front of me. J.R., as he was known by us Hawks fans, pushed the bodyguard aside.

"Yes, young man?" Roenick said, before signing my Hawks jersey then rubbing the hair on my head.

I was starstruck. All the rumors I'd read at the time were true. He was at a Wolves game, right in front of my adolescent eyes.

For those of us who followed hockey at the time, seeing Roenick in such a public setting made him an "everyman" in the eyes of Chicago sports fans.

Which may have also been part of why he was unpopularly traded under former iron-fisted owner Bill Wirtz, as well-founded rumors had Roenick potentially fleeing to those same Wolves during a 1990s lockout. It was bad for business in an era when Wirtz refused to even televise Hawks home games.

Like Belfour, Roenick's only crime?

He didn't win a Stanley Cup with the Hawks.

Looking back, that night was the beginning of the end. That May 8, or should I say May 9, 1996.

Two careers linked to one moment, that triple overtime loss which I still contend, changed Chicago Blackhawks history forever.

Ed Belfour and Jeremy Roenick weren't Chicago Blachhawks for life for one reason alone, and that was the elder Wirtz and his stubbornness.

He was a businessman, not a hand-shaker.

But with time, comes perspective. There are six Blackhawks with their jerseys retired.

It's time we stop punishing the fact these two men, who epitomized what it meant to be a Chicago Blackhawk and NHL superstars, for the fact they were disliked by their owner at the time. Who forced both out of town over kneejerk reactions to situations that I still don't understand fully to this day.

Much like I call the Cubs out for needing to change their culture because of things like billy goats, cats, the '03 Marlins (I'm not using his name, give it a rest for a while) and nonsense like that, I too, am taking the Hawks to task and asking them.

Why aren't the numbers of Ed Belfour, #30, and Jeremy Roenick, #27, retired and resting in the United Center rafters?

When the Hawks won the Cup in 2010, on national TV, Roenick cried. Take a look. It's enough to make this Chicago fan tear up.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Vfo5xSAnfo

The man wanted more than anything not just to win a Stanley Cup, but to win it in Chicago. He was and still is, like Belfour, Chicago Blackhawk hockey, personified.

In this world, we are lucky in that we often have the chance to right our wrongs. Put the past away, Hawks. Your grudges, your disagreements. And if there are no longer any, all the more reason to invite these gentlemen back.

These men were among the best not just to ever don your red, white and black sweaters, but among the best players of all-time.

Do the right thing, Hawks. It's time.

Memo to Cubs' Epstein: Ozzie's your man

CHICAGO --- When you live in a city where suddenly Stanley Cups (yes, as in multiple) have sent fans into a sports revival, a town where Derrick Rose may or may not be the man to dethrone (or dare we dream play with) LeBron ... well then suddenly it reminds me of a saying.

It's yet another Matthew Broderick Ferris Bueller (a 1986 classic movie filmed in Chicago, youngins) quote I turn to which applies here.

"The extreme always seems to make an impression," Broderick said moments before ditching school as Bueller, then heading with his girlfriend and best friend to the Cubs game in the film.

That extreme, I'm here to say, needs to be the old Wizard of Oz himself.

That's right, former White Sox/Marlins/multiple World Series winning coach/manager and trash-talking foulmouth, tell-it-like-it-is skipper Ozzie Guillen.

The same one who helped end an 88-year title drought on the South Side of Chicago. The same one who wore out his welcome, forgot there was ever such a thing as political correctness. And perhaps quite accurately, got too full of his own hot air and was whisked out of Florida after a Marlin-sized divorce in their new ballpark with a team that flopped under huge expectations.

Ozzie is Chicago. He's lived here much of his life. He's every sports reporter's dream. And sometimes nightmare. He's a walking testament to First Amendment rights if there is a poster child for such.

He also was on the field as a third base coach for the Marlins that fateful night in late 2003, when Shocktober put the Cubs in the bullseye of the biggest Twilight Zone moment/controversy, if you ask me, in Major League Baseball History.

You doubt that? Name one bigger?

In the grand scale of things, the need for the Cubs to generate interest among its rapidly declining fan base is urgent. Gone are portions of the massive contracts of the likes of Alfonso Soriano and others, which weighed the North siders down like an anchor holds a boat.

The Bartman moment, as we call it, was a euphemism of the entire 100-plus years of Cubs futility. It was the Leon Durham ground ball. It was the black cat and Miracle Mets in 1969. It was the loss in the 1945 series, before most even knew what color TV was.

Think about that? It's been that long.

To blame an entire season on one man ... a man who, sure, should've known better (C'mon Steve, you're wearing a Cubs hat in the biggest moment literally in Cubs history, squeak out of the way a bit) ... well, it's asinine.

And that's been part of Cubs culture for too long.


Forget your rivalries, your biases, fans.

Winning teams don't let moments define them.

Or to quote Kevin Costner in the movie "Tin Cup":

"When a defining moment comes along, you either define the moment, or you let the moment define you."

What would've happened that night if Alou caught that ball? Or if Alex Gonzalez had fielded that grounder?

So many "what-ifs." The Cubs have let moment after moment define them.

It gets blamed on black cats ... even billy goats. A Cubs curse, they call it.

That's what over a century of losing does.

So I am here to tell Cubs general manager Theo Epstein, he of Moneyball fame:

Go for it.

With your team rebuilding, you have nothing to lose. Guillen has already said he will gladly manage the Cubs. He is the right guy to drum up interest, to re-invigorate a fan base for the right reasons.

If he gets too far out on his leash, you let him go. The risk is minimal. The potential reward?

Huge. Earth-shattering.

Say what you want about Guillen. He eats, lives, breathes and speaks baseball. He knows every aspect of the game. His experience, his passion ... don't ever underestimate that.

The man could be the potential missing puzzle piece to a masterpiece that would literally redefine Chicago history forever.

Your move, Theo.

Define the moment. Breathe life into Chicago Cubs baseball again.

Listen to Ozzie's words last week.

"All my kids ask me that, Guillen said. "Would you ever manage the Cubs if they asked? Hey, this is my business. This is my job. Of course I will.

"If I win in this town … I don’t know what they’re going to think about Michael and Oprah and Phil Jackson."

Breathe life back into Chicago Cubs baseball again, Mr. Epstein. Even if that breath happens to filled with a few occasional cuss words from the Oz.

Because rest assured, if he helps bring home a World Series, you'll be cussing too. All of you.

In fact, I promise.

2013 Blackhawks Are America's Team

CHICAGO --- I've watched the tape probably 100 times. And every time it gives me the same reaction it did when it happened live.

Laughter. Like a child, giggling.

Yes, when I see tape of the 2013 Chicago Blackhawks scoring two goals in 17 seconds -- in the final 1:16 of Game 6 of the Stanley Cup Finals -- the feeling of emotion that overcomes me is like a giant wave that's crested, then crashes down upon my sports-fan-of-a-heart.

Perfection.



You see, in 2010, when the Blackhawks won the Cup, I was about two minutes from home in my car, listening to it on the radio. Don't ask. There were overdue movies to be returned that night.

Perhaps that's why this time I waited weeks to write about the team I grew up loving. So I could appreciate it. Soak it in. Vicariously bathe in every moment of it and all its ridiculous glory. The city of Chicago, plagued with headlines that grow more troubling by the day, needed something like this.

That's not to say Boston, who went through some emotional times of its own in the weeks leading up to the NHL playoffs, didn't. And fortunately, the media wisely chose not to make this a manufactured "Boston vs. the World" scenario, following the horrific bombings that took place there earlier this year.

This game, this series, needed no additional hype. Because the two Original Six teams that took the ice treated spectators to a grandiose display of hockey the likes of which I hadn't witnessed in decades. Any other season, Boston walks away champs.

Not this time.

Not when the Hawks are literally in the midst of a mini-dynasty, having now tallied two Cups in the past three years.

Championship parades you see, have now become expected in the City of Big Shoulders. (Insert Cubs joke here). That's what this team, led by a grey-mustached hockey genius we simply call "Q," can do for your confidence.

Not only has Joel Quenville molded a group of young hockey players into a team that has captured the hearts and imagination of fans locally, but across the land.

Dare I say the Hawks have become "America's Team?"

As a writer, I can sense this from things I see. In our digital age, I see hockey fans from across the country on Twitter, Youtube, Facebook ... you name it, really ... supporting the Hawks. Giving
thumbs up and "liking" the Hawks, by the ton, so to speak.

People relate to the Hawks, who won with hustle, determination and effort as much as they did talent. Which is saying something, because this team is so talented, they've done the unthinkable.

Outside the United Center, A.K.A. the "Madhouse on Madison," there are statues of a couple of men you may have heard of. Bobby Hull, and Stan Mikita. A.K.A. the Michael Jordan and Scottie Pippen of their sport and era in Chicago, for lack of a better comparison for you youngsters, or even you bandwagon fans just now hopping on.

Funny thing is, the current Blackhawks roster has a couple of fellas who I guarantee you almost every person in the state of Illinois would recognize now walking down the street. That being center and Captain Jonathan Toews, and winger Patrick Kane.

The duo are the baby-faces of a franchise that, despite hoisting two Cups now, hasn't reached its peak yet. Mark my words.

That's also one more Cup than Hull and Mikita, for those keeping score.



I'm not suggesting Kane and Toews are better. But really, how do we define better? It's similar to current NBA arguments that rage currently about a fella named MJ and another named LeBron.

Say what you want about individual talent, but in my world, you play for championships. Otherwise, why even be out there?

I could go on and on about salary caps, or how the Hawks are in such great position still compared to 2010, when the league forced them to trade some of their top up-and-coming players. Or how deep their team is.

I could also ramble on and on about Corey Crawford, whose play was so valiant and underrated during the postseason that if he ever has to pay for food or drink in this town again, I want names.

But I won't.

Rambling is overrated. Winning, on the other hand, is not.

Feels nice to be the hammer and not the nail Chicago, doesn't it?

This hammer, however, seems intent on pounding hockey puck-sized nails into the coffins of the rest of the NHL's teams, no matter how talented they may be.

Kinda reminds me of the killer instinct another guy who played in the same building and won six rings had.

Just the fact the Hawks are the first team to defy the salary cap era's attempts to level the playing field should make Chicago fans giddy. They are now kind of the "anti-establishment."

They're the team that keeps rising above, when the NHL's owners keep trying to level the playing field --- yet failing.

How can you not root for that?

Like I said...

Mini-dynasty. America's Team.