Earlier today, I saw a list of National Hockey League players who played a thousand or more regular season games in the league.

How many players have had the opportunity to suit up for an NHL team since the league formed in 1917?  Five thousand?  Can’t be that many, seeing that for twenty-five years, there were only six teams in the circuit.  Before 1942, when there were more teams in the league, how big were the rosters?

Whatever that number may be, as of Friday, November 13^th, 2009, from what I could see, only 238 players have played at least 1000 regular-season NHL games.  One might expect the giants of the game to be on that list, after all, you’d have to be pretty good to last that long in the world’s premier hockey league.  Or would you?  Maybe you just have to be good enough to stick around, just good enough to fill out the fourth line.

Gordie Howe leads the list with 1767 games under his belt during a 26-year NHL career, and that doesn’t take into account his years in the World Hockey Association.  Mark Messier follows Mr. Hockey, falling 11 games short of his total.  Ron Francis gets the bronze medal with 1731 games played, Chris Chelios has participated in 1644 games in the NHL…and possibly counting…and Dave Andreychuk sits in fifth spot with 1639.

The first three are Hall-of-Famers, Chelios will be one day if he ever decides to retire, and a good case can be made for Andreychuk to be there too.

Scanning down the list, most of the players listed near the top are Hall-of-Famers.  Scott Stevens, Ray Bourque, Larry Murphy, Johnny Bucyk, Steve Yzerman; just some of the names that pop out at you.  All of them great players during their tour-of-duty in the NHL.

But what about the plumbers, the spear-carriers, the lunch-bucket guys who turned a skill set based on limited talent and hard work into an NHL career that spanned over 1000 games?  When you think about it, it’s those guys that deserved the proverbial gold watch.  Most hockey fans probably would be unaware that they played that many games in the league.

How about defenceman Luke Richardson, who got into 1417 games over the course of his 20-year NHL career that was spent with 6 teams, including two stops in Toronto?  No-one should seriously consider Richardson for the Hall-of-Fame, but this steady D-man sits 22^nd on the list of games played.  Only 21 other players have a longer service record that Luke Richardson.  That’s gotta count for something.

Or how about, in 31^st spot, Doug Mohns, who played 1390 games spread over 22 years and five teams, most of them with the Bruins and Blackhawks well before the 1967 expansion?

And what about Dean Prentice (1378), or Ron Stewart (1353), or how about James Patrick (1280), or Marc Bergevin (1191)?

Marc Bergevin???

I remember a lot of hockey players, but this guy totally slipped my mind, until I saw him sitting at number 82 on the list.  Is he mostly remembered for his wacky sense-of-humour?

The 60^th overall draft pick of the Chicago Black Hawks in 1983, Bergevin played those 1191 games wearing the colours of the Black Hawks, (when they still went with Black Hawks, not Blackhawks), the Islanders, Whalers, Lightning, Red Wings, Blues, Penguins, Tampa again, and finally the Vancouver Canucks.

Reminds me of Mike Sillinger, who recently retired after putting 1049 on his NHL clock, playing for a record 12 different NHL franchises over 18 seasons.

Again, only 238 NHL players have reached the 1000 game mark, and Marc Bergevin and Mike Sillinger are two of them?  No offense intended to either gentleman, but both their names do not leap-to-mind when I think of long careers.

But I am wrong.  Very wrong.  Other foot soldiers that dodged bullets and made their Grand Mark on the game include Derian Hatcher, Curtis Leschyshyn, Gaetan Duschesne, Don Lever, Todd Gill, Dallas Drake, and Tie Domi?

Tie Domi got into 1020 NHL regular season games.  How did he manage that?  The dude could skate, and he had better hands than most enforcers.

Sitting at number 238, as of the day I checked the list, right on 1000 games, is Hockey Hall-of-Famer Bernie Federko, a magician with the puck during his heyday with the St. Louis Blues.

Mark Recchi of the Boston Bruins leads all active players with 1500 games played, and that’s good for 14^th on the list.  And what a career he’s had.  Think of those early years with the Penguins, and then his point-scoring explosion while a member of the Philadelphia Flyers.  Good enough for the Hall-of-Fame?  He’s at least in the discussion.

A thousand games in the NHL?  That’s an accomplishment to be proud of.

- Mick Kern

Mick Kern appears courtesy of Live From Wayne Gretzky’s

Mick Kern appears courtesy of Live From Wayne Gretzky’s

Saturday afternoon.  3pm eastern standard time.  Nap time for some of us.  But not this afternoon.

On this particular dull, metal gray afternoon, naps would have to wait.  Mommy was busy preparing some broccoli salad concoction for a gathering of the clan later that evening.  Daddy and Son were busy, preparing to take the bus (and subway, and then another subway) to downtown Toronto.  We had been to Cooperstown this past August, and I felt it would be appropriate to finish the year by visiting the Hockey Hall of Fame.

Growing up in Alberta, most of my hockey knowledge was gleaned from the back of O-Pee-Chee hockey cards, dusty old hockey biographies checked out from the school library, and the occasional chance to read a copy of The Hockey News.  When Scholastic Books began offering selections such as Hockey Stars of 1974 by Stan Fischler, I felt like I had found the Rosetta Stone, and suddenly the once-murky world of NHL hockey exploded in glorious technicolour right in front of me.

Like most Canadian kids, I made my weekly pilgrimage to the front of the family television set in order to tune into Hockey Night in Canada every Saturday evening at 6 pm…mountain time, remember.  Dinner was usually at 5 pm, which allowed plenty of time to prepare for the big game.

In those days way before Internet access, I would construct my own makeshift program, spread out in front of the TV, out of various bubblegum cards of whomever was facing Montreal or Toronto that night.  Even in Alberta, it was rare we were offered a Vancouver Canucks game.  There was no Saturday night doubleheader.

The point being, not very much was instantaneous thirty-five years ago.  Even Minute Rice took longer back then.  But you found ways to follow your sporting passions.

An early goal of mine was to visit the Golden Horseshoe region of Southern Ontario.  One autumn, that was the subject of study in grade school.  The home to apples, Niagara Falls…and the Hockey Hall of Fame.

The very idea that there existed a whole building dedicated to the sport of hockey sounded like Nirvana to me.  I could only imagine what it looked like inside that hallowed Hall.  I knew all about the men who had been honoured, but that information I got from books.  What I wanted to see, with my very own eyes, was a place where hockey ruled supreme.  To have been able to visit such a Puck Valhalla would be akin to peeking through the window of Santa’s workshop on December 23rd.

As time moved on, and so did my family, we ended up in Ontario.  By then, while hockey was still on my radar, it shared space with baseball, football, music, films, politics, and girls.  A trip to the Golden Horseshoe finally came about in the summer of 1981, when my father was to address a military conference at McMaster University in Hamilton.

After all those years of reading the multi-coloured tourist pamphlets, I finally laid my eyes on Niagara Falls.  Being the jaded age of 17, this wonder of nature failed to resonate with me the way it would have had I experienced it through the wide-eyed gaze of a 10-year-old.

Passing through Hamilton on our way back to my father’s house in Picton, we ventured across the Canadian Football Hall of Fame, another place I had very much wanted to visit when I was a kid.

Alas, it was closed.  To this day, a couple of friends still bug me that I probably was the only kid in the world crushed that the CFL Hall-of-Fame wasn’t open.  As we drove through Toronto, it dawned on me that the Hockey Hall-of-Fame, which I once considered the Promised Land, had to be nearby.  We entertained the notion of searching for it, but neither could recall where it was located.  The HHOF remained elusive.  It would have to wait for another day.

That day came the summer of 1992, during the Canadian National Exhibition, otherwise known as the CNE.  The August fair was in the waning days of its glory, having been eclipsed by year-round amusement parks and the advent of home video games.  Not having grown up in Toronto, I was curious to attend the granddaddy of Canadian exhibitions.  Suffice to say, most of it was just a louder, smellier version of the Vancouver PNE, the Calgary Stampede, Edmonton’s Klondike Days, and the Central Canada Exhibition in Ottawa.

Wandering around, a little punch drunk on bad food and sensory overload, we came across a stout little building that was festooned with 12 stone logos of the franchises of the National Hockey League as it stood after the 1967 expansion.  Come to think of it, the Sabres and Canucks logos could have been up there as well, but it didn’t matter.  All I know is that, like a disoriented archaeologist in some George Lucas movie, I had somehow stumbled on to the entrance of the hidden temple I had been seeking all these years.

I had finally found The Hockey Hall of Fame.

Once inside, I experienced one of those rare moments in life, and I assure you I am not exaggerating.  There was a sense of accomplishment, a feeling that a goal has finally been achieved.  As I walked into this modest building, all awash in everything hockey, the wide-eyed 10-year-old emerged, not the jaded 17-year-old who dismissed Niagara Falls with a wave of the hand.

Despite the CNE raging just outside their doors, the Hall of Fame was not swarming with visitors that day.  There were probably a half-dozen people milling about, taking in all the treasures contained within.  Crammed within that small building was a king’s ransom in hockey goodies; trophies and uniforms and photos and pucks and sticks and pennants.  I suddenly remembered that hockey mattered to me.

The crowning glory to me was something that looked like an ashtray, standing off in the corner.  Closer inspection revealed it to be The Avco Cup, or more accurately, The Avco World Trophy, the symbol of supremacy in The World Hockey Association, and for a kid who attended Edmonton Oilers’ games in the mid-70’s, that was a big deal.

What struck me the most was the lack of glitz and flash that the Hall had.  It was merely the facts, ma’am, which was fine with me, but the relative lack of visitors that day spoke volumes.  This was a Hall badly in need of modernization.

Unbeknownest to me, that was exactly what was happening behind the scenes, even as I was poking around that day.  A year later, the entire affair was shipped to a glorious old bank building in downtown Toronto,   instantly becoming a must-see destination for tourists.  As much as the old building held a special place in my heart, it was a move long overdue.

And through those doors, my 4 1/2 year-old son and I walked this past Saturday afternoon.

When he was told where we were going, he immediately informed me that the Rangers would be playing the “bad Maple Leafs” that day at the Hall.  I explained to him that the “hockey guys” would not be there that day; they were busy elsewhere, but there would be games, I assured him.

My son’s love of playing sports was no doubt fostered by my own love of hockey and baseball, but I never pushed it on him.  To live in our house, though, one cannot help but be immersed in sports (just ask the wife), but he took naturally to throwing a baseball, a basketball, and drop-kicking a football.  Delightfully, he took a small plastic hockey stick in hand and began whacking everything in sight.  Time-out for behavoural indiscretions at dinner time became time in the penalty box.  If my son had been issued a hockey card, his PIM total would be, ahh, impressive.

This was to be my fifth visit to the Hall, but it never grows old.  There’s always something new to savour, and I never tire of looking at their embarrassment of riches, particularly the hockey sweaters.

The first sight that greeted us as we approached the cashier was a simple, yet dazzling display of the finest goaltender masks assembled in one place on the planet Earth.  My son is too young to know any of the goaltenders who donned these visages, yet he ran towards each one with glee, pointing out the ones he found to be scary, and asking which ones I liked.  Of course, I liked them all.

Once admission had been paid, we entered the Hall, my kid jacked up about which type of hockey games we would play.  He was delighted when we found the Xbox 360 display, and he picked the Rangers.  I chose the 1981 Minnesota North Stars, and after a quick lesson on what button to push to shoot, father-and-son played their first ever video game together.  For the record, before the little squirt gains the upper hand in the months and years to follow, the North Stars beat the Rangers 3-1.  No quarters asked.  Actually, my son had asked for some money for the table hockey game, but I was fresh out.

We stood in line for the chance to snap a plastic puck at a video image of Ed Belfour in his bad Maple Leafs’ uniform.  My son topped 8 mph with his shot; in his opinion, he scored on every shot.  Dad didn’t fare much better, hitting only 62 mph and finding the back-of-the-net only twice, and even then, I think Eddie was taking it easy on me.

None of this would have happened at the old place.  That building was for the converted, this place is for the uninitiated, and the converted.

We toured the mockup of the Canadiens’ dressing room and, like most kids, my son gravitated towards the goalie equipment, and not fully comprehending why he couldn’t suit up, he moved on to the next shiny thing.

While the vast majority of displays were over my son’s little head, he perked up at any picture of one Robert Gordon Orr.  “Bobby Orr…Numba Four”, he already knows.  This is a good thing.

He tried his hand at the TSN mockup technical suite, but as this struck me as being too close to what I do at work, I suggested we move on.   First, though, he handled the play-by-play of a couple of famous goals, including adding the sound of the goal horn when Lafleur beat Gilbert with the greatest goal of all-time.

We also stood and stared at the Avco World Trophy, always a must see for me everytime I visit here.  I tried to explain that this forgotten trophy was like the Stanley Cup to me when I was a kid, but he wasn’t buying it.   He wanted the real thing.

The visit to the Great Hall always has the feeling of entering one of the great cathedrals in Old Montreal, regardless of what faith one may adhere to.  In this church, hockey is what is worshipped, and the Great Hall is the summit of that love.

As that 10-year-old collecting hockey cards, some of my favourite cards were Trophy cards.  Here in the Great Hall, those cards come to life.  I’ve seen the Stanley Cup up-close enough times that it’s almost second nature…ohhh, the Cup, nice…so to see the Vezina and the Hart and the Art Ross, to me, always inspires awe.

My kid, on the other hand, having no idea yet what that silverware represents, was estatic when he saw the Cup.  So much so, that like a child in church on Christmas Eve, he let his joy ring out, much louder than any self-conscious adult would have.  Which reminded me, this was hockey, not a church.  You’re allowed to get loud.

He insisted we take a closer look.  Once we got near, for some reason, it struck me that on this particular day, the backup Cup was the one on display.  A quick question to the staff member nearby verified this.

This slightly lessened the effect, but my son and I had already had our photo taken with the “real” Cup when it was here at the NHL Home Ice studios almost two years ago.  Looking over the doppelganger, he searched for his name.

Not yet, kid.

After that, it was back to the main level, where the souvenir shop beckoned.  I resisted buying a gorgeous Glenn Hall St. Louis Blues’ jersey circa 1968; not a good time of the year to be buying yourself expensive presents.  But I’ll be back.

Tried to get my son the very sharp looking powder blue Pittsburgh Penguins t-shirt, but he insisted on buying the throwback Montreal t-shirt that has the A in the C as the logo.  I am not making this up.  Apparently, my almost five years of brainwashing has worked.  The trouble is, the Penguins’ t-shirt looks so much better.

Grabbed a few things to help Santa fill the stockings, and we headed off into the cold night, looking for supper.

For the 90 minutes we were there, the two of us probably saw 2% of the collection on display.  My son didn’t learn any hockey history that day, still thinks the Rangers play there, and was rather concerned that they only had the “backup Cup” on display.

What did happen was a 90 minute break from the rest of the world.  An hour-and-a-half where a father shared with his young son those things that were so very important to him when he was a boy.  The Hall-of-Fame was the ideal setting for a shared experience in a place that has always held a special place in my heart, even when I lived thousands of miles from it.

We will return.

- Mick Kern

Mick Kern appears courtesy of Live From Wayne Gretzky’s

Anderson’s eccentricity hasn’t left him as he prepares for Hall

By Terry Jones, SUN MEDIA

Glenn Anderson doesn’t do it often anymore. But he’s still capable of morphing back into Mork. He did it yesterday in his Hockey Hall of Fame conference call interview session.

“I heard there’s ghosts in the Hall,” he said. “I can just imagine my picture probably looking right at Father Bauer or Glen Sather.

“I’m thinking about it as the plaque – I don’t know what kind of picture they’re going to use for me, but as the plaque is hung and if our ghosts at some point in time, when we’re no longer around and the lights are out and nobody’s there … well, I can hear Slats going ‘It’s past curfew, you better go to bed.’ ”

Anderson was responding to a question from your correspondent which had, trust me, nothing to do with ghosts or anything else involved in the answer.

It was tough not to pick up on it. And a Toronto writer followed suit.

“So there’s the whole space cadet thing that goes on as a young guy. Was that all justified, you know, the space cadet image, sort of, you know, the different drummer, and in a way do you kind of relish it now?” the scribe asked.

The writer was reacting to Anderson allowing that he’d been hung with the Mork nickname (from the alien character played by Robin Williams in the Mork and Mindy sitcom) in a column by the Edmonton sports columnist with whom he had a frosty relationship for the first few years of his career as a result – a relationship which would go on to warm up considerably in later years.

OLD WOUNDS

“Relish it? Well, I don’t know about that! I think Terry would have a different opinion of me after spending some great quality time together. And I’m sure that’s true with a lot of other people as well.

“The only way I could say I relish it is the fact that I’m really glad that I’m an individual and that I’m a little different than your average hockey player; which I think all players should be unique in their own way and beat to their own drummer. I mean that’s part of life. I think, if anything, it’s an attribute.”

You can see how on occasion the deep-from-inside and the way-out-there Glenn Andersons could get confused. There were those on the conference call who were fishing to see if the Oilers’ great would bite on the idea that the off-ice Glenn Anderson had kept the on-ice Glenn Anderson out of the Hall until this late date.

Fair question. In 16 seasons he played 1,129 regular-season games, recording 1,099 points on 498 goals and 601 assists, won five Stanley Cups in Edmonton in the 1980s and 1990, and one with the New York Rangers in 1994.

He appeared in 225 playoff games, which is his seventh on the all-time list and also ranks fifth in playoff goals with 93, seventh in assists with 121, and fourth overall all-time in playoff points with 214. And then there are perhaps his most impressive numbers, being tied for third in overtime playoff goals and tied for fifth with 17 playoff game winning goals.

He should have been an automatic inductee.

When Anderson spoke to that it definitely wasn’t Mork speaking.

NO DEFINED STANDARD

“It’s tough to judge on what determines what gets you in and what keeps you out,” he said. “They don’t say ‘The criteria for getting in is this, and you meet this, this and this or what you do off the ice is material or immaterial.’ I mean it’s been over 10 years for me. It’s a difficult question for me to answer because I don’t know. Is it the stats? His championships? What is it exactly? It’s not written in stone. So I don’t know the answer.

“Of course you think about it, but I didn’t dwell on it. As I get closer to the day we now get to reflect on a life history of what transpired. I’ve had a little time to think of it, more than your average person. So I’m savouring the moments and seconds as they go by.”

Definitely not Mork.

But who shows up to the induction Monday? Mork? The other guy? Or both, like they did yesterday?

The game, featuring a record total of 19 Honoured Members, will be played Sunday, November 9 at 2pm at the Air Canada Centre in Toronto.

“Stepping on to the ice again with Mark, Paul and Jari will be a real thrill,” said Glenn who will be inducted into the Hockey Hall of Fame on Monday, November 10. “It’s a great honour to have the support system back in place as we once did.”

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