So camps open soon. The season is around the corner. NHL 12 was released yesterday. I'm ready.
I figured I'd take initiative and start the new thread for the season.
As a first post, its very apropos to post this article from Grantland by Chris Jones/
Must read.
http://www.grantland.com/story/_/id/695 ... e-survivor
[quote]The Survivor
Stu Grimson and the rash of hockey-enforcer suicides
By Chris Jones
On Labor Day weekend, Stu Grimson drove down from Nashville ג the last of eight stops he made over the course of his long and violent career in the National Hockey League ג to Panama City, Fla. There, he threw himself into the surf, a short vacation from his new professional life as a lawyer and an occasional hockey commentator. It's been nearly 10 years since he last traded punches: On December 12, 2001, he fought the last of hundreds of fights, a messy heavyweight bout against Sandy McCarthy of the New York Rangers.1 It's been so long hardly anybody calls him The Grim Reaper anymore.
One of the best of a golden age of fighters, Grimson ג now A. Stuart Grimson, Of Counsel, for the firm of Kay, Griffin, Enkema, & Colbert ג fought virtually every big-name enforcer in the league, most of them more than once. He had epic, bloody battles with Bob Probert, Rob Ray, Georges Laraque, Peter Worrell, Krzysztof Oliwa, Rocky Thompson ג names that hockey fans will forever attach to unforgettable images of taped wrists and fight straps.
In December 1998, Grimson fought a young Prairie kid and member of the Colorado Avalanche named Wade Belak. It was only the ninth fight of Belak's career; like Grimson before him, he was trying to establish a reputation for fearlessness, for toughness. Like Grimson, Belak had no illusions about what was expected of him and his career. He understood the perils that he faced, the potential costs of his profession. Both men had done their math. Maybe they wouldn't be the players they had dreamed that they might be, but they would be players, at least.
Two weeks ago, Belak, 35, arthritic and facing down his first winter without professional hockey, hanged himself in a Toronto hotel room. His was a stunning death for a thousand reasons, but not least because, on the surface, he was buoyant and funny, a happy presence so long as he wasn't trying to fill you in.
He was also the third young man, each of whom had made his living by fighting on ice, to suffer a self-administered death this summer. Two weeks earlier, Rick Rypien, who had been signed to protect the reborn Winnipeg Jets this season, died of an apparent suicide in his Alberta home. In May, Derek Boogaard, one of the most feared fighters in the league, died of an accidental overdose of painkillers and alcohol in the middle of a post-concussion haze.
With the added loss of some of its best players to concussions ג Sidney Crosby's return remains doubtful, Marc Savard won't play again this season and might be gone for good ג hockey feels as though it has reached a kind of vanishing point, a horizon beyond which no one can see. Changes appear destined ג "These tragic events cannot be ignored," the league and the NHLPA said in a joint statement ג but nobody seems to know what, exactly, to make of the game's tragic summer. Nobody knows where we go from here.
Stu Grimson seems like a good person to ask.
"It's deeply sad," he says over the phone from Florida, "but I'm not sure these three men should be put in the same basket. They're different people who had the same role. I'll be honest with you ג it might be the hardest job in professional sports. I know I had a hard time playing that role. The threat of losing, the physical suffering, the humiliation of defeat ג none of that is easy.
"But I loved my life. I had a ball. And then leaving ג¦" he says, his voice lost beneath the sound of the wind and the waves.
On the ice, enforcers breed fear; off the ice, they're more likely to inspire affection. They're usually the best guys in the room.
Laraque is now the deputy leader of Canada's Green Party. Oliwa used to unwind after games by taking his telescope into his backyard and counting stars. Grimson graduated from law school.
Boogaard, Rypien, and Belak, too, were each well liked and respected. They will be unfairly lumped together because of their deaths rather than their lives ג they were different players in different circumstances ג but the common theme after their departures was how much each of them was loved.
"Man for man, the guys I fought were bright, outgoing, good people," Grimson says. "A lot of them also happened to be from Western Canada."
There, the three lost fighters can be more truly linked. They shared the same geography. Boogaard and Belak were from Saskatoon, with its wide streets and bronze statue of Gordie Howe, his elbows up. Rypien was born and died in tiny Crowsnest Pass, Alberta. (Grimson is from British Columbia, played his junior hockey in Regina, and began his education at the University of Manitoba.) They were all Big Sky kids.
As sentimental as it might sound, Westerners really are shaped by their landscape. The expanses of Manitoba, Saskatchewan, and eastern Alberta, giving way first to folds, then hills, then mountains ג¦
"Living there makes you humble," Grimson says. "You spend every day of your life humbled by nature."
That's why Western Canada is an enforcer factory, why it continues to produce these men so well versed in the lost farm-boy arts. Being a hockey fighter requires bravery and balance and fast hands and a strong chin. But perhaps more than anything else, it requires humility. It requires reconciliation, an understanding of the limits placed on every one of us.
Grimson was pretty handy as a junior. In his last season in Regina, he had 56 points in 71 games. (He also accumulated 248 minutes in penalties.) But after he was drafted by the Calgary Flames, the physical winger saw a different future opening in front of him: He wasn't quite good enough to play in the NHL unless he brought to it a very particular set of skills.
At first he resisted. "I wasn't comfortable with the idea," he says. Grimson chose instead to go to university for two years, where he earned his first credits toward a degree in economics ג as well, he says, as the maturity to accept his fate. "I don't know how to explain it," he says, "except to say that I grew up a bit. I picked up the emotional equipment I needed to assume that role."
Perhaps not coincidentally, Grimson also found religion around the same time. Throughout his career, the church gave him an outlet, a community far removed from hockey's sometimes pitiless corners where he could share his secret despairs. His faith, like the Prairies, also humbled him.
"I finally understood that I needed to release the grip on my life," he says. "If God created me, and He also created the circumstances in which I live, then how I fit is not worth worrying about. These were the gifts I was given, and this is what I'm supposed to do. So I did it."
In an interview with the Toronto Star, Belak said something similar: "On nights you knew you had to fight, there were nerves, you never slept the night before. But you dealt with it or you didn't. You don't really get over it, you just go out and do your job."
That's how each of them was able to sit on the bench for much of a game, called to action only when someone needed to get punched. That's how they reasoned with their violence ג by turning it into something selfless, the sacrifice that they would make for their teammates so that they could do what they might do. That's how they found their temporary peace when they looked across the locker room at the flashy forwards and their collections of significant pucks while they pushed their own swollen hands into buckets of ice.
In Grimson's first NHL game, back in 1988, he tallied a single statistic: a five-minute fighting major for banging heads with Buffalo's Kevin Maguire.
Belak got his first fight, against Daniel Lacroix, out of the way nearly as quickly.
That was it.
Like Boogaard, like Rypien, like so many fighters before them, they had found their release.
Unlike the others, Grimson returned. He made it back alive. He's made it to university classrooms in Manitoba and next in Memphis, and to the offices of Kay, Griffin, Enkema & Colbert, and now to the sunshine coast in Panama City. His life reads like a Mitch Albom book.
"Hockey was one of the most enjoyable parts of my life," Grimson says. "It was a lot of fun, I met a lot of good people, and I left the game substantially intact.
"But I would be na
The Official 2011/2012 NHL Thread
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I will actually cheer for San Jose now that faggot Healy doesn't play for them.alpha wrote:this is the year...
No idea when Sid will return. I am hoping by the All Star break.
Supposedly Malkin has been working out like a mad man. He is in the best shape of his life, and he is ready to wreck shit. I hope he can get that 08-09 form back.
the sharks still only have 2.5 defencemen and they gave up a ton of offence in the offseason. not so sure they're gonna be any better than they were last year.alpha wrote:this is the year...
don't think the canucks got any better either. the only hope i have is that a trip to the finals taught them what it's gonna take to win it this year, like the penguins when they won the cup. not gonna hold my breath though.
lol, brent burns bro. burns, boyle, murray, vlasic, and demers. oh and colin white. wouldnt say thats a bad dline. prob best they had in recent years.jredd109 wrote:the sharks still only have 2.5 defencemen and they gave up a ton of offence in the offseason. not so sure they're gonna be any better than they were last year.alpha wrote:this is the year...
don't think the canucks got any better either. the only hope i have is that a trip to the finals taught them what it's gonna take to win it this year, like the penguins when they won the cup. not gonna hold my breath though.
havlat basically subs for heatley. not sure if im being a homer or you're underrating them?
edit: forgot about setoguchi. fuck him. guy is a slightly faster cheechoo.
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Re: The Official 2011/2012 NHL Thread
[quote="Positive A"]So camps open soon. The season is around the corner. NHL 12 was released yesterday. I'm ready.
I figured I'd take initiative and start the new thread for the season.
As a first post, its very apropos to post this article from Grantland by Chris Jones/
Must read.
http://www.grantland.com/story/_/id/695 ... e-survivor
[quote]The Survivor
Stu Grimson and the rash of hockey-enforcer suicides
By Chris Jones
On Labor Day weekend, Stu Grimson drove down from Nashville ג the last of eight stops he made over the course of his long and violent career in the National Hockey League ג to Panama City, Fla. There, he threw himself into the surf, a short vacation from his new professional life as a lawyer and an occasional hockey commentator. It's been nearly 10 years since he last traded punches: On December 12, 2001, he fought the last of hundreds of fights, a messy heavyweight bout against Sandy McCarthy of the New York Rangers.1 It's been so long hardly anybody calls him The Grim Reaper anymore.
One of the best of a golden age of fighters, Grimson ג now A. Stuart Grimson, Of Counsel, for the firm of Kay, Griffin, Enkema, & Colbert ג fought virtually every big-name enforcer in the league, most of them more than once. He had epic, bloody battles with Bob Probert, Rob Ray, Georges Laraque, Peter Worrell, Krzysztof Oliwa, Rocky Thompson ג names that hockey fans will forever attach to unforgettable images of taped wrists and fight straps.
In December 1998, Grimson fought a young Prairie kid and member of the Colorado Avalanche named Wade Belak. It was only the ninth fight of Belak's career; like Grimson before him, he was trying to establish a reputation for fearlessness, for toughness. Like Grimson, Belak had no illusions about what was expected of him and his career. He understood the perils that he faced, the potential costs of his profession. Both men had done their math. Maybe they wouldn't be the players they had dreamed that they might be, but they would be players, at least.
Two weeks ago, Belak, 35, arthritic and facing down his first winter without professional hockey, hanged himself in a Toronto hotel room. His was a stunning death for a thousand reasons, but not least because, on the surface, he was buoyant and funny, a happy presence so long as he wasn't trying to fill you in.
He was also the third young man, each of whom had made his living by fighting on ice, to suffer a self-administered death this summer. Two weeks earlier, Rick Rypien, who had been signed to protect the reborn Winnipeg Jets this season, died of an apparent suicide in his Alberta home. In May, Derek Boogaard, one of the most feared fighters in the league, died of an accidental overdose of painkillers and alcohol in the middle of a post-concussion haze.
With the added loss of some of its best players to concussions ג Sidney Crosby's return remains doubtful, Marc Savard won't play again this season and might be gone for good ג hockey feels as though it has reached a kind of vanishing point, a horizon beyond which no one can see. Changes appear destined ג "These tragic events cannot be ignored," the league and the NHLPA said in a joint statement ג but nobody seems to know what, exactly, to make of the game's tragic summer. Nobody knows where we go from here.
Stu Grimson seems like a good person to ask.
"It's deeply sad," he says over the phone from Florida, "but I'm not sure these three men should be put in the same basket. They're different people who had the same role. I'll be honest with you ג it might be the hardest job in professional sports. I know I had a hard time playing that role. The threat of losing, the physical suffering, the humiliation of defeat ג none of that is easy.
"But I loved my life. I had a ball. And then leaving ג¦" he says, his voice lost beneath the sound of the wind and the waves.
On the ice, enforcers breed fear; off the ice, they're more likely to inspire affection. They're usually the best guys in the room.
Laraque is now the deputy leader of Canada's Green Party. Oliwa used to unwind after games by taking his telescope into his backyard and counting stars. Grimson graduated from law school.
Boogaard, Rypien, and Belak, too, were each well liked and respected. They will be unfairly lumped together because of their deaths rather than their lives ג they were different players in different circumstances ג but the common theme after their departures was how much each of them was loved.
"Man for man, the guys I fought were bright, outgoing, good people," Grimson says. "A lot of them also happened to be from Western Canada."
There, the three lost fighters can be more truly linked. They shared the same geography. Boogaard and Belak were from Saskatoon, with its wide streets and bronze statue of Gordie Howe, his elbows up. Rypien was born and died in tiny Crowsnest Pass, Alberta. (Grimson is from British Columbia, played his junior hockey in Regina, and began his education at the University of Manitoba.) They were all Big Sky kids.
As sentimental as it might sound, Westerners really are shaped by their landscape. The expanses of Manitoba, Saskatchewan, and eastern Alberta, giving way first to folds, then hills, then mountains ג¦
"Living there makes you humble," Grimson says. "You spend every day of your life humbled by nature."
That's why Western Canada is an enforcer factory, why it continues to produce these men so well versed in the lost farm-boy arts. Being a hockey fighter requires bravery and balance and fast hands and a strong chin. But perhaps more than anything else, it requires humility. It requires reconciliation, an understanding of the limits placed on every one of us.
Grimson was pretty handy as a junior. In his last season in Regina, he had 56 points in 71 games. (He also accumulated 248 minutes in penalties.) But after he was drafted by the Calgary Flames, the physical winger saw a different future opening in front of him: He wasn't quite good enough to play in the NHL unless he brought to it a very particular set of skills.
At first he resisted. "I wasn't comfortable with the idea," he says. Grimson chose instead to go to university for two years, where he earned his first credits toward a degree in economics ג as well, he says, as the maturity to accept his fate. "I don't know how to explain it," he says, "except to say that I grew up a bit. I picked up the emotional equipment I needed to assume that role."
Perhaps not coincidentally, Grimson also found religion around the same time. Throughout his career, the church gave him an outlet, a community far removed from hockey's sometimes pitiless corners where he could share his secret despairs. His faith, like the Prairies, also humbled him.
"I finally understood that I needed to release the grip on my life," he says. "If God created me, and He also created the circumstances in which I live, then how I fit is not worth worrying about. These were the gifts I was given, and this is what I'm supposed to do. So I did it."
In an interview with the Toronto Star, Belak said something similar: "On nights you knew you had to fight, there were nerves, you never slept the night before. But you dealt with it or you didn't. You don't really get over it, you just go out and do your job."
That's how each of them was able to sit on the bench for much of a game, called to action only when someone needed to get punched. That's how they reasoned with their violence ג by turning it into something selfless, the sacrifice that they would make for their teammates so that they could do what they might do. That's how they found their temporary peace when they looked across the locker room at the flashy forwards and their collections of significant pucks while they pushed their own swollen hands into buckets of ice.
In Grimson's first NHL game, back in 1988, he tallied a single statistic: a five-minute fighting major for banging heads with Buffalo's Kevin Maguire.
Belak got his first fight, against Daniel Lacroix, out of the way nearly as quickly.
That was it.
Like Boogaard, like Rypien, like so many fighters before them, they had found their release.
Unlike the others, Grimson returned. He made it back alive. He's made it to university classrooms in Manitoba and next in Memphis, and to the offices of Kay, Griffin, Enkema & Colbert, and now to the sunshine coast in Panama City. His life reads like a Mitch Albom book.
"Hockey was one of the most enjoyable parts of my life," Grimson says. "It was a lot of fun, I met a lot of good people, and I left the game substantially intact.
"But I would be na
I figured I'd take initiative and start the new thread for the season.
As a first post, its very apropos to post this article from Grantland by Chris Jones/
Must read.
http://www.grantland.com/story/_/id/695 ... e-survivor
[quote]The Survivor
Stu Grimson and the rash of hockey-enforcer suicides
By Chris Jones
On Labor Day weekend, Stu Grimson drove down from Nashville ג the last of eight stops he made over the course of his long and violent career in the National Hockey League ג to Panama City, Fla. There, he threw himself into the surf, a short vacation from his new professional life as a lawyer and an occasional hockey commentator. It's been nearly 10 years since he last traded punches: On December 12, 2001, he fought the last of hundreds of fights, a messy heavyweight bout against Sandy McCarthy of the New York Rangers.1 It's been so long hardly anybody calls him The Grim Reaper anymore.
One of the best of a golden age of fighters, Grimson ג now A. Stuart Grimson, Of Counsel, for the firm of Kay, Griffin, Enkema, & Colbert ג fought virtually every big-name enforcer in the league, most of them more than once. He had epic, bloody battles with Bob Probert, Rob Ray, Georges Laraque, Peter Worrell, Krzysztof Oliwa, Rocky Thompson ג names that hockey fans will forever attach to unforgettable images of taped wrists and fight straps.
In December 1998, Grimson fought a young Prairie kid and member of the Colorado Avalanche named Wade Belak. It was only the ninth fight of Belak's career; like Grimson before him, he was trying to establish a reputation for fearlessness, for toughness. Like Grimson, Belak had no illusions about what was expected of him and his career. He understood the perils that he faced, the potential costs of his profession. Both men had done their math. Maybe they wouldn't be the players they had dreamed that they might be, but they would be players, at least.
Two weeks ago, Belak, 35, arthritic and facing down his first winter without professional hockey, hanged himself in a Toronto hotel room. His was a stunning death for a thousand reasons, but not least because, on the surface, he was buoyant and funny, a happy presence so long as he wasn't trying to fill you in.
He was also the third young man, each of whom had made his living by fighting on ice, to suffer a self-administered death this summer. Two weeks earlier, Rick Rypien, who had been signed to protect the reborn Winnipeg Jets this season, died of an apparent suicide in his Alberta home. In May, Derek Boogaard, one of the most feared fighters in the league, died of an accidental overdose of painkillers and alcohol in the middle of a post-concussion haze.
With the added loss of some of its best players to concussions ג Sidney Crosby's return remains doubtful, Marc Savard won't play again this season and might be gone for good ג hockey feels as though it has reached a kind of vanishing point, a horizon beyond which no one can see. Changes appear destined ג "These tragic events cannot be ignored," the league and the NHLPA said in a joint statement ג but nobody seems to know what, exactly, to make of the game's tragic summer. Nobody knows where we go from here.
Stu Grimson seems like a good person to ask.
"It's deeply sad," he says over the phone from Florida, "but I'm not sure these three men should be put in the same basket. They're different people who had the same role. I'll be honest with you ג it might be the hardest job in professional sports. I know I had a hard time playing that role. The threat of losing, the physical suffering, the humiliation of defeat ג none of that is easy.
"But I loved my life. I had a ball. And then leaving ג¦" he says, his voice lost beneath the sound of the wind and the waves.
On the ice, enforcers breed fear; off the ice, they're more likely to inspire affection. They're usually the best guys in the room.
Laraque is now the deputy leader of Canada's Green Party. Oliwa used to unwind after games by taking his telescope into his backyard and counting stars. Grimson graduated from law school.
Boogaard, Rypien, and Belak, too, were each well liked and respected. They will be unfairly lumped together because of their deaths rather than their lives ג they were different players in different circumstances ג but the common theme after their departures was how much each of them was loved.
"Man for man, the guys I fought were bright, outgoing, good people," Grimson says. "A lot of them also happened to be from Western Canada."
There, the three lost fighters can be more truly linked. They shared the same geography. Boogaard and Belak were from Saskatoon, with its wide streets and bronze statue of Gordie Howe, his elbows up. Rypien was born and died in tiny Crowsnest Pass, Alberta. (Grimson is from British Columbia, played his junior hockey in Regina, and began his education at the University of Manitoba.) They were all Big Sky kids.
As sentimental as it might sound, Westerners really are shaped by their landscape. The expanses of Manitoba, Saskatchewan, and eastern Alberta, giving way first to folds, then hills, then mountains ג¦
"Living there makes you humble," Grimson says. "You spend every day of your life humbled by nature."
That's why Western Canada is an enforcer factory, why it continues to produce these men so well versed in the lost farm-boy arts. Being a hockey fighter requires bravery and balance and fast hands and a strong chin. But perhaps more than anything else, it requires humility. It requires reconciliation, an understanding of the limits placed on every one of us.
Grimson was pretty handy as a junior. In his last season in Regina, he had 56 points in 71 games. (He also accumulated 248 minutes in penalties.) But after he was drafted by the Calgary Flames, the physical winger saw a different future opening in front of him: He wasn't quite good enough to play in the NHL unless he brought to it a very particular set of skills.
At first he resisted. "I wasn't comfortable with the idea," he says. Grimson chose instead to go to university for two years, where he earned his first credits toward a degree in economics ג as well, he says, as the maturity to accept his fate. "I don't know how to explain it," he says, "except to say that I grew up a bit. I picked up the emotional equipment I needed to assume that role."
Perhaps not coincidentally, Grimson also found religion around the same time. Throughout his career, the church gave him an outlet, a community far removed from hockey's sometimes pitiless corners where he could share his secret despairs. His faith, like the Prairies, also humbled him.
"I finally understood that I needed to release the grip on my life," he says. "If God created me, and He also created the circumstances in which I live, then how I fit is not worth worrying about. These were the gifts I was given, and this is what I'm supposed to do. So I did it."
In an interview with the Toronto Star, Belak said something similar: "On nights you knew you had to fight, there were nerves, you never slept the night before. But you dealt with it or you didn't. You don't really get over it, you just go out and do your job."
That's how each of them was able to sit on the bench for much of a game, called to action only when someone needed to get punched. That's how they reasoned with their violence ג by turning it into something selfless, the sacrifice that they would make for their teammates so that they could do what they might do. That's how they found their temporary peace when they looked across the locker room at the flashy forwards and their collections of significant pucks while they pushed their own swollen hands into buckets of ice.
In Grimson's first NHL game, back in 1988, he tallied a single statistic: a five-minute fighting major for banging heads with Buffalo's Kevin Maguire.
Belak got his first fight, against Daniel Lacroix, out of the way nearly as quickly.
That was it.
Like Boogaard, like Rypien, like so many fighters before them, they had found their release.
Unlike the others, Grimson returned. He made it back alive. He's made it to university classrooms in Manitoba and next in Memphis, and to the offices of Kay, Griffin, Enkema & Colbert, and now to the sunshine coast in Panama City. His life reads like a Mitch Albom book.
"Hockey was one of the most enjoyable parts of my life," Grimson says. "It was a lot of fun, I met a lot of good people, and I left the game substantially intact.
"But I would be na
Fuck hopefully he recovers soon. The game definitely needs him. The Flames home opener is against the Pens and I was really hoping for Sid to be in the lineup but it's not gonna happen now.an-also wrote:Damn. His symptoms are that bad eh?Random Sample wrote: No idea when Sid will return. I am hoping by the All Star break.
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Positive A
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it's out of the bag, i keep certain things concealed .. but its more of a devastation effect from my north stars leaving, i protested the wild and have shockingly close ties to gophers hockeyan-also wrote:wait wait. Kel follows hockey?
Olympics brought me back in, now i'm going public in this forum
sorry for sounding gay, but its hard to talk about
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Brent Burns is a bad mother fucker. Love that guy. nh.alpha wrote:lol, brent burns bro.jredd109 wrote:the sharks still only have 2.5 defencemen and they gave up a ton of offence in the offseason. not so sure they're gonna be any better than they were last year.alpha wrote:this is the year...
don't think the canucks got any better either. the only hope i have is that a trip to the finals taught them what it's gonna take to win it this year, like the penguins when they won the cup. not gonna hold my breath though.
Cant wait......although i think my nucks might have missed their window.
cool p.k. nike spot with Big Sauks
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A4cf2gW7YVM
cool p.k. nike spot with Big Sauks
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A4cf2gW7YVM
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When this clip made rounds last week, ex-NHL disciplinarian Colin Campbell emailed it to new guy Brendan Shanahan. Told him it was his 1st big discipline decision: How many games for star captain who's won Cup and Olympic gold medal?
<object width="560" height="315"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/y0dfLkzLMoU?ve ... ram><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/y0dfLkzLMoU?ve ... n_US&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="560" height="315" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object>
DON'T TOEWS ME BRO!
<object width="560" height="315"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/y0dfLkzLMoU?ve ... ram><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/y0dfLkzLMoU?ve ... n_US&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="560" height="315" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object>
DON'T TOEWS ME BRO!
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- Location: :ohcanada:
Random Sample wrote:When this clip made rounds last week, ex-NHL disciplinarian Colin Campbell emailed it to new guy Brendan Shanahan. Told him it was his 1st big discipline decision: How many games for star captain who's won Cup and Olympic gold medal?
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DON'T TOEWS ME BRO!
