8801180118
DETROIT FREE PRESS
880419
Tuesday, April 19, 1988
METRO FINAL CHASER
1D
MITCH ALBOM
Copyright (c) 1988, Detroit Free Press
WINGS' FANS SHOULD CHECK THIS ONE OUT
From now until late next week, if you see someone from St. Louis, I think
it only fitting that you immediately lower your shoulder and slam him into the
nearest wall.
In the interest of team spirit, of course.
We are talking hockey. We are talking playoffs. We are talking the key to
the Detroit Red Wings-St. Louis Blues series, which begins tonight.
"Checking," the players predict.
"Checking," the coaches predict.
Now, I must admit, I have never been very good at checking. Or savings,
for that matter. The people at my bank will vouch for that. If they're still
speaking to me. After I jammed up the cash machine.
When I check, I bounce. Especially when I forget to deposit. But there is
no bounce in hockey. There is crunch. There is whooomph. There is splat. The
Red Wings are good at checking. They are good at splat.
So be it. Good fans get behind their team's strength. Whatever it is.
Remember the Twins fans and their Homer Hankies? Remember the Redskins fans
and their Hogs costumes?
Checking is the Red Wings' trademark. Checking must be our goal. I see us
checking at least three times a day. At work. At home. Wherever there is a
wall. And someone from St. Louis.
Support the home team, right?
So I went to Red Wings practice.
I mean, how hard can it be?
Showing and telling -- oomph!
I say to Joey Kocur: "Show me a good check."
"Petr Klima," he says. "Over there, by the--."
"The other kind of Czech, er, check."
"Oh. Well, my ideal check is to get a guy behind the net, meet him head
on, slam him into the wall, and break the glass."
"Break glass," I write in my notepad. "And have you ever done it?"
"No. But I can dream, can't I?"
We should explain here that you can actually check a guy anywhere --
against the boards, behind the net, in the middle of the ice. And you can do
it with your stick or your body. And the point is to get the puck away from
him. Or, barring that, make him fit into a Federal Express envelope.
"What is you favorite technique?" I ask Gilbert Delorme, one of the Wings'
best checkers. "What is the fine art of checking?"
"Well, you don't want him to see you coming," he says. "Otherwise, he can
spin away."
"Spin away . . . " I write.
"You have to angle it out. Cut him off. Use your shoulder. Aim for the
chest."
"Shoulder . . . chest. . . .
"Or else, just forget everything and ram him."
Check.
"How do you know you've made a good hit?" I ask Shawn Burr, another
specialist in the craft.
"Oh, you hear the air go out of him," he says. "You know, like
whooooosh!"
"Whooooosh! . . . " I write.
"And then he goes down."
"Goes down. . . . "
He smiles. "That's good."
This is a little rougher than I thought. This is not going to be easy on
the corner of Lafayette and Cass. This is ---.
This is Mel Bridgman slamming me with his hip.
"My dream check is to meet a guy at center ice like this," he says,
demonstrating the technique in the middle of the locker room, "hip-check him
perfectly and lift him up and watch him go flying. I've been trying for 13
years."
"Go flying . . . " I write, trying not to. "And how . . . uh . . . many
times have you tried this?"
"About 100," he says. "No luck yet. Here. Lemme show you again. . . . "
An original way to fly
Now don't get me wrong. These players are artists. Check masters. But
when I write down the nicknames for checking -- "Slam" "Crunch" "Cream" -- I
envision the whole city of Detroit chasing after four people in St. Louis
T-shirts. It is not a pretty picture.
"Remember, you like the guy three feet from the boards," says Burr, "so
when you slam him, he's got a long way to fly."
"And ideally he's flat-footed," adds Bridgman.
"Then it's like hitting a baseball," says Delorme, grinning. "You'll know
when you've clobbered one. It'll feel good, and --.
Hold it. Hold it. A baseball? Flat-footed? We can't be doing this to the
nice people from St Louis. I mean, think about it. They'd have to walk in the
middle of the street. When they weren't in the hospital. Besides, there are so
few of them here, we'd all be fighting over the chance to slam one into the
wall.
WINGS FAN: Sorry to interrupt lunch. May I?
BLUES FAN: Well I . . . urrrphlyp!
No. Bad idea. Forget I said anything. Go to the game tonight and have a
good, peaceful time. There must be some other tradition we can practice.
Something a little less dangerous.
When I find it I will let you know. I can't think of anything right now.
But that's the great thing about hockey.
I'm sure something will hit me.
As long as it's not Kocur.
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