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<UID>
8702270684
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<PUBLICATION>
DETROIT FREE PRESS
</PUBLICATION>
<DATE>
871202
</DATE>
<TDATE>
Wednesday, December 02, 1987
</TDATE>
<EDITION>
METRO FINAL
</EDITION>
<SECTION>
SPT
</SECTION>
<PAGE>
1D
</PAGE>
<ILLUSTRATION>

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<CAPTION>

</CAPTION>
<BYLINE>
MITCH ALBOM
</BYLINE>
<AFFILIATION>

</AFFILIATION>
<MEMO>

</MEMO>
<COPYRIGHT>
Copyright (c) 1987, Detroit Free Press
</COPYRIGHT>
<HEADLINE>
WINGS' DEMERS WANTS TO STEP ON SOME HEADS
</HEADLINE>
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<BODY>
When I last left Jacques Demers, it was 6 a.m. on a cold spring morning at
the Windsor airport. His team, the Detroit Red Wings, had just lost to
Edmonton in the conference finals, the end to a  gloriously crazy hockey
season that had gone further than anyone expected. We had flown all night to
get home, and that morning everyone had bleary eyes and scratchy throats and
planes to catch, so we said so long, nice job, and scattered.

  And now we were meeting again. On a cold December morning before a game
with, yes, Edmonton. It was six months later, already into the new season. But
it  was the same old Demers. He was waiting in a deli with a cup of coffee. He
was early. A coach is early for a reporter about as often as President Reagan
dances with Janet Jackson.

  "Good to see you,"  he said, smiling. We ordered some breakfast. He
mentioned that after this he had to fly to Toronto to accompany one of his
players, Mike O'Connell, who was scheduled for a league hearing on a
suspension.
  "Doesn't someone else usually do that?" I asked. "An assistant coach or
the GM?"
  Demers just shrugged. "Yeah. But Mike has been supportive of me as a
player. I want to be supportive of him as  a coach."
  Same old Demers. I remember talking last year with Keith Gave, the Free
Press hockey writer, about how the hardest part of dealing with this guy is
trying not to like him too much. "Sooner  or later you'll have to write
something negative," he said, "and it'll be tough."
  It will be. And I'll tell you why. For one thing, the guy is honest.
Second, after last season, he told his players:  "Don't get snobby. Remember
where you came from." And they finished under .500.
  Besides, what Jacques Demers does to the English language should be
bottled.
  "When we played Edmonton," Demers  said, "people there didn't give us a
chance. They said we were just a passing stone to the finals."
  A passing stone?
Mental toughness  Well. With Demers, you get used to funny fits. Tonight
the Wings face Edmonton again, the arena will be packed, and memories will
wash back of that nutty week in May when everything seemed possible in this
hockey town, a once- pitiful team could rise from  ashes and challenge for the
Stanley Cup. "I like playing Edmonton," Demers said. "They're the best. They
have mental toughness.
  "That's what I'm trying to build here. Mental toughness. I see it
happening. Like last week when we'd lost two games at home. I put the players
through two hours on the ice, then two hours of meetings, then I made them go
back on the ice again. That's when I watch  them, to see if they say 'Why me?'
Or if they're still hungry."
  He raised an eyebrow. "Sometimes, you know, you got to step on a few
heads."
  "Toes," I corrected. "Step on a few toes."
  He shrugged. "Well, you know how I learn English, don't you? By myself."
  I can buy that.
  Jacques Demers, droopy face, mustache and funny talk, has become a fixture
in this town. He came through  Detroit last year as if on magic skates. But
last year was last year. "I was at the Tigers game this October when they won
their division. And the ovation wasn't as loud as when we beat the Toronto
Maple Leafs (for the Norris Division playoff title). I think it's because our
fans had been waiting so long, while the Tigers had won a championship
recently."
  "What did you learn from that?" I asked.
  "I learned if we don't do well this season, we'll get a kick in the butt
from the fans."
Stanley Cup fever 
  The Red Wings aren't world beaters. They are barely above .500.  We
forget that sometimes  in this town. We get too excited. And here is why:
Demers. I believe he has a bad case of Stanley Cup flu. And I believe it is
contagious.
  "You know," he said, talking quickly now, "I dream how  it would be to win
the Stanley Cup here. . . . I just want to see the face of those kids I pushed
to the maximum. I want to see Stevie Yzerman's face, or Shawn Burr, or Petr
Klima . . . or Greg Stefan.  I just wanna see Greg Stefan's face. He's been
here a long time. I just wanna see him say 'You SOB you." And gimme a good
hard punch in the shoulder. . . . 
  "Last year, when Edmonton won it, I was  doing TV commentary. I saw them
celebrating. The first thing I said: 'Detroit's gonna win that. We are gonna
win that.' "
  "Who'd you say it to?" I asked. 
  "Myself," he said.
  We checked  the time. He was going to be late. "Go on ahead," I told him.
As I reached for my jacket, I glanced at the bottom of my note pad where I had
scribbled "step on a few heads." And I choked down a laugh,  really choked it
down, because there was no reason to be laughing at that point, sitting there
all alone. Then I laughed anyhow. I couldn't help it. Jacques Demers will
probably do great things with  this hockey team. And trying not to like him
isn't getting any easier.
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