9806100280
DETROIT FREE PRESS
980610
Wednesday, June 10, 1998
METRO FINAL CHASER
1A
Photo JULIAN H. GONZALEZ/Detroit Free Press
Joey Kocur got the Wings off to a flying start, scoring first
Tuesday. Here, Kocur battles with the Caps' Calle Johansson and goalie Olaf
Kolzig.
MITCH ALBOM
Copyright (c) 1998, Detroit Free Press
WORKMANLIKE DETROIT GRINDS OUT WIN IN FINALS OPENER
On a night where they reached for the highest heights, the story would be
summed up by a man on his belly. Here was Darren McCarty, in the third period
of this surprisingly tight Stanley Cup finals opener, and he saw trouble
coming. Washington's Joe Juneau, who has had a knack for big shots in these
playoffs, was about to make another one, coming in unchecked on goalie Chris
Osgood. McCarty was too far behind to block him, too far away to hit him,
there simply wasn't enough of McCarty to do what was needed. So he did the
only thing he could: He elongated himself. Went belly-first, stick out,
stretched from six feet standing to about 10 feet lying down, and got his
stick-head on the puck just before Juneau could get off a shot. The play ended
with a whimper, not a bang -- and as much could be said of the rest of the
night.
Caps Capped. Wings Win. The score was 2-1, in a game that will not likely be a
showcase for NHL excitement. But what did you expect? Art? A blowout? Hey.
These are the Stanley Cup finals. You win on your knees, you win on your
belly, you win on a bed of nails if you have to. People always focus on goals
that are made, but the story of this one was the goals that were not. And
better yet, the shots that never were. The Red Wings took a team that was
averaging 30 shots a game against its previous opponent, and held it to 17.
So it wasn't a shooting gallery. It was two early goals by the Wings, and a
night full of guarding the treasure. It was Osgood making tremendous saves,
catching hot pucks in his glove, stopping point-blank shots when no one was
there to help.
It was 2-0 in the first period. It was 2-1 after two. And finally it was that
furious closing segment, when the Wings realized their slim lead would have to
be enough. Their passion increased. Their skating accelerated. And when the
Capitals pulled their goalie, we had a couple minutes of all-out war,
Washington trying desperately to slap anything on net, Osgood and company
keeping it just at bay. There were near misses and close shots and the kind of
screams that you normally hear in horror movies.
But in the end, the Wings squeaked the puck loose, chased it down the ice, and
heard the horn sound to put Game 1 in their pocket.
OK, so it wasn't art. What can you do?
"I didn't think I had a very good game as coach," Scotty Bowman said. "We were
mixed up early in the game, and some line combinations were off out there."
Whoa. Did you ever think you'd hear Scotty say that?
Then again, whoever thought you'd have to tell folks from Washington to take
more shots?
Caps Capped.
The invisible men
Now, I'd been hearing a lot about Adam Oates and Peter Bondra and Juneau and
Richard Zednik. But for the most part Tuesday night, I couldn't find them. In
fact, until their first goal -- which came late in the second period -- I
thought Caps stood for Capsized. If this is what they mean by Capital Offense,
it's no wonder no one gets the death penalty.
I knew these guys were from Washington. I didn't know they wanted a
filibuster.
In the middle of the game, the Caps went 15 minutes without recording a single
shot. When they finally got one, it was high and snagged by the glove of
Osgood. This woke the Caps up, and they responded by rolling over on their
other side and snoozing for another three and a half minutes, when, just to
remind people they were here, they put a soft shot on Ozzie's stick that never
had a prayer.
Jeez. Bills in Congress move faster than these guys.
Of course, eventually, all naps have to end, and the Caps woke up with a hard
slapper by Zednick that ended Osgood's playoff shutout streak at 4 2/3
periods. But that would be it for the scoring.
Everything else was about defense.
The Caps averaged 30 shots a game against Buffalo.
This ain't Buffalo.
"I don't think we were dominated out there by any means," Caps coach Ron
Wilson said.
It's true. Washington actually came out with a bit more fire than Detroit. But
for the most part, the first 15 minutes were little more than introductory,
the hockey equivalent of a wine-and-cheese soiree, very quiet, nothing
controversial, the distant echo of a yawn.
Then came Detroit's secret scoring weapon, that master of offense, Joey
(Money) Kocur, who took a centering backhand pass from Doug Brown and plunked
it past Olaf Kolzig for first blood. Kocur now has a nice little streak going.
He scored in the first game of last year's finals. He scored in the first game
of this year's playoffs. And he scored in the first game of this year's
finals. Never mind that he barely scores in between. Never mind that he often
doesn't play in between. He has become Detroit's playoff maitre d'. He greets
opponents at the door, takes their name, and smiles.
Then he makes them pay.
Kocur's goal unleashed a flood of noise that seemed to wash over the Wings and
loosen their joints. They skated more freely, more confidently, and just over
two minutes later, Steve Yzerman sent a pass to Nick Lidstrom in his favorite
spot, center ice, inside the blue line, and he wound up one of those whizzing
slap shots and put it past a slightly screened Kolzig for Goal No. 2.
But that would be it for the Detroit scoring. The rest would be their defense.
It would be enough.
"I don't mind that there weren't a lot of shots," said Osgood, after winning
his first career finals appearance. "If they don't have a lot of shots, it
means they can't score."
Good point.
Caps Capped.
Glitz off the ice
As for the atmosphere for this long awaited Return-To-Finals-Land? Well, a
slight drizzle and a cold breeze greeted the June evening. There was no summer
outside, just as there was no summer inside. This was hockey weather. This was
a hockey night. And fittingly, for Hockeytown, the whole arena had the feel of
a premiere. There was Gov. Engler in a Wings jacket and Wings hat. There was
tennis star Anna Kournikova, close friend of Sergei Fedorov, strolling to her
seat. There was Gordie Howe flashed up on the big screen to rousing applause.
There was even the grizzled face of Johnny Wilson, who used to play here, used
to coach here, and now was watching his nephew, Ron, try to rain on the Wings'
parade.
There was the requisite stage and light extravaganza, with a singer lowered
from the rafters, and a Darth Vader-like introduction about destiny or
something like that. And there was, nicely, another deafening chant of
"OZ-ZIE! OZ-ZIE!" before the national anthem. But once the game got going it
was just that, a game, like the others on this long, long postseason road, one
the Wings have been navigating slower and more carefully than they did last
year.
People looking to compare this series to the one a year ago against
Philadelphia will find themselves perpetually coming up short. Let's face it.
Last year, there was a sense of desperation in Detroit, a furious disgust with
being a bridesmaid for 42 years. Players weren't just hungry, they were
starving. They walked around like zombies, focused only on the need to quench
their thirst. There is no way to imitate that now, any more than you can make
a starving novelist feel the same thing as a best-selling author trying to
write a second book. That doesn't mean the effort can't be excellent, even
more admirable. It just can't be as hungry.
Ask Yzerman, last year's symbol of Detroit frustration. When the Wings won
last year, he gushed in the locker room that, "No matter what happens now,
they'll never be able to say he couldn't win it all." In that moment, you saw
how there was a second level of motivation on this team, beyond the desire to
win a Stanley Cup. It was the desire to belong.
That is not an issue any longer. The Wings already belong. Now they are trying
to carve their legend. "It's true," Yzerman admitted this week. "I don't have
to battle other people's doubts or even my doubts, for that matter. Now I can
just concentrate on the hockey, on enjoying playing and wanting to win."
So they may have stretches in this series where the chase is not at
fever-pitch. And at times this will bite them in the leg. But the fact is, the
Wings are much better at surviving scares now, and just as things may not
excite them the same way, things do not scare them either.
"I don't think we played our best tonight," Ron Wilson said. "But I'm guessing
they didn't, either.
"We read the papers. We were supposed to get blasted out of here 5-0 or 6-0.
It didn't happen."
Then again, there's always Thursday.
To leave a message for Mitch Albom, call 1-313-223-4581.
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