Sports And The City

The title’s pretty self-explanatory, no?

Team Lidstrom won the imaginary coin-toss. They’ll have the first overall selection.

Round 1

Team Lidstrom: Phil Kessel, Toronto Maple Leafs.

Team Staal: I don’t care.

Rounds 2 through 17

I don’t care.

Round 18

Team Lidstrom: Erik Karlsson, Ottawa Senators.

Team Staal: Carey Price, Montreal Canadiens.

Even though, according to the rules, all goalies have to be chosen by the end of the 10th round, I’m hoping Lidstrom and Staal go off the board, and Price falls to last. Dead last.

Image, of the number of people who actually enjoy the NHL’s All-Star weekend, courtesy of Ronnie Yip.

It hasn’t sunk in yet. It won’t, until Spring Training. Until Vernon Wells isn’t in centre field for the Toronto Blue Jays.

Over the past few days, when I thought about the Blue Jays, and thought about centre field, Devon White and Vernon Wells were the only two names that came to mind. I missed the Lloyd Moseby era; I was too young. And for the life of me, I couldn’t remember who played in centre before Wells. In my mind, there was White, and then there was Wells. Devo, then Boo. And there would be Vernon, until his mammoth contract expired. Or so the entire universe, save for a couple of crazies in Anaheim, thought.

My point is: Two years of Otis Nixon, and three years of Jose Cruz, had completely faded from my memory.

Drew at Ghostrunner On First writes:

Ultimately, I think this town will forget Vernon Wells in a hurry. Despite logging thousands of innings in the middle of Rogers Centre, his legacy will not last. Other insane contracts will shove his from the memory, other affable & well-adjusted athletes will attract our undeserving scorn.

I don’t buy it. Wells won’t go the way of Nixon and Cruz. Partly because he was a Blue Jay for so goddamn long, and, as The Tao writes, partly because he did represent an era, a decade, one that’s now officially come to an end. And because of his bloody contract. Really, how much more insane can a contract get? There should be two larger-than-life portraits hanging on the walls of the Blue Jays’ front office: One of Vernon Wells, and one of B.J. Ryan. Those contracts, those mistakes, must never be forgotten.

Actually, make it three larger-than-life portraits. This one is a must.

Looking at Wells’ numbers, shit, he was far from great. Worse than I, obviously, a devout believer, remember him. Wells’ career 108 weighted runs created plus (wRC+) proves that, offensively, he was only slightly above average. Jesse Barfield, Carlos Delgado, Fred McGriff, John Olerud, Roberto Alomar, George Bell, Shawn Green, even Shannon Stewart and Rance Mulliniks, all sport higher weighted on-base averages (wOBA), and wRC+ averages, as Blue Jays than Wells. All of them.

Defensively, according to ultimate zone rating (UZR), in the history of the Blue Jays, only Carlos Delgado was a lesser fielder than three-time Gold Glove-winner Vernon Wells. And that blows my mind. I mean, I’m still, weeks later, having a hard time reconciling the fact Roberto Alomar, according to UZR, was a below-average second baseman. My entire worldview was shaped on the belief that Alomar was one of the greatest defensive second basemen. Ever. Now this, Wells’ -38.0 UZR rating? It’s hard to swallow. I can believe Joe Carter’s -32.0, and Russ Adams’ -25.1, career UZR ratings as Blue Jays. But not Alomar’s -26.0. Not Wells’ -38.0. I don’t want to believe I was deceived by my own young eyes.

Depressed by his numbers, I’d have to say no, Wells’ name and number don’t belong on the Level of Excellence. Had he played out his contract in Toronto, there’d probably be no debate; Wells would have owned too many team records not to go up. But now that he’s gone, it’s pretty obvious Wells wasn’t excellent. He was slightly above average. There are other, more worthy candidates to be honoured. Like Jimmy Key.

I’m going to be honest: I don’t know where the hell I’m going with this. I think I might have convinced myself that Drew’s right; perhaps Wells, to some extent, will be forgotten. Not forgotten like Otis Nixon, or Jose Cruz, but not remembered like Roy Halladay, or Carlos Delgado. And that’s how I wanted Wells to be remembered. Like Doc, and Carlos. But as much as I wanted him to be, he was never as good. And as has been pointed out, once he signed that contract, it became his legacy.

I can’t say, though, that I ever thought of Wells the baseball player as complacent, or comfortable. I always thought of V-Dub as someone who busted his ass day in and day out; someone who tried to lead by example. Who dove for balls when he probably shouldn’t have, and who tried to play through injuries, to the detriment of both himself and the team. I saw Wells’ even-keeled approach and attitude to success and failure as ideal for someone who tries to hit a baseball for a living.

After writing this post, I think I feel even more melancholy about Wells’ departure. Slightly above average. I don’t know, it just leaves more to be desired. Like Vernon Wells. With four years and $86 million left on his contract, I guess I never thought Wells and the Blue Jays would have unfinished business.

Don’t get me wrong: I’m ecstatic about said unfinished business. The Blue Jays gave up more cash when they traded Doc. And Wells’ departure puts the onus on Adam Lind, Aaron Hill, and Travis Snider. Vernon was never going to be one of the feared hitters in the Toronto lineup when they were finally ready to contend.

It’s a fascinating time to be a Blue Jays fan. Halladay and Wells traded in back-to-back off-seasons, along with another Opening Day starter. Yet baseball boners abound. There’s the Red Sox inquiring about the availability of Jose Bautista. Mike Napoli acquired and dealt in less than a week. Hey, I thought Napoli was a great fit for the Jays, too. But I like that J.P. Arencibia is being given his shot. Edwin Encarnacion, too; I just can’t quit the bastard.

Whether it’s to stock up on potential compensatory draft picks, or help support a very young starting pitching staff, Alex Anthopoulos has revamped the Toronto bullpen. I’ll take Octavio Dotel’s awful splits, the personable Jon Rauch, along with “criminally underrated relief pitcher” Frank Francisco, over Napoli, and, say, Manny Ramirez, and any relief pitcher signed to a long-term, rich contract. The bullpen wasn’t strong last season. Anthopoulos set out to improve it. The kicker: John Farrell. I can’t wait to see the new manager run the bullpen. Hell, the whole ball club.

Anthopoulos always maintained that the Blue Jays wouldn’t be active in free agency. That the Jays would look to improve through trades. Brett Lawrie for Shaun Marcum. Rajai Davis for a couple of arms. Wells for Napoli and Juan Rivera (who’s my starting right fielder, with Bautista at third base). Napoli for Francisco. It continues. There’s no point in speculating whether Anthopoulos is done, because on a Friday evening in January, he pulled off the unthinkable.

It all comes full circle. Slightly above average. That’s how I’d describe Vernon Wells. And how I’d describe, of late, the Toronto Blue Jays. Slightly above average isn’t good enough.

Image of a sleeping Blue Jay courtesy Kimberly Robyn.

I think as a special tribute, the Vernon Wells Hatred Advisory System should be permanently set to “Low.” - @BlueJayHunter

Brilliant idea.

To the Toronto Blue Jays: Mike Napoli and Juan Rivera.

To the Anaheim Angels: The untradeable; Vernon Wells and the $86 million left on his contract. Along with no cash to pay for some of that $86 million, and the Vernon Wells Hatred  Advisory System. We won’t be needing it anymore.

I spent a lot of time over the past couple of years arguing, and writing lengthy blog posts, about  Wells. He was my guy. He was never going to live up to his contract, and I hated, absolutely hated, that he was booed so mercilessly at the Rogers Centre.

It’s bittersweet. I’ll miss Vernon Wells. I wish him nothing but success out in SoCal. By every single account, he is a fantastic human being. And I’ll argue until the end that he’s a damn good baseball player. Like me, like all of us, Wells was a lifer. But for Alex Anthopoulos, a living Greek God, to rid the Blue Jays of his contract, well, it’s nothing short of a celebration.

I’ll remember Wells as an ambassador for the Toronto Blue Jays. As an all-star. I’ll remember his home runs to left field, and the professional way in which he always rounded the bases. I’ll remember the Gold Gloves; all the incredible catches in centre field.  The grab that comes to mind right now is the one that at the time saved, albeit only briefly, Brandon Morrow’s no-hitter against Tampa Bay. I’ll remember Wells as a leader. And I’ll never, ever forget his 11th inning, walk-off home run against Mariano Rivera, only the greatest closer in baseball history.

Don’t get me wrong; I’ll remember the infuriating middle-infield fly balls, the cursing that followed, and all the injuries, too. And I’m truly excited for the post-Wells Blue Jays era, and the — wait for it — financial flexibility it brings.

But one more time, for the road: I believe in Vernon Wells.

Image courtesy of my man Ian. Read and bookmark The Blue Jay Hunter. And buy a Meats Don’t Clash t-shirt.

I’m still reeling over what happened Tuesday night out in Silicon Valley. The turn of events that led to the Maple Leafs defeating the Sharks were unprecedented. As George Costanza would put it: There was no precedent, baby!

Think about it. First and foremost: James Reimer. James motherfucking Reimer. The keeper who’s come out of nowhere and swept a hockey-mad city, one that wants nothing more than replacement-level goaltending, off its feet. Through two periods, Reimer had stopped 33 of 34 shots, including all 21 he faced in the second period. With Toronto trailing 1-0, Reimer was doing what goalie after goalie after goalie had failed to do so for the Maple Leafs since the goddamn lockout ended years ago: keep his team in the game.

In the second period, the Maple Leafs killed five San Jose power plays, including a short two-man advantage, and one four-on-three advantage. Yes, the Toronto Maple Leafs. Yes, coached by Ron Wilson and, among others, Keith Acton. Five power plays. In one period. In one game. I celebrated with drink. Reimer, of course, was a big part of the effort. And one of the penalties, the final one to Francois Beauchemin, was complete bullshit, a retaliation call after he was dangerously tripped by Devin Setoguchi in a race to the puck.

When trailing after two periods, Toronto’s record was 1-17-2. But they came out in the third period with a purpose. You know, to win. To not waste the solid effort from their rookie between the pipes. And it was Phil Kessel, of course, who tied the game at ones. His goal, number 19 on the season, good enough for eighth in the NHL, was a dazzling display of skill and patience, as if to justify Kessel’s selection for the all-star game.

Four minutes later, Toronto’s power play struck. Clarke MacArthur’s backhand found the net, after a beautiful pass from — who else? — Tomas Kaberle. And that power play, which couldn’t buy a goal early in the season, is now top-10 in the league, rolling at 18.9%. Ben Eager’s thank you card is in the mail.

A minute later, San Jose tied the game. Typical. Surely the Leafs, in the second of back-to-back games, would fold. But they didn’t. Cue more bizzaro happenings.

Like defenceman Carl Gunnarsson, for some reason skating by the front of the San Jose net, deflecting a Dion Phaneuf shot from the point past Antti Niemi. It was only the eighth goal scored by a Maple Leafs defenceman all year, and would eventually be only the second game-winning goal courtesy the back end. The point is: Maple Leafs defencemen don’t score. Especially not on the road in a 2-2 game in the third period.

Could the Leafs hold on? Again? Just as they did the night before in Los Angeles? If there was any doubt, Dion Phaneuf erased it by almost ending the life of Dany Heatley as he skated into the Toronto zone. Phaneuf clocked him. It was the finest hit I’d seen Dion throw as a Maple Leaf. The bodycheck I’d been waiting for.

Reimer shut the door, of course. Just like he did in Los Angeles. He stopped seven of eight shots in the third period. The Leafs won important faceoffs in their own zone, and iced the game thanks to another MacArthur goal, this time into an empty net, which, let’s be honest, is just as intimidating as Niemi. Four wins in a row. Five straight victories on the road. Likely the apex of 2010/2011 Toronto Maple Leafs fandom.

In the end, Ron Wilson had victory number 600 in his back pocket, becoming only the seventh coach in history to reach the milestone. And it came against his former team. I won’t lie: Based on Wilson’s time in Toronto, I was still in disbelief he’d won 599 games before Tuesday night. But it’s not too late for Wilson. Should the Leafs turn it around, Ron may get his own statue yet. (Looking smug, of course.)

The power play’s working. There’s a guy in the crease playing as big as his six-foot-two frame. Nikolai Kulemin, Mikhail “Mickey Grabs” Grabovski, Kris Versteeg, Kessel and MacArthur are all on pace to have career offensive seasons. Luke Schenn has found his game. Kaberle is reborn. The penalty kill, the useless goddamn penalty kill, hasn’t allowed a goal on the road trip. It’s 10-for-10. It’s creeping towards an 80% success rate, and respectability. Believe it or not, after the bizarro Leafs assured themselves of a winning road trip (!) Tuesday night, I couldn’t help but think that perhaps Wilson hasn’t been given enough credit.

While I’m doubtful Toronto Maple Leafs hockey can get much better than it was on Tuesday, all I ask is that there be no return to regularly scheduled programming. Fuck losing. And poor goaltending. They’re both bloody exhausting.

Image of a beaming Clarke MacArthur courtesy of Reuters via daylife.

To give you an idea of what you might find from me every Tuesday and Friday over at NotGraphs, I’ve cross-posted today’s entry. It’s about hall of famer Roberto Alomar’s 1992 ALCS game four home run. The home run that changed everything …

For a generation of Toronto Blue Jays and Canadian baseball fans, it is the home run. The home run that forever changed Toronto’s baseball destiny. The home run that represents, perhaps defines, one’s fandom. And I’m not talking about Joe Carter’s 1993 World Series-winning walk-off.

What made Roberto Alomar’s call to Cooperstown this week so enjoyable for me was the reliving of past glories. Up here, they’re all we’ve got.

I was 10-years-old when Alomar sent a 9th inning 2-2 Dennis Eckersley pitch into right field for a two-run home run, to tie game four of the 1992 ALCS between Oakland and Toronto at six apiece, completing a rather miraculous 6-1 Blue Jays comeback. I don’t remember watching Toronto take an early 1-0 lead on a John Olerud home run, or watching Jack Morris get tagged for five runs in the Oakland half of the third, but for some reason, I remember Alomar’s home run. Vividly.

It was a 4:00 pm Sunday afternoon local start in Toronto, the game being played out on the west coast, on October 11, 1992. When Alomar went yard, it had to have been after 7:00 pm Toronto time. I was in the backseat of my parents’ car, being whisked away somewhere. I remember hearing Alomar’s heroics on the radio, listening to the call as the ball sailed over the right field wall, Alomar apparently raising his hands in the air in triumph, and going absolutely insane with my older brother, who was sitting in the backseat with me. Without looking at the box score, I couldn’t tell you how Toronto won game four, or whether I saw it happen live on television or heard it on the radio. I only remember Alomar’s home run.

Time is funny. I can see myself in the car, bouncing around the backseat with my brother. But in my memory, it’s daylight out, bright and sunny, which it couldn’t have been at the time. I asked my older, and much wiser, brother if he remembered, and he said: “I think we were at home.” Which one of us is right, we’ll never know. But I like to think it’s me.

The next day, I probably didn’t even read the newspaper. I was too young at the time to understand the magnitude of the home run, or the comeback victory. I was too young to realize that the Toronto Blue Jays were exorcising their past playoff demons; putting 1985, 1989, and 1991 to bed, and shedding the label of playoff chokers.

In the aftermath of the home run, it all came back to Eckersley’s antics: His dramatic fist-pump to end Toronto’s 8th inning, when Oakland was on top 6-4.

Jack Morris, quoted in The Toronto Star, pulled no punches:

The best part was that we knocked Eck’s butt off.

But Morris saved his best quotes for The New York Times:

I think Eckersley’s Little League gesture to us really inspired us. He wheeled and looked at us and did all that stuff you do when you’re in Little League. He got it today. It finally came back to haunt him.

Years later, these quotes amaze me, and take me right back to the backseat of my folks’ car, when Alomar made history. Roberto, quoted in The Los Angeles Times, seemed to understand the importance of what he and his teammates had done.

Everybody is always talking about Toronto choking in the playoffs. We’ll see.

Candy Maldonado chimed in as well with this gem:

Sometimes you can’t wake up a sleeping dog because he might bite you.

Preach on, Candy. Preach on.

When Alomar stepped into the box, Toronto shortstop Alfredo Griffin, quoted in Sports Illustrated, and a Dodger in 1989, knew what was going to happen:

I saw Kirk Gibson all over again.

While I didn’t see it live, I’ve watched that ball sail over the right field fence in Oakland a thousand times. Probably more. Alomar’s iconic arms-raised pose is one that every Blue Jays fan remembers, just as much, if not more, than Joe Carter leaping at first base at the SkyDome in October 1993.

Alomar, of course, wasn’t trying to show anybody up. Like me, like the rest of us, he was simply caught in the moment.

I’m a little guy. But I guess the little guy became a big guy.

Time can play tricks on the mind. But it certainly can’t change the facts. And Alomar’s home run remains one of the reasons I’m more in love with baseball today than ever. Because I want to feel how I felt in the backseat of that car, all the way back in 1992, again. Just one more time.

Image courtesy of RobertoAlomar.com. Alomar himself loves that photo!

As a Maple Leafs fan, I was well prepared for what we witnessed during Wednesday night’s third period between Canada and Russia. A blown lead? Spotty goaltending? A timeout taken too late? Been there, done that. I remember watching years ago when Toronto blew a 5-0 third period lead to St. Louis at home, and lost 6-5 in overtime. The only difference between last night’s game and a Leafs game was that the stakes were much higher. Much, much higher.

While it certainly was a Canadian collapse of BIBLICAL proportions, ensuring silver — or not gold — medals for Canada in back-to-back years, I’m all for healthy competition. The rivalries between Canada and the U.S., and Canada and Russia, are only getting better. And Sweden’s desperate attempts to get noticed are kind of charming. Because let’s be honest, if Canada’s running the table and winning every year without the likes of Matt Duchene, Taylor Hall, and Evander Kane, among others, the tournament’s too bloody easy.

I take nothing away from the Russians, of course. What an unbelievable comeback. Comebacks. They did it all tournament. I watched them do it against both Finland and Sweden yet, heading into the third period, didn’t give them a prayer versus Canada. Scandinavian countries blow third period leads. Canada doesn’t. The National Post’s Bruce Arthur nailed it with his column: How Russia did it, and where they did it, led by their injured captain, was utterly ridiculous. The late comebacks couldn’t have been drawn up. Because that’s just too dangerous a game plan. That’s the opposite of a goddamn game plan. Even with Canada on the losing end, the skilled Russians were captivating to watch.

I won’t say Canada had trouble getting up for the Russians. They dominated the first period, and were up 3-0 with 20 minutes to play; they were ready. But to a man, Canada looked a lot hungrier against the Americans. Against the U.S., Canada didn’t let up. The Americans were never in the hockey game, not for a minute. It was the U.S. Canada wanted. That was their gold medal game. Mine too, I think.

Yeah, I’ve decided I prefer Canada lose 5-3 to the Russians in the gold medal game, in absurd fashion, blowing a 3-0 third period lead in the process, than lose to the Americans, any which way, in the semifinal.

Image courtesy this isn’t happiness.

Last year, on January 7, 2010, one proud member of the Baseball Writers Association of America wrote the truth:

We botched it. There’s no other way to say it. We botched it.

– Steve Buckley

People screw up. I have. Far too many times. You have. The BBWAA has. It’s our nature.

Roberto Alomar’s screwed up, too. I can still see that nasty loogie hitting John Hirschbeck’s face. The “spitting incident” even has its own subsection on Alomar’s Wikipedia page. It’s hard to believe that A) Alomar actually spit in Hirschbeck’s face, and B) That it happened in Toronto.

I was pissed off with the BBWAA about Alomar not making the cut last year. He is/was a first ballot hall of fame inductee. But none of that matters anymore. If a year’s wait was Alomar’s penalty, so be it.

Alomar screwed up back in 1996, and, in apologizing to Hirschbeck, and actually becoming his friend, Alomar righted his wrong. Today, when the BBWAA calls on Alomar to Cooperstown, they’ll right their wrong.

I’ve wondered of late why I feel so emotionally invested in Alomar’s candidacy. And why I care so much about sports, something so trivial, in general. It’s hard not to question my devotion when, during a live-blog I’m paid to host for The Score, some miserable soul comes along and says: “Hey fuckface, your mom told me to tell you that dinner’s ready upstairs.” No, asshole, mom gave me dinner before the game, like I asked.

Obviously, I know why Alomar’s call to the hall is a big deal. Alomar reminds me of my youth. My fleeting youth. Growing up, his posters and pictures were on my walls. I had a binder full of Alomar’s baseball cards. It was literally an Alomar-only baseball card binder. The cover was red, if my memory serves me correctly, which it probably doesn’t. When I grew up, I wanted to be the Toronto Blue Jays’ switch-hitting, Gold Glove-winning second baseman. Who didn’t?

I think of Alomar and Carlos Delgado as the greatest Blue Jays I’ve ever seen. Naturally, this calls for a WARGraph. And between them, it isn’t even close. Alomar’s the best position baseball player Toronto has ever seen. That Toronto might ever see.

The Toronto Blue Jays will finally be represented: Alomar’s off to Cooperstown. And for the first time in my life, on Friday, July 22, so am I.

Image courtesy the Internet. Thanks, Internet.

First and foremost: Happy new year. I hope the holidays treated you well, and sincerely wish that 2011 is the best year yet, for you and me. If you read anything, anything at all, I wrote in 2010, no matter the locale, thank you. I’m grateful. My only resolution is to write that much more in 2011, especially in this space.

Below is an ode to Tomas Kaberle, cross-posted from Pension Plan Puppets. There’s no better way to celebrate the beginning of a new year than to celebrate one of the greatest to ever play for the Toronto Maple Leafs.

Kaberle is love

On October 13, 1998, Tomas Kaberle, then a boy, only 20 years young, registered the first point of his NHL career. It was an assist, of course, on a Garry Valk goal. And it came on the power play, of course. Little did we know at the time, but the assist would be the first of many.

On December 20, 2010, to little fanfare, Kaberle, now 32 years old, tallied assist number 419 of his career. It also came on the power play, this time on a John Mitchell goal. I know what you’re thinking: What in holy hell was John Mitchell doing on the power play? But that’s not the point. (The point being: Fire Wilson.) Along with his 81 career goals, Kaberle’s 419^th assist gave him 500 points.

Kaberle, an afterthought, drafted 204^th overall in 1996, whose rosy cheeks came out of nowhere in 1998 to make Pat Quinn’s new-look Toronto Maple Leafs, had done it: 500 points. In the long and storied history of the franchise, only 10 players, and only one other defenceman, the legendary Borje Salming, have put up more points. Think about that for a minute or two. Ponder it. Have a coffee, stare out your window, and contemplate the fact.

For comparison’s sake, 22 Montreal Canadiens have registered 500 or more points. Kaberle’s milestone is no small feat. From Garry Valk to Mats Sundin, Sergei Berezin to Steve Thomas, Jonas Hoglund to Derek King, Tie Domi to Darcy Tucker, Alex Mogilny to Gary Roberts, Eric Lindros to Jason Allison, Nik Antropov to Alex Ponikarovsky, Phil Kessel to Kris Versteeg, and finally Mikhail Grabovski to John freakin’ Mitchell, Kaberle, like you and I, has been there through it all; has assisted on goals by each of those guys. In the end, no matter what you think of him, give it up, and show Kaberle some love.

A throwback

I’ve always held Kaberle in high regard; always had a soft spot for him. (Not where you think, sicko.) But I’ll be the first to admit that Tomas is not without his faults. He’s never been the physical defenceman so many want him to be. He’ll always be a touch too soft. Tomas, lord knows, will never shoot the puck enough. But it’s through those faults that I’ve come to appreciate Kaberle even more. Like you and I, he’s not perfect. He’s done the best he can with his abilities, and he’s done pretty well, wouldn’t you say?

Over the past two years, I’ve embraced advanced baseball statistics. I can’t tell you how many hours I’ve wasted at FanGraphs. Today, I’m a contributor at NotGraphs, FanGraphs’ alternative baseball blog. While I’ve waded into the sabermetric deep end, and mock with my fellow sabernerds those who still come at me with a baseball player’s OPS, I can readily admit that I know next to nothing about advanced NHL statistics. Corsi Ratings, Fenwick Numbers, Zone Starts, Quality of Competition, they’re all gibberish to me. I’m a journalist. Numbers, of any kind, prove difficult. I’m not sure I can be a two-sport sabermetric nerd, the blogging equivalent of Bo Jackson, or Deion Sanders.

I bring this up because, in a sense, it’s all worked out rather conveniently. I watch Kaberle night in and night out not worried about his Corsi rating, or his Fenwick score. I watch Kaberle as a sort of throwback defenceman. I sit back and appreciate what I’ve always appreciated about Tomas Kaberle: His innate ability to pass the puck; his skill in rushing the puck up ice, and, on the power play, taking the opponent’s blue line; his patience, the juking and jiving, along with the head-fakes. Over the years, I’ve enjoyed watching Kaberle for his tremendous abilities in the basics of this beautiful game of hockey that captivates us all.

Through the wire

In the final year of his contract, every game could be Kaberle’s last in Toronto. I don’t expect Tomas to be a life-long Maple Leaf. I think I’d only be setting myself up for disappointment if I did. But I believe Kaberle when he repeatedly says, as he did over the excruciating summer, that he wants to remain a Maple Leaf, and retire a Maple Leaf.

You see, Kaberle’s not so different from you and I. Like us, Kaberle has lived through both the good and bad times, the good and bad teams, in Toronto. And much like us, he wants to stick around. As we soldier on as Maple Leafs fans, so too does Kaberle as a Maple Leaf. Tomas isn’t interested in jumping ship. Why? Because, like you and I, Kaberle knows how good it can be around here. And I’ll never flog him for that.

I’ll understand if Brian Burke asks Kaberle to waive his no-trade clause. Considering the state of the union, it would be prudent for Burke to get a return on one of the team’s few tradable assets. I’ll also understand if Kaberle and the Maple Leafs go their separate ways on July 1. It’s a business. But I’ll be damned if I won’t celebrate one of the finest players to ever put on a Toronto Maple Leafs jersey, and don’t ask you to as well.

A legacy

Have a look at the Toronto Maple Leafs’ record books. Littered throughout, you’ll find Tomas Kaberle’s name. Eighth in games played; fifth in assists; eleventh in points. Should Tomas remain a Maple Leaf in the years to come, Rick Vaive (537), Ted Kennedy (560), Bob Pulford (563), and Frank Mahovlich’s (597) point totals are all within sight. One more long-term contract and Tomas Kaberle could go down as the seventh-highest scoring Toronto Maple Leaf, ever. Not bad for a shy young man from Rakovnik, a small town in the western Czech Republic.

Through all my years as a fan, dating back to the early 90s when this unbelievable journey began, I own two Toronto Maple Leafs jerseys. One of them is Kaberle’s. Thanks, Tomas.

Image of a smiling Tomas Kaberle thanks to The Associated Press, via daylife.