When I was 7, I went to a lot of practices and Gordie always remembered my name and asked how I was. That still means a lot to me.I didn't realize until just now that the first professional sporting event I ever attended was Gordie Howe's penultimate regular-season home game. Mr. Hockey had just celebrated his 52nd birthday, and the sport by then was dramatically different from it had been when he was its most dominant player. My 6-year old self was infatuated with Blaine Stoughton, a defensively challenged player who was in the midst of what would prove to be a career year, but my Dad kept pointing out Gordie Howe. Turns out my old man knew something -- that gray-haired guy was doing all the little things off the puck, and was one of the 3 or 4 best players on the ice that night, even if my Mom thought he was foolish for playing without a helmet. I never met Gordie Howe, but e. veryone I knew who did described him as an incredibly down-to-earth, gracious man. RIP.
Griffey Sr and Jr both played for the Mariners, but for much less time in a less physically demanding sport.Can't imagine we will see another player (much less all time great) actually play meaningful minutes on a pro level with their sons. Insane to think that happened and hard to be more impressed by an athletic feat than that. His mix of toughness and skill is rarely seen in any sport. RIP.
Mark's injury was horrific; huge pool of blood on the ice under him. All of us in the stands had no idea exactly what happened to him or why there was so much blood. As bad as it was, the spike did (just) miss his spinal column.Griffey Sr and Jr both played for the Mariners, but for much less time in a less physically demanding sport.
Marty was meh and I think he was there for the publicity value. Mark was legit All-Star quality in his own right.
Mark had a horrific injury. He slid into the net, which at the time had a metal spike anchoring it into the ice. The spike gashed him badly (IIRC it tore his sphincter). He missed a ton of time and it looked like his career was over. They dumped him and he went to the Flyers, where he revived his career and was All-Star quality again- yet another Fuckup by the Whalers FO. This was the impetus for putting the net on magnets.
My father was the executive chef at the Sheraton (now a Hilton) from the mid-70s to early 80s, so I pretty much grew up at the adjoining hotel, mall, and coliseum. I was Hartford’s pre-teen, Brass-Bonanza-humming, sports-obsessed-boy version of “Eloise.” (The big white parrot in the Civic Center’s pet store landed on my head once.)The Whalers were my first sports love. This is sad.