The Pond Hockey Portal!
Monday, May 28, 2007
NHL may be cross-checked into TV oblivion
With the Ottawa Senators and Anaheim Ducks about to commence the Stanley Cup finals, the question is not only who will win what figures to be a close series but whether NBC will love it or leave it for Jay Leno.
After Versus, the NHL's well-hidden cable outlet, televises the first two games, NBC is scheduled to pick up the remainder of the tournament. That means three weeknights, including a Game 7, any or all of which could bump up against "The Tonight Show," which brings in $100 million every year to the belt-tightening network.
During its regular season, the NHL implements two quick fixes for tie scores after 60 minutes: four-on-four skaters followed by a gimmicky shootout, if necessary.
But during the playoffs, the league reverts to a purer solution: overtime at full strength, until whenever.
NBC has recent experience in how to treat extra periods. When Game 5 of the Buffalo-Ottawa conference final was deadlocked after three periods two Saturdays ago, the network abandoned hockey for the Preakness Stakes, a Triple Crown race for which NBC paid a hefty rights fee.
The game was farmed out to Versus, albeit with a delayed and awkward transition.
Would NBC, financial angel of the Olympics, dump synchronized swimming for regular programming? Over an accountant's dead body, but those made-for-TV pool parties are big business.
NBC's deal with the NHL is to share whatever profits accrue from occasional telecasts that produce ratings often confused for blood-alcohol limits.
Thus NBC should not be blamed for what it had to do. Instead the NHL should be embarrassed for what it can't do, market a terrific sport by locating a broadcast partner or partners that will serve more viewers than C-SPAN during one of Sen. Russ Feingold's tired harangues.
We say the NHL should be embarrassed while realizing that, under its fetid leadership, it is incapable of being embarrassed.
The Ottawa-Anaheim matchup will be huge in Canada, without a Stanley Cup champion since 1993, and in Orange County, where the expansion Ducks debuted, also in 1993. But elsewhere, the final probably will bomb, largely because the stubborn NHL can't sell a bottle of water in the desert.
Besides the obvious -- playoff hockey is dependably entertaining -- story lines abound. The Senators had a plan. They would endure being really bad before they could become really good. The latter half of that trick hasn't quite caught on with the Blackhawks, who closed their mausoleum doors on Easter Sunday, if you can remember back that far.
The Ducks, once just another Disney account, built a powerhouse under new ownership and excellent management featuring Bob Murray, a senior vice president who got the usual 20 minutes to resurrect the Hawks during his ill-fated tenure. The Ducks are a hot commodity in the Sun Belt, invalidating a crutch the NHL leans on when cash registers stall. Hockey indeed will work where the snow doesn't fly, if an organization actually is organized.
Ottawa doesn't miss Martin Havlat, free-agent savior who fled to Chicago, any more than the NBA Pistons miss Ben Wallace, who also found wealth and happiness in the United Center -- with the Bulls. Anaheim reached the final by eliminating Detroit, the last surviving member of the Original Six, only two franchises of which qualified for the hard-to-miss playoffs.
So much for history and tradition. New guys on the pond skate circles around old-schoolers who promised us a salary cap would be the solution. Not for a dunce cap, it isn't.
After Versus, the NHL's well-hidden cable outlet, televises the first two games, NBC is scheduled to pick up the remainder of the tournament. That means three weeknights, including a Game 7, any or all of which could bump up against "The Tonight Show," which brings in $100 million every year to the belt-tightening network.
During its regular season, the NHL implements two quick fixes for tie scores after 60 minutes: four-on-four skaters followed by a gimmicky shootout, if necessary.
But during the playoffs, the league reverts to a purer solution: overtime at full strength, until whenever.
NBC has recent experience in how to treat extra periods. When Game 5 of the Buffalo-Ottawa conference final was deadlocked after three periods two Saturdays ago, the network abandoned hockey for the Preakness Stakes, a Triple Crown race for which NBC paid a hefty rights fee.
The game was farmed out to Versus, albeit with a delayed and awkward transition.
Would NBC, financial angel of the Olympics, dump synchronized swimming for regular programming? Over an accountant's dead body, but those made-for-TV pool parties are big business.
NBC's deal with the NHL is to share whatever profits accrue from occasional telecasts that produce ratings often confused for blood-alcohol limits.
Thus NBC should not be blamed for what it had to do. Instead the NHL should be embarrassed for what it can't do, market a terrific sport by locating a broadcast partner or partners that will serve more viewers than C-SPAN during one of Sen. Russ Feingold's tired harangues.
We say the NHL should be embarrassed while realizing that, under its fetid leadership, it is incapable of being embarrassed.
The Ottawa-Anaheim matchup will be huge in Canada, without a Stanley Cup champion since 1993, and in Orange County, where the expansion Ducks debuted, also in 1993. But elsewhere, the final probably will bomb, largely because the stubborn NHL can't sell a bottle of water in the desert.
Besides the obvious -- playoff hockey is dependably entertaining -- story lines abound. The Senators had a plan. They would endure being really bad before they could become really good. The latter half of that trick hasn't quite caught on with the Blackhawks, who closed their mausoleum doors on Easter Sunday, if you can remember back that far.
The Ducks, once just another Disney account, built a powerhouse under new ownership and excellent management featuring Bob Murray, a senior vice president who got the usual 20 minutes to resurrect the Hawks during his ill-fated tenure. The Ducks are a hot commodity in the Sun Belt, invalidating a crutch the NHL leans on when cash registers stall. Hockey indeed will work where the snow doesn't fly, if an organization actually is organized.
Ottawa doesn't miss Martin Havlat, free-agent savior who fled to Chicago, any more than the NBA Pistons miss Ben Wallace, who also found wealth and happiness in the United Center -- with the Bulls. Anaheim reached the final by eliminating Detroit, the last surviving member of the Original Six, only two franchises of which qualified for the hard-to-miss playoffs.
So much for history and tradition. New guys on the pond skate circles around old-schoolers who promised us a salary cap would be the solution. Not for a dunce cap, it isn't.
Sunday, May 06, 2007
No matter what you put in it, this Cup is magical
After seeing the Stanley Cup in person, all other championship trophies seem ... well ... a little pathetic. Try sipping champagne from that World Series thing with all those flags that look like they may fall off in a strong breeze. Only in the NHL does the award match the achievement. Only in the NHL does the trophy carry an aura of its own, stories of its own. Even the most cynical of sports observers are struck by its presence.
In other professional sports, the athletes talk about getting a ring. But those gaudy pieces of championship jewelry have nothing on the stunning silver rings of hockey's 114-year-old trophy.
The Stanley Cup acts as motivation and inspiration. Last season, Sabres co-captain Chris Drury went to Buffalo GM Darcy Regier and asked that a picture of the Cup be put on the wall in the locker room. Having won it with the Avalanche in 2001, Drury wanted his teammates to see what they were working for every day. He wanted a constant reminder of the glistening goal. He got it. The Sabres didn't win it last season, but they carried their quest into this season -- and a reminder of their professional dream stares back at them each day.
The Cup is steeped in tradition and superstition -- try to find an NHL player who has touched the trophy without having earned the right to put his name on it first. One of the greatest traditions of the Cup is that each player gets to spend a day of celebration with it. Babies have been bathed in it. Kids have eaten cereal from it. Dogs have been fed out of it.
Grown men have slept with it -- but most don't go to bed at all during their time with the trophy. It has taken a helicopter to the top of mountains in British Columbia and stood in Red Square in Moscow. It has toured big and small cities across North America and Europe. It has sat in the dugout at Yankee Stadium and taken the ice in hundreds of small hometown arenas. Street hockey games have been played to "win" it.
The Cup has toured to raise money for charity. It has traveled to hospitals to raise spirits. Names have been misspelled on it. One name has even been crossed out. The Cup has been kicked across a frozen river and sunk to the bottom of a pool. But despite having been dented a few times, it does not sit idly in some league office.
The Stanley Cup has seen many scenes that can't be printed and probably shouldn't be repeated. But there are plenty of stories that can be retold and have become an integral part of the trophy's lore.
In his book If the Cup Could Talk, author Michael Ulmer shares many of those.
One is the tale of Cheryl Riley, who had spent more than a decade trying to have a child, something doctors told her probably couldn't happen. Then in August 1996, Cheryl and her husband, Ken, ended up at Mike Ricci's Stanley Cup celebration after he had won the championship with the Avalanche. That day, Cheryl kissed the Cup. That weekend, Cheryl and Ken shocked the doctors and conceived a child. Their son is Stanley C. Riley. The "C" is simply an initial, but it comes with a story that the family can, and will, share their entire lives.
There is magic in that Cup. You don't have to grow up in a small Canadian town with a frozen pond in the back yard and thousands of games in your past to feel it.
In these couple of months, NHL players work hard to reach the pinnacle of their profession. They are working to be the best, to earn the right to reach out and touch the Stanley Cup.
In other professional sports, the athletes talk about getting a ring. But those gaudy pieces of championship jewelry have nothing on the stunning silver rings of hockey's 114-year-old trophy.
The Stanley Cup acts as motivation and inspiration. Last season, Sabres co-captain Chris Drury went to Buffalo GM Darcy Regier and asked that a picture of the Cup be put on the wall in the locker room. Having won it with the Avalanche in 2001, Drury wanted his teammates to see what they were working for every day. He wanted a constant reminder of the glistening goal. He got it. The Sabres didn't win it last season, but they carried their quest into this season -- and a reminder of their professional dream stares back at them each day.
The Cup is steeped in tradition and superstition -- try to find an NHL player who has touched the trophy without having earned the right to put his name on it first. One of the greatest traditions of the Cup is that each player gets to spend a day of celebration with it. Babies have been bathed in it. Kids have eaten cereal from it. Dogs have been fed out of it.
Grown men have slept with it -- but most don't go to bed at all during their time with the trophy. It has taken a helicopter to the top of mountains in British Columbia and stood in Red Square in Moscow. It has toured big and small cities across North America and Europe. It has sat in the dugout at Yankee Stadium and taken the ice in hundreds of small hometown arenas. Street hockey games have been played to "win" it.
The Cup has toured to raise money for charity. It has traveled to hospitals to raise spirits. Names have been misspelled on it. One name has even been crossed out. The Cup has been kicked across a frozen river and sunk to the bottom of a pool. But despite having been dented a few times, it does not sit idly in some league office.
The Stanley Cup has seen many scenes that can't be printed and probably shouldn't be repeated. But there are plenty of stories that can be retold and have become an integral part of the trophy's lore.
In his book If the Cup Could Talk, author Michael Ulmer shares many of those.
One is the tale of Cheryl Riley, who had spent more than a decade trying to have a child, something doctors told her probably couldn't happen. Then in August 1996, Cheryl and her husband, Ken, ended up at Mike Ricci's Stanley Cup celebration after he had won the championship with the Avalanche. That day, Cheryl kissed the Cup. That weekend, Cheryl and Ken shocked the doctors and conceived a child. Their son is Stanley C. Riley. The "C" is simply an initial, but it comes with a story that the family can, and will, share their entire lives.
There is magic in that Cup. You don't have to grow up in a small Canadian town with a frozen pond in the back yard and thousands of games in your past to feel it.
In these couple of months, NHL players work hard to reach the pinnacle of their profession. They are working to be the best, to earn the right to reach out and touch the Stanley Cup.
