Boogaard's sad death shows why the NHL must ban fighting

Fighting is far and away the most divisive topic in hockey. There is no middle ground, you either love it or hate it.

One of my earliest articles for The Roar pushed the need for fighting to remain a part of the game. Fighting still happens, though to a somewhat lesser extent than in seasons gone by, and remains a feature of minor leagues like the AHL, where barely a night goes by without a brawl or two.

Fighting also remains a part of the landscape in the Canadian junior ranks, where kids as young as 16 flick the gloves off, toss their helmets and try their best to pummel the daylights out of their opponent.

On fighting, I’ve had an epiphany – and I’ve done a complete turnaround. What made me reverse my stance? I just finished a book by Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist John Branch, called ‘Boy on Ice – The Life and Death of Derek Boogaard’.

Most hockey fans have heard of Boogaard, the gentle giant whose on-ice nickname ‘The Boogeyman’ was completely at odds with the laid-back, relaxed persona that was his trademark away from the rink.

Let’s not mince words. Boogaard was, for want of a better word, a goon, and made it to the top of the hockey pile – the NHL – not because he was a smooth skater or possessed hands like Wayne Gretzky, but because he was able to go out onto the ice when the need arose and fight the opposition’s goon.

Tragically, Derek Boogaard died in 2011, at the tender age of 28, his demise caused by a shocking cocktail of prescription drugs and alcohol. It emerged thereafter that he had been in and out of rehab for drug addiction, and simply hadn’t been right for months.

Yet, as an enforcer in a world where there are many guys in the AHL and ECHL wanting to claim that last roster spot, Boogaard kept going, kept playing, kept dropping the gloves to fight. He did it because it was his lifeline to the NHL. He would never have made it as a skilled player, but as an enforcer he did, thrust into an environment where a guy is only as good as his last winning fight. Taking too much time away from the game likely meant being replaced by someone younger and fitter, and the odds are against a player in that situation ever regaining his position. Such is the fighting culture in the NHL.

So this kid from the plains of Canada who grew up idolising Toronto’s Doug Gilmour – the sort of skilled player Derek likely knew he could never be – and made it to the NHL as a fan favourite first with Minnesota and then the New York Rangers, continued to manage his raft of physical and mental injuries. He took more and more painkillers, particularly the potent Percocet tablet, doing absolutely anything to dull the aches in his hands, his knuckles, his legs, his head, everywhere.

Anything to get back onto the ice. Anything to shape up for that next fight. Anything to keep his spot in the League. Despite the inevitable addiction.

We now know that Boogaard was a broken man, mentally and physically, a fact that he kept from the rest of the world. Scarce few knew the truth of his life until after his untimely death. Only a handful truly understood the pain that was a large part of his life for too long. All because of the fighting culture in the NHL where an enforcer is only as good as his last scrap, and his employment is on shaky ground if it isn’t a win.

Branch’s book had a profound effect on me – at times I wanted to cry as Derek’s life spiralled dramatically out of control – as did Boogaard’s death nearly four years ago now. I’m a Rangers fan and, back before I knew better, I stood and cheered, applauding the big man on multiple occasions at Madison Square Garden when he squared off against the other team’s enforcer.

On the surface, Boogey didn’t lose many fights. Beneath the surface it was a different story.

Alas, Boogaard is far from the first enforcer to lose his life. The feared Bob Probert, one of many NHL enforcers from the blood-soaked early 90s, died of a heart attack, and it was later revealed that Probert, a man who had taken sustained and repeated blows to the head, had the brain-related disease chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE), the symptoms of which include early onset memory loss, depression, aggressive behaviour and more. It was determined post-mortem that Boogaard also suffered from CTE.

Back in Probert’s day, a concussion was simply seen as getting your ‘bell rung’ and players were seen as weak if they didn’t get back out and keep going. Now there are concussion tests and players are barely allowed to move if they’re suspected of having sustained a concussion. Not back then. Back then it was about sucking it up, ignoring the pain and dizziness and getting on with the game.

Despite modern medical advances, there are still dangers. What’s the easiest way to sustain a concussion? A blow to the head. If you’re an NHL enforcer out there to fight a guy, the chances are good that you’re going to take a shot to the head. Too many of those, and bad things happen. When committing suicide, NFL star Junior Seau deliberately shot himself in the chest to preserve his brain for CTE research. The common denominator? Repeated blows to the head, night after night.

The entertainment value of a fight in hockey is huge, but we cannot be expecting these men to front up night after night, doing something that is incredible dangerous to their health. Sure, you can sustain a concussion in other ways – just ask Sidney Crosby, who was out for multiple games a few years back, after being diagnosed with one after seemingly light contact – but repeated blows at or near the head is a recipe for disaster.

Hockey has seen what CTE can do, and as fighters become stronger, the potential for so much worse is near at hand. We cannot continue to lose young men in the prime of their lives. Derek Boogaard should be enjoying the best years of his life right now. Instead, he died alone, likely miserably, in a downtown Minneapolis apartment, thanks largely to hockey’s fighting culture.

Boogaard is a cautionary tale. His story has been told by Branch, at the behest of his family, to shed light on the real and scary dangers of such repeated blows to the head as fighting can bring about. There will be more young men dead or debilitated unless the NHL ban fighting completely and immediately.