:: The inevitable end of Captain Canuck ::
You knew it was coming.
You knew it was coming the first time he sat in the press box for more than two games in a row. You knew it was a foregone conclusion each time a reporter asked him how he felt about his limited role, and he refused to complain, instead saying something classier - some variation of "That's just hockey," or "He's the coach, he makes the decisions," or "I'm just here to help out anyway I can."
You knew it every time a newspaper reporter wrote a mid-season obituary opining on what he'll do after he leaves the ice for the last time. Or every time a television or radio broadcaster said that whatever it was he'd just done was "maybe the last time he'll score a goal/get an assist/get a penalty/get a standing ovation/yell at a referee" in his long, storied career.
And you knew it for sure when his parents showed up to see his last game. Or when the entire Calgary Flames team returned to the ice after the final whistle to shake his hand, which is still one of the most touching, classiest things I've ever witnessed in all my years watching sports.
And then, after it all, there was his victory lap around the rink - the one accompanied by a standing ovation that seemed to last longer than the game itself, the cheers echoing down every hallway of the rink he helped fill.
You just knew.
But sometimes it's hard to let go, so deep down - far past the little, common-sense voice in your head that says, "It's over," you tried to convince youself that maybe it wasn't over after all. Maybe, just maybe, he'd come back.
Alas, it isn't to be.
Tomorrow, Wednesday, June 11, at 11 a.m., 18 years and 1,382 games after he arrived, Trevor Linden is retiring.
Not unexpected, of course, and deep down, you know it's the right time to say goodbye.
Doesn't make it any easier though, now that's it's for real.
You knew it was coming.
You knew it was coming the first time he sat in the press box for more than two games in a row. You knew it was a foregone conclusion each time a reporter asked him how he felt about his limited role, and he refused to complain, instead saying something classier - some variation of "That's just hockey," or "He's the coach, he makes the decisions," or "I'm just here to help out anyway I can."
You knew it every time a newspaper reporter wrote a mid-season obituary opining on what he'll do after he leaves the ice for the last time. Or every time a television or radio broadcaster said that whatever it was he'd just done was "maybe the last time he'll score a goal/get an assist/get a penalty/get a standing ovation/yell at a referee" in his long, storied career.
And you knew it for sure when his parents showed up to see his last game. Or when the entire Calgary Flames team returned to the ice after the final whistle to shake his hand, which is still one of the most touching, classiest things I've ever witnessed in all my years watching sports.
And then, after it all, there was his victory lap around the rink - the one accompanied by a standing ovation that seemed to last longer than the game itself, the cheers echoing down every hallway of the rink he helped fill.
You just knew.
But sometimes it's hard to let go, so deep down - far past the little, common-sense voice in your head that says, "It's over," you tried to convince youself that maybe it wasn't over after all. Maybe, just maybe, he'd come back.
Alas, it isn't to be.
Tomorrow, Wednesday, June 11, at 11 a.m., 18 years and 1,382 games after he arrived, Trevor Linden is retiring.
Not unexpected, of course, and deep down, you know it's the right time to say goodbye.
Doesn't make it any easier though, now that's it's for real.
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