Showing posts with label Only in the CHL. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Only in the CHL. Show all posts
Saturday, January 22, 2011
v2, d261: Only in the CHL
Maybe some words are worth a thousand words. Others, however, leave me with only one: Wow.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
v2, d135: WOF #6: Only in the CHL
One day you're on top of the world, the next day...well, you're not.
Exhibit A: the 1995-96 Wichita Thunder.
Exhibit B: The Thunder's leading scorer halfway through the year, Mike Chighisola.
The Thunder were the basement dwellers of the 6-team league in its inaugural season (1992-93), starting 6-20 before picking up a new coach who brought in a bunch of old buddies, including several guys with NHL experience, to try to right the ship. It worked, and we blitzed through the league the next two years, sweeping the defending champ Tulsa Oilers in 1994 and battling through a six-game series against the San Antonio Iguanas in 1995 (culminating in a 9-4 rout at home to win the title). Wichita was the biggest fish in the smallest pond in professional hockey. (Really, it was more like a puddle) Coach Doug Shedden inevitably got a job in a better league, but that's not what killed the Thunder dynasty. After the 1995 season, the league decided it wanted to be more of a "developmental" league, limiting the number of veterans any one team could have so that fans would get a better look and "up-and-coming" players. (I use quotes because, as of today, the only CHL grads to see relatively significant time in the NHL have all been goons. When Wade Brookbank is your league's biggest success story, you're not "developing" a whole heck of a lot) Over half the Thunder team was now ineligible to return, and the party was over.
Still, that was no guarantee that the Thunder would necessarily become...well, the 1995-96 Thunder. The team waited too long to name a new coach, and in that league, the coach was responsible for finding the players. When Don Jackson took over, all the good players had pretty much signed elsewhere, and he took pretty much whatever he could get.
What he got was pretty bad, and we went from worst to first and right back again. Funny thing was, there were some pretty good players. There were just some really bad ones, too, and the goaltending was awful. Like, "We coulda really used Major Brad Link" awful. We gave up 380 goals in 64 games. Oh, yeah. We went through six goalies (and finally found one we liked at the end of the year), starting the year with the backup from both championship years (who eventually left because he wanted more playing time) and the guy who inexplicably could not play up to the level the coach had expected from him and was eventually released. (It was later discovered that the man was completely blind in one eye!!! Can't imagine how that would make your life as a goalie difficult!) Our next started compiled a 2-10-1 record and only kept getting starts on the virtue of the fact that his backup was even worse.
It was ugly, folks. Things kept getting worse, and eventually it started to feel like a bad soap opera. When our best defenseman (a very late-season acquisition) turned up mysteriously dead in his apartment in Russia the following year, it seemed to fit in perfectly with the oddities that seemed to surround the 1995-96 season.
Nothing was as strange, however, as the case of troubled scorer Mike Chighisola. Chighisola had a bit of a tarnished past, but he was really making an effort to start clean in Wichita. He was a talented player (18 goals and 29 assists through the first half of the season which, keep in mind, is when we had mostly terrible players around him) and seemed to have things in his life going his way finally. While missing a little time with an injury, Chighisola was even married center ice during intermission of a Thunder game. Yessir, things were finally looking up for the guy.
A week later, he was arrested for stealing from teammates, among other things. Later, it turned out that guys in the locker room had been occasionally losing cash all year long, but the kicker came with Chighisola stole a credit card belonging to Mikhail Kravets (a supremely talented late-season acquisition who somehow managed 71 points in 37 games) and used it to buy a $250-dollar stereo system. After Chighisola's arrest, supposedly a lot of "stuff" from the year made perfect sense to a lot of folks surrounding the team.
So there you have it. The curious case of the '95-96 Thunder. Back-to-back champs featuring only 4 returning members, trading away the most popular player in team history, handing the keys to a one-eyed goalie and a crook (married at center ice, paid for the honeymoon with cash from the locker room!), and picking up absurdly talented offensive players once it was far too late in the year to do anything with them. And, for some reason, our mascot was a giant dog.
Exhibit A: the 1995-96 Wichita Thunder.
Exhibit B: The Thunder's leading scorer halfway through the year, Mike Chighisola.
The Thunder were the basement dwellers of the 6-team league in its inaugural season (1992-93), starting 6-20 before picking up a new coach who brought in a bunch of old buddies, including several guys with NHL experience, to try to right the ship. It worked, and we blitzed through the league the next two years, sweeping the defending champ Tulsa Oilers in 1994 and battling through a six-game series against the San Antonio Iguanas in 1995 (culminating in a 9-4 rout at home to win the title). Wichita was the biggest fish in the smallest pond in professional hockey. (Really, it was more like a puddle) Coach Doug Shedden inevitably got a job in a better league, but that's not what killed the Thunder dynasty. After the 1995 season, the league decided it wanted to be more of a "developmental" league, limiting the number of veterans any one team could have so that fans would get a better look and "up-and-coming" players. (I use quotes because, as of today, the only CHL grads to see relatively significant time in the NHL have all been goons. When Wade Brookbank is your league's biggest success story, you're not "developing" a whole heck of a lot) Over half the Thunder team was now ineligible to return, and the party was over.
Still, that was no guarantee that the Thunder would necessarily become...well, the 1995-96 Thunder. The team waited too long to name a new coach, and in that league, the coach was responsible for finding the players. When Don Jackson took over, all the good players had pretty much signed elsewhere, and he took pretty much whatever he could get.
What he got was pretty bad, and we went from worst to first and right back again. Funny thing was, there were some pretty good players. There were just some really bad ones, too, and the goaltending was awful. Like, "We coulda really used Major Brad Link" awful. We gave up 380 goals in 64 games. Oh, yeah. We went through six goalies (and finally found one we liked at the end of the year), starting the year with the backup from both championship years (who eventually left because he wanted more playing time) and the guy who inexplicably could not play up to the level the coach had expected from him and was eventually released. (It was later discovered that the man was completely blind in one eye!!! Can't imagine how that would make your life as a goalie difficult!) Our next started compiled a 2-10-1 record and only kept getting starts on the virtue of the fact that his backup was even worse.
It was ugly, folks. Things kept getting worse, and eventually it started to feel like a bad soap opera. When our best defenseman (a very late-season acquisition) turned up mysteriously dead in his apartment in Russia the following year, it seemed to fit in perfectly with the oddities that seemed to surround the 1995-96 season.
Nothing was as strange, however, as the case of troubled scorer Mike Chighisola. Chighisola had a bit of a tarnished past, but he was really making an effort to start clean in Wichita. He was a talented player (18 goals and 29 assists through the first half of the season which, keep in mind, is when we had mostly terrible players around him) and seemed to have things in his life going his way finally. While missing a little time with an injury, Chighisola was even married center ice during intermission of a Thunder game. Yessir, things were finally looking up for the guy.
A week later, he was arrested for stealing from teammates, among other things. Later, it turned out that guys in the locker room had been occasionally losing cash all year long, but the kicker came with Chighisola stole a credit card belonging to Mikhail Kravets (a supremely talented late-season acquisition who somehow managed 71 points in 37 games) and used it to buy a $250-dollar stereo system. After Chighisola's arrest, supposedly a lot of "stuff" from the year made perfect sense to a lot of folks surrounding the team.
So there you have it. The curious case of the '95-96 Thunder. Back-to-back champs featuring only 4 returning members, trading away the most popular player in team history, handing the keys to a one-eyed goalie and a crook (married at center ice, paid for the honeymoon with cash from the locker room!), and picking up absurdly talented offensive players once it was far too late in the year to do anything with them. And, for some reason, our mascot was a giant dog.
Friday, July 9, 2010
v2, d112: Major Link Plays Hockey
Gather 'round, children, and listen to the tale of Major Brad Link, a Wichita, Kansas hockey fan who got a rare chance to live a long-abandoned dream in one of many stories that ends with the phrase "Only in the CHL."
Ah, the Central Hockey League. In the mid-1990's, it was the bottom of the barrel when it came to professional hockey leagues in North America. This was not long after the first major expansion/merger (this time with the Southern Hockey League, I think). At that point, the CHL had two divisions: a Western division that went as far south as Fort Worth, Texas, and as far north as Topeka, Kansas. The Eastern division gathered five teams in Georgia, Alabama, and Tennessee. Who'd have thought there would one day be professional hockey teams called the Topeka Scarecrows, Huntsville Channel Cats, and the immortal Macon Whoopee. (At one point in time, their logo featured a bird and a bee. Clever)
Major Link was a fan of Wichita's Thunder, a former two-time CHL champ that had made it to the championship series and been swept by the Columbus (GA) Cottonmouths the year before. As was the case with many Wichitans, Link was also stationed at the McConnell Air Force Base, famous for their B2 Bombers and other operational U.S. Air Force crafts. During the off-season, Link invited former Thunder player and current head coach Bryan Wells to take a ride in a fighter jet from time to time. Wells appreciated the gesture and looked for an opportunity to repay Link for his generosity.
Then, during the season, Wichita's backup goalie was called up on an emergency basis to the IHL's Kansas City Blades, leaving Wichita with only one masked man. Now, Link had played goal in college twenty years ago, so Wells thought the Major might get a kick out of traveling with the team. He'd dress for games and watch from the bench, taking some practice shots before the game and during team practices. But he'd never have to worry about getting into a game. Wichita's backup (Greg Smith, I believe. When asking about a backup Wichita netminder in the '90s, Smith is always a good guess) should be back soon, and starter Lance Leslie would be able to handle the workload until Smith got back. (Side note: In my mind, I remembered Leslie being awesome. Turns out, that wasn't until the next season, as this year he finished with an .875 save percentage)
Then came the home game against the Cottomouths. The same Cottomnouths that had not only swept, but utterly trounced the Thunder in the Final a year before. They were still pretty dang good, too. My dad and I were at the Big Brown Barn that night, and the filthy snakes were handing it to our boys pretty good again. About halfway through the second period, the Thunder were down 5-1. Our guys played like a prizefighter who is already out on his feet, waiting for the inevitable knockout blow to make it official. There wasn't much going on. And then, just when it looked like things couldn't get any worse, Leslie got hurt. He was done for the night.
(Wow. Side note: "Gonna Fly Now" from Rocky just came on my iPod. This is awesome)
The crowd grew eerily silent. Then, we realized what was coming next: The 41-year-old rookie was going to have to come in and guard the net for the last half of the game. Quiet applause became raucous cheering as #40 Link skated slowly toward the goal, wearing old beat-up practice pads and a red, white, and blue goalie mask. It was the old man against the defending champs.
One shot later, it was 6-1 Columbus. The next shot they took was technically a save, though really it just bounced off Link's mask and into the corner. The Major looked awfully slow. (Understandably, of course) The good vibes were gone, and we all just started to feel sorry for the poor guy.
Something strange happened with that mask-save, though: the old guy in the next seemed to realize that he could actually stop the puck. And he stood a little bit taller. He skated from side to side to rough up the ice around his crease. He started to look like a goalie.
And then, he started to play like one. The next save was no accident, as Link grabbed a wrist shot out of mid-air. He held the puck out, as if to show his teammates, "No worries, I have it." The crowd cheered. Thunder players tapped their sticks against the boards in salute. The game may have been out of reach, but suddenly they decided to play as if there was something at stake. The defense tightened. We started hitting again. When they pushed, we pushed back. Our defensemen kept their positions. We blocked shots. And when one got through, Major Brad Link was there. It wasn't always pretty, but he found a way to make the save. The crowd got louder and louder with every save the rookie made.
Major Link didn't let in another shot all night. According to Link's official stats page at hockeydb, he stopped 9 of 10 in 31 minutes of work. He never saw another professional hockey game. The team brought in another professional goalie to hold down the fort until Smith came back. And, since this was the minor minor leagues, we ended up using six goalies that year. Of all six, though, the only one who stopped 90 percent of the shots he faced all season, the only one who allowed fewer than 3 goals per 60 minutes, was the 41-year-old hometown rookie in the beat up pads and the red, white, and blue.
Only in the CHL.
Ah, the Central Hockey League. In the mid-1990's, it was the bottom of the barrel when it came to professional hockey leagues in North America. This was not long after the first major expansion/merger (this time with the Southern Hockey League, I think). At that point, the CHL had two divisions: a Western division that went as far south as Fort Worth, Texas, and as far north as Topeka, Kansas. The Eastern division gathered five teams in Georgia, Alabama, and Tennessee. Who'd have thought there would one day be professional hockey teams called the Topeka Scarecrows, Huntsville Channel Cats, and the immortal Macon Whoopee. (At one point in time, their logo featured a bird and a bee. Clever)
Major Link was a fan of Wichita's Thunder, a former two-time CHL champ that had made it to the championship series and been swept by the Columbus (GA) Cottonmouths the year before. As was the case with many Wichitans, Link was also stationed at the McConnell Air Force Base, famous for their B2 Bombers and other operational U.S. Air Force crafts. During the off-season, Link invited former Thunder player and current head coach Bryan Wells to take a ride in a fighter jet from time to time. Wells appreciated the gesture and looked for an opportunity to repay Link for his generosity.
Then, during the season, Wichita's backup goalie was called up on an emergency basis to the IHL's Kansas City Blades, leaving Wichita with only one masked man. Now, Link had played goal in college twenty years ago, so Wells thought the Major might get a kick out of traveling with the team. He'd dress for games and watch from the bench, taking some practice shots before the game and during team practices. But he'd never have to worry about getting into a game. Wichita's backup (Greg Smith, I believe. When asking about a backup Wichita netminder in the '90s, Smith is always a good guess) should be back soon, and starter Lance Leslie would be able to handle the workload until Smith got back. (Side note: In my mind, I remembered Leslie being awesome. Turns out, that wasn't until the next season, as this year he finished with an .875 save percentage)
Then came the home game against the Cottomouths. The same Cottomnouths that had not only swept, but utterly trounced the Thunder in the Final a year before. They were still pretty dang good, too. My dad and I were at the Big Brown Barn that night, and the filthy snakes were handing it to our boys pretty good again. About halfway through the second period, the Thunder were down 5-1. Our guys played like a prizefighter who is already out on his feet, waiting for the inevitable knockout blow to make it official. There wasn't much going on. And then, just when it looked like things couldn't get any worse, Leslie got hurt. He was done for the night.
(Wow. Side note: "Gonna Fly Now" from Rocky just came on my iPod. This is awesome)
The crowd grew eerily silent. Then, we realized what was coming next: The 41-year-old rookie was going to have to come in and guard the net for the last half of the game. Quiet applause became raucous cheering as #40 Link skated slowly toward the goal, wearing old beat-up practice pads and a red, white, and blue goalie mask. It was the old man against the defending champs.
One shot later, it was 6-1 Columbus. The next shot they took was technically a save, though really it just bounced off Link's mask and into the corner. The Major looked awfully slow. (Understandably, of course) The good vibes were gone, and we all just started to feel sorry for the poor guy.
Something strange happened with that mask-save, though: the old guy in the next seemed to realize that he could actually stop the puck. And he stood a little bit taller. He skated from side to side to rough up the ice around his crease. He started to look like a goalie.
And then, he started to play like one. The next save was no accident, as Link grabbed a wrist shot out of mid-air. He held the puck out, as if to show his teammates, "No worries, I have it." The crowd cheered. Thunder players tapped their sticks against the boards in salute. The game may have been out of reach, but suddenly they decided to play as if there was something at stake. The defense tightened. We started hitting again. When they pushed, we pushed back. Our defensemen kept their positions. We blocked shots. And when one got through, Major Brad Link was there. It wasn't always pretty, but he found a way to make the save. The crowd got louder and louder with every save the rookie made.
Major Link didn't let in another shot all night. According to Link's official stats page at hockeydb, he stopped 9 of 10 in 31 minutes of work. He never saw another professional hockey game. The team brought in another professional goalie to hold down the fort until Smith came back. And, since this was the minor minor leagues, we ended up using six goalies that year. Of all six, though, the only one who stopped 90 percent of the shots he faced all season, the only one who allowed fewer than 3 goals per 60 minutes, was the 41-year-old hometown rookie in the beat up pads and the red, white, and blue.
Only in the CHL.
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