Around the Rink

by Bob Herpen
The Phanatic Magazine

Zebras...On Notice

I still don't get it.

How can Kevin Bieksa of the Vancouver Canucks get away with a questionable hit to the head on Philadelphia's Simon Gagne on December 30, yet Ottawa forward Jarkko Ruutu "allegedly" bites the hand of Buffalo's Andrew Peters the following Tuesday and is hit with a two-game suspension?

Bieksa drilled Gagne a mere 15 seconds into that Flyers-Canucks tilt, and went unpenalized. The only call he had to answer came from Philly captain Mike Richards, who fought the defenseman to a draw seconds later.

There was no penalty on the hit. There was no review. And there was no suspension, despite the fact that Gagne, who sacrificed all but 18 games lastseason with post-concussion syndrome, missed eight days with shoulder/neck pain.

The Ruutu-Peters thing, though, has to pass muster on the unintentional comedy scale.

A scrum between players on both clubs near center ice early in a 4-2 Ottawa win moved over to the Senators bench. Peters, tangled up in the melee, decided to give a wisecracking Ruutu a face-wash. Ruutu decided the best way to deal with the intrusion was allegedly to bite down on Peters' glove.

Within seconds, the bite was done, the glove was off, and Peters was shaking his hand and screaming like an eight-year-old to anyone who'd listen that he was victimized.

For the NHL's latest enactment of a potential Three Stooges skit, Ruutu felt the velvet sting of league discipline and sat for...two games.

I don't even want to launch into a detailed rant like the one last month over the Avery-Phaneuf flap. It is obvious to a fault right now how ridiculous the officiating is in the league, and continues to shine a spotlight on how hypocritical the NHL is with respect to violence.

If Ruutu was given a two-game suspension and Peters was assessed a 10-minute misconduct, then NO QUESTION Bieksa had to be given a major for boarding, a game misconduct and at least a five-game ban for his more damaging action.

Sundin Starts Over

Mats Sundin made his season debut as a Vancouver Canuck last week in Edmonton, the first time he laced up since last April as a member of the Toronto Maple Leafs.

In three games thus far, his biggest impact has come as he sat in the penalty box, as on two of the three minors for which he was caught, the opposition scored a power-play goal.

What else is there to say after that half-season long soap opera except, Thank God that's over, now back to our regularly-scheduled lives.

Winter Classic Wonderland

This is long overdue, but I have to praise the Red Wings-Blackhawks game from Wrigley Field on New Year's Day. I did not watch the game live but had it DVRed at another location and came away very pleased.

First, the score was right: 6-4 for Detroit. Big fan of games with nine or more goals.

Second, the Wings rallied from 3-1 down after the first period with five tallies in a row. Third, the play was crisp and offensively-oriented from the get-go and didn't let up much for the entire 60 minutes.

Last, the old-school uniforms on both sides were a great touch, reminiscent of the Original Six retro jerseys worn in the league's 75th anniversary back in1991-92.

For the first one in Buffalo a year ago, I got the sense that the fix was in as far as the outcome was concerned. It's not hard to imagine somebody in either locker room impressed upon the players that neither the league nor each team should be embarrassed on national television, so that 2-1 score which was decided in a shootout set off my BS detector right away. I also hardly think it was a coincidence that Golden Child One, Sidney Crosby, scored the game-winner.

But this time around, it was a game with division and conference standings onthe line, along with the pride of a long-time rivalry between the clubs. They delivered something just as or even more special this time around.

Can't wait for the next one in 2010, whether it's in Beaver Stadium, or Olympic Stadium, or some other neutral outpost. My vote is for a Minnesota Wild-Chicago Blackhawks game on the frozen tundra of Lambeau Field.

Discovering The Good Doctor all over again

In a post-holiday bargain rush, I managed to score two of Hunter Thompson's works. The lesser-well-known volume is "Hey Rube," a collection of his missives while employed by ESPN's Page 2 back when it was a legit literary enterprise.

Halfway through the book, there's a conversation between Thompson and Warren Zevon over the 2001 Stanley Cup Finals, where Zevon goes cuckoo over formerAvalanche goaltender
Patrick Roy while both were hunkered down at Hunter's place near Aspen, Colorado.

They're both dead now, and the world is worse for that. But my admiration for both just shot through the roof. That is all I know, and furthermore, all I Need to Know.