Like most hockey writers and broadcasters in the NHL realm, I once wanted to be a hockey player. Big-time and big-league. At first, I preferred goaltending but since I excelled at right defense for the Woodside Whippets roller hockey team, I settled for the blue line.
Really.
And, thanks to the New Jersey Devils, I was granted that opportunity to be a hockey player on NHL ice, during the Lou Lamoriello reign as general manager.
Mind you, I'm not suggesting that a full-time playing gig was in my crosshairs; but rather something more realistic. Something like a media vs. media clash. That was my speed, and I make no bones about it.
Of course, you wouldn't know about these things because media vs. media games, ironically, never made their way into print nor on television. But they did exist and were they ever exciting. Also, dangerous. And in my case very dangerous,as you soon will see.
My Last Hockey Playing Game | SUNDAYS WITH STAN
Fischler played hockey throughout his life, but his playing career came to a 'crashing' halt in his final game
Furthermore, my good friends, this tale also will explain how The Maven's hockey-playing career came to an abrupt - and rather thudding- end. But let me start at the beginning.
When the NHL expanded from six to a dozen teams in 1967, the Philadelphia Flyers media, led by PR man Joe Kadlec, formed a team and challenged the New York Rangers media to a game played at The Garden. I played left defense for the Manhattan sextet in that game.
Ironically, like Rangers-Flyers real NHL games, the Beer League clashes were just as intense.
Now, we fast-forward to 15 or so years ago when the Islanders media challenged the Devils assorted print and electronic journalists to a game at The Meadowlands arena.
This was such a big deal for us amateurs that Lamoriello decided to give it a pro touch. Larrupin' Lou then ordered special professional uniforms for us. They were exactly the same as the Devils jerseys except for the front logo which featured a computer and pen. On the back, we had a choice of numbers.
Since I was a Bill Guerin fan, I chose number 12 which I proudly donned at our pre-game huddle. What I remember clearly is that current Devils radio analyst Glenn (Chico) Resch was our goaltender and my defense partner was former Devil Randy Veliscek.
The only advice I got was from Resch - and I'll never forget it - went like this: "Stan," he said, "if anyone comes down your side; just let them shoot and I'll take care of the rest."
Fair enough, although I was worried about a few good shooters on the Islanders side. One of them was their equipment manager Joe McMahon. I had seen him work out at Nassau Coliseum several times and, brother, could he ever shoot the puck. And skate hard as well.
No problem. Chico said to let them shoot and I, for one, took his advice to heart. So, now it's the first period and we're playing them pretty even until with about five minutes left, some large fellow is barreling down my wing. Uh-oh, it's that Joe McMahon.
No problem, I remembered Chico's advice. First, I sized him up and then let him shoot. What thuh!He beat Chico and now I'm minus-one.
The second period is underway and we're going at it pretty hard. My buddy Chris Riley - stage manager for visiting TV and a one-time college star - is on right wing with his gloves off and a fight is underway; but it's quickly broken up and no harm done.
Whoops! Late in the period that Joey guy is rip-roarin' down my side again, but I didn't care since Chico's advice still was firmly embedded in my brain. So, I let Joey shoot and - guess what? - he scores again. And, now, the very annoyed Maven is fightin' mad and worse still, I'm now a minus-two.
Still, the game is even well into the third period and I'm thinking that I'd better alter my strategy if McMahon tries his tricks again; which, naturally, he did.
(Right now, I should let you know that I never, ever, played hockey wearing a helmet; and not in this game either. Just glasses, shoulder pads and shin pads. I hated helmets.)
Okay, so here comes McMahon and here goes my strategy: No, I'm not going to let him shoot; had enough of The Resch Plan. I'm going to take Joey - a good friend of mine, as you soon will see - by surprise. I'm gonna bodycheck him before he can shoot.
(Action. Camera!)McMahon is coming at me and body meets body; except that The Maven is falling backwards with my un-helmeted head about to hit the ice and then I'll wind up somewhere in Concussion-ville, USA.)
But, wait. Something strange has happened. McMahon immediately knew that I was a goner. He grabbed the logo on the front of my jersey and gently - oh, so gently - lowered my head so that by the time it reached the ice, it was a smooth-as-silk landing.
And as I looked up at Joey, I smiled because once my scalp reached the ice, I announced to myself: "Maven, it's time to retire."
Yup, I had my fun over the years but at age 75, the time had come for Stanley I. Fischler to watch hockey --and not play it anymore!
P.S As for Joey McMahon, wherever you are: Belated - but very sincere - thanks for saving my life! Oh, yeah, and also ending my hockey-playing career.
