It was a semi-ritual I performed that one Red Wings season. Maybe I did it four, five times.
The Wings would be at home that evening, and I'd knock off work from my TV production job Downriver around 5:30, 6:00. Then I'd make an off-the-cuff, spontaneous decision.
Why not stop by Joe Louis Arena for some laughs?
I lived in Ypsilanti at the time, so a sojourn up I-75 into downtown wasn't exactly on my way home from Taylor. But these were the bachelor days, so there wasn't anyone to hurry home to. And after a grind at work it was nice sometimes to stretch out, relax, and be entertained by some ice follies.
It was the 1985-86 season. Perhaps the most vaudevillian of all Red Wings seasons.
They were the slip-on-a-banana peel team, those '85-86 Red Wings. Stepping on a rake and getting whacked in the face. The squirting daisy in the lapel. The joy buzzer during a handshake. There were nights when you looked for Soupy Sales behind the bench, about to get a pie in the face.
So I'd park my car, always close the arena, and traipse up to the box office. This was about 30 minutes before game time.
"One, please." And pretty much wherever I wanted, by the way.
I'd find the seat -- always in the lower bowl -- and spread out, for there was rarely anyone seated next to me. Or next to next to me. Maybe 12,000 or so other curious folks looking for some yuks were with me.
The three acts shuffled, but the final scene was always the same. Sometimes the Red Wings would engage the Canadiens or the Sabres in a real, almost competitive tussle. Or sometimes they'd really have us rolling in the aisles to the tune of 8-1, or worse.
Eddie Mio was the goalie back then. The Swiss cheese of goalies. I used to have a nickname for him: Eddie Mio-My.
So I'd watch the slapstick play out before me, satisfied that I got my $10 worth because I'd pick nights when the NHL's brightest stars were in town. And I'd watch while first Harry Neale, then Brad Park, gamely tried to match wits with their counterpart, knowing darned well that it was futile because no x's and o's in the world could compensate for the disparity of talent on the ice.
The '85-86 Red Wings won 17 games. All season. In 80 contests, they surrendered over 400 goals. You heard me. Over five per game. And, since the team's offense was usually incapable of scoring six goals in two games, let alone one, you pretty much get the idea of their chances at victory.
Sometimes, when the action stopped and the teams changed lines before the next face-off, I'd look around the Joe and ponder.
"Will the Red Wings EVER win a Stanley Cup in my lifetime?"
And, if they did...
"What would happen to this place? Would it come down for all the euphoria?"
It was a difficult thing to imagine, believe me, while you were watching NHL hockey in an atmosphere more suited for a chess match. Or an SAT test.
The Red Wings were into their fourth season of Mike Ilitch ownership, and they were regressing.
Or so I thought.
Silly me. I neglected to remember that the GM in those days was Jimmy Devellano, whose background included several years with the New York Islanders, starting with their inception in 1972-73. Jimmy D. was a scout by trade, and it was his keen eye, and those of others that he hired, that brought the Isles from expansion to a Stanley Cup in seven years. And then another Cup. And another. And one more, before being hired away by the Red Wings in 1982.
Little did I know, as I watched the Red Wings stumble through that season, that Devellano was laying the building blocks for the championship organization that the Red Wings are today.
He hired scouts, for starters. Good scouts. And he instructed some to fly overseas, to places like Sweden and Russia and Finland, to look for players who could, one day, play in the NHL. For the Red Wings, of course.
And he put some scouts on the draft, and put some more on the NHL itself, to hunt for players with other organizations who might be attractive trade targets.
All this was going on as the Red Wings were losing, and losing big, in 1985-86.
Now we don't ask if the Red Wings will win a Stanley Cup in our lifetime, but how many more they'll win.
The point of all this is to say that the Lions today, I'm sure, are in that same category, in people's minds, as those '85-86 Red Wings were in mine.
"Will they ever win a Super Bowl in my lifetime?"
Why, yes. The Red Wings hadn't won a championship since the 1950s, either. And they did it.
Hire some scouts, for starters.
The sad state of the Lions is really rooted in just one thing, folks. They don't have enough good players. Haven't had them in quite some time, in fact. Sorry to state the obvious, but sometimes that gets lost in the shuffle.
I was taking inventory of the Lions roster the other day, and it occurred to me that of the 22 starters on the offensive and defensive platoons, not more than five or six, tops, would be of any interest to another NFL team, should trades be discussed.
Roy Williams. Calvin Johnson. Ernie Sims. Paris Lenon. Maybe Jeff Backus and/or Dominic Raiola. A few others might be attractive as depth or as backups. And that's about it.
Five or six out of 22?
When 70-75% of your starters are considered trash by all the rest, then you have a serious talent issue.
That's why I hope the Lions, when they do their internal self-evaluation, place a high priority on hiring someone with expertise in finding young football talent. Forget the high-profile name for the sake of the high-profile name. I made the reference to Jack McCloskey already, and I'll add Jimmy Devellano today. All I knew of Devellano was he was this short, stocky guy with the squeaky Canadian voice who had been some sort of cog with the Islanders. Turns out, that was good enough.
Don't be surprised, or better yet, disappointed, if the Lions' new football man is someone you've barely heard of -- or at the very least, someone you wouldn't have heard of it wasn't for the speculation in the papers. Don't look at the name, look at the pedigree.
If he comes from the Colts, or the Patriots, or the Packers, or the Cowboys, you should be happy. From anywhere else, you should be wary.
The unknown shouldn't always be feared.
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