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Cherry major obstruction in hockey evolution |
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Written by Jason Laurendeau
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Friday, January 08 2010, 9:14 PM |
“Last night I went to a fight, and a hockey game broke out.” This joke (funny or otherwise) is now dated, but continues to be relevant, as the issue of violence in hockey, once again, occupies a central stage in the Canadian media.
Recently, this media attention has centred on the comments of Toronto neurosurgeon Dr. Charles Tator, who took aim at Don Cherry, icon of Canadian hockey. Dr. Tator suggested that the “sock ’em, kill ’em type of hockey” promoted by Cherry has a “negative influence” on the game, and results in a high rate of injuries for players at all levels of the game. Cherry vociferously dismissed the doctor’s claims, citing his own positive contributions to the game. More importantly, though, Cherry rejected any notion of a meaningful dialogue with Dr. Tator, as he has done with numerous critics over the years, instead labelling them media hungry or “left-wing pinkos.” Add this to his lexicon for players whose style of play Cherry dislikes (e.g., “chicken Swedes”), and we have a “charismatic” figure who impedes critical discussion about the state of the game, the risks faced by amateur and professional players, and inclusivity in the game. Instead, he promotes a love of the game, but a love informed by jingoism and aggression. My research interests centre around the sociology of risk, especially the ways in which particular hazards are socially constructed. A brief consideration of Cherry’s case illustrates this body of research.
The suggestion that Cherry bears some responsibility for hockey injuries does not imply that he explicitly advocates hurting other players. What he does, though, is play a central role in setting the tone for the way the game is played. Many coaches and players at all levels tune into “Coach’s Corner,” and cannot help but be influenced when Cherry exalts players for playing a “take-no-prisoners” style of game, or mocks those whose style is based more on speed and finesse than on roughness and toughness. It is in Cherry’s game that he promotes that it makes sense for “enforcers” to have a place in the game, and suffer tremendously for it (see the recent findings of “degenerative brain disease” in the case of the late Reggie Fleming). It is in this game that it makes sense for a player in the Quebec Major Junior League to cross-check an opponent so violently that he was charged with, and convicted of, assault.
Cherry, of course, has an answer to all of these arguments: “stick work” would increase without the fighting (research simply does not support this); the “code” of the game deters players from gratuitously violent acts (simple observation shows this to be wishful thinking at best).
Moreover, notions of consent play a part in how the court handles these cases — the QMJHL player convicted of assault was ultimately given an unconditional discharge because the judge would not oppose a more severe sentence than that received by Todd Bertuzzi, among others.
In what other workplace are assaults considered simply a risk of involvement, something to which one consents by lacing up? And how can we think for a moment that this doesn’t trickle down to young boys and girls who watch the game, whose coaches played for years, and whose nation is deeply caught up in Olympic fever? No one person, not even Cherry, gets credit for the current state of hockey. But he does get credit for being a major obstruction to a dialogue that we desperately need in order for the game that Canada loves to love to evolve so that we have fewer cases like Fleming’s.
Jason Laurendeau is an assistant professor in the Department of Sociology at the University of Lethbridge.
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