The Makings of “The Making of a Goon”
In the late 1900s, especially from the 1970s to the turn of the millennium, the role of the enforcer was a prominent one in the game of men’s ice hockey. Often known as “goons,” goons were forwards whose primary role was hitting hard and hitting often. If there was a fight to be had on the ice, it generally involved at least one goon; fights would happen for various reasons, whether it be to reinvigorate a team, to dole out justice referees had failed to provide, to scare opponents away from the puck, or for some other reason.
One of the most noteworthy goons of the (late) 1980s and 1990s was Joseph “Joe” Kocur. A native of Kelvington, Saskatchewan, Canada, he formed his reputation with the Detroit Red Wings, put his name in hockey history by winning the Stanley Cup with the 1994 New York Rangers, and cemented it there by winning two more Cups with the 1997 and 1998 Detroit Red Wings following a homecoming. (Emphasis added to indicate the end of significant championship droughts for those years.) Kocur was known for the strength of his punches, having a history of occasionally injuring players who dared challenge him in fights.
Thanks to writer for The National Sports Daily Johnette Howard, readers of the modern day have insight into not just the threat he posed on ice but also what life was like for Kocur himself, as well other goons and hockey culture in general, shown in her 1990 piece “The Making of a Goon.” Granted, it is an edited history of events; not only was Howard likely selective in the quotes she utilized in her story but also humans’ memories are imperfect, meaning everything that may have been relevant to such a piece was not necessarily at the author’s disposal on account of players being unable to recall it. That said, the story was shown care, as it goes as far back as Kocur’s origins in ice hockey.
Before becoming the “the Mike Tyson of the NHL,” Kocur played for the Saskatoon Blades of the Western Hockey League, a junior hockey league in — you guessed it — Western Canada. There, he was an above average goal scorer, but at age 15, he was given a piece of advice that “if he wanted to make hockey a paying career, he had better start fighting with his fists.” The casual attitude with which he was told this, as though it was perfectly normal advice, speaks to the culture he was about to be thrust into; he complied with the direction nonetheless, and from there, he became a known fighter. “Word of his savagery preceded him — ‘like wildfire,’ Kocur says.”
The aforementioned casual attitude is truly what lies at the heart of the article, though. Time and time again, something horrible is written about, a quote is given on the matter from a related party, and the speaker is relatively unfazed. This is where an overwhelming majority of the article’s characterization comes from. For example, later in his junior career, Kocur got in a fight with Bruce Holloway of the then-Kamloops Junior Oilers.
Bill LaForge, said back then: “Kocur took a couple real tough shots that didn’t faze him, then he came back and threw a bomb that, I’m sure, Bruce will remember the rest of his life.” The other guys on Kocur’s team remarked later how he seemed changed as he lunged after Holloway. At that moment, the Saskatoon kids said, Joey Kocur was someone they did not know.”
“I just got mad. After that, it was odd because I didn’t really know what had happened to him, didn’t know what to do — it was the first time, you know? I just remember standing there, thinking, ‘Geez, what do I do? Do I hold him up? Do I hit him again? Should I just keep fighting or let him go?’ But the refs jumped in quick and the trainers came out running.”
The juxtaposition of these two quotes in this piece is exactly the point. One moment, you have someone sustaining an injury that, if it does not physically affect them long term, will still affect them mentally. The next moment, you have a hockey player brushing it off as part of the usual because everything around them is continuing on like it was normal. Another example can be seen from when Kocur eventually made it to the NHL, thanks to a quote from his coach.
“Outsiders look at these guys and marvel at how they keep coming back, coming back, playing with broken noses and their jaws wired shut,” Red Wings Coach Jacques Demers says. “But it’s funny — as a coach, you almost get used to it. They skate off and take stitches and sometimes they just miss one or two shifts. You look and they’re back in there. They’re tough.”
Not everyone is ignorant to the danger that constantly exists around the players, though. For example, Howard writes that “every hockey trainer’s black bag contains a pair of forceps, just in case the impact of a collision causes a player to swallow his tongue.” Furthermore, prior to “the 1974–75 season, the players’ union asked owners to ban fighting for one year […]” Their request was denied, but it demonstrates that some parties directly involved wanted something done about the big, strong men that were punching other players in the head while knives were attached to their feet.
In many pieces of sports writing, sports is sometimes portrayed as an escape from life. In a somewhat amusing twist, here, sports are presented as life. It is something they must succeed at and then stay good at to maintain their position; specifically, they must stay good at what got them where they are. Take it from Kocur himself; plenty of times, he would drop a line about it being his lifestyle.
“I know the day I start playing a fancy hockey game without hitting anyone, without fighting, is the day I’ll either get sent down or released from the game,” Kocur says. “It’s put food in my belly. It’s what has kept me in this game…”
When he looks at his role now, Kocur says, “I guess I enjoy it. But I don’t want to sound like an animal, like my sole intention is to hurt somebody permanently. I just look at it as a job that I’m paid to do. And my job is not to lose. I won’t fight dirty. I won’t jump someone from behind. But when I go to hit someone, I want to hit him in the face. I’m trying to hit as hard as I can. And a few times it has happened that someone got hurt.”
Demers recognized this was his players’ shared reality, too.
“You’ve got to understand some things about the fighter’s job,” says Demers. “Tough guys in this league are under a tremendous amount of pressure. Unfortunately, many of them are untalented except for fighting, and they’ve gotten here the hard way. And once you’re recognized as a tough guy in this league, you go from having targets to becoming one.
“As long as you’re beating up somebody, the fans are cheering and shouting our name. But the first time you lose one, everyone gets down on you. You have to be fearless. I’ve seen guys lose just once, and pretty soon they just sort of fade away.”
This is what people refer to when they discuss “sports as a culture.” This is hockey culture (at least for a large portion of the Expansion Era and the beginning of the Dead Puck Era). These are the customs and social institutions of the NHL, laid out for readers to see. No one bats an eye at it because to them, it is just the way things are.
For one brief moment at the end of Howard's article, though, the wool is pulled from over the eyes of Kocur. While in coach’s office, he is watching a $45 VCR (about $105 in 2022 dollars) of a “Best of” compilation featuring his fights and those of ex-Red Wing Robert “Bob” Probert, the fights spanning from 1983 to 1989 (the year of the article’s writing). After a small crowd forms around him while he does so, he speaks.
“Hey, did any of you guys see ‘Sports Final Edition’ last night on TV? They had this story about people in sports who’ve injured other athletes. And one of the guys was this NFL linebacker that got hurt by Freeman McNeil, this running back for the Jets who had to block him and blew out the guy’s knee.”
Kocur tells the crowd that, later on, McNeil would call the linebacker and apologize, but also, McNeil never played as well as he previously had after that incident.
“In the end,” Kocur says, “this linebacker says that, to him, that makes Freeman McNeil a good guy, you know? A real person.”
Later, when the office has cleared and the door is shut, Kocur is asked if the linebacker’s story made him think. Reluctantly, Kocur says, “Well, yeah. I thought about it.”
There is a long pause. When he doesn’t continue he is asked, “Would you like to share what you thought?”
Without looking away from the TV or the silent fighting still going on, Joe Kocur says, “No.”
To most readers, it is probably clear that Kocur relates to the story from Sports Final Edition, at least a bit. At the very least, it would be hard for it to not come to mind while watching clip after clip of him committing acts of violence against opponents. Even still, with the perfect opportunity to provide reflection outwardly, he keeps it within, per the norms of hockey culture. Funny enough, this attitude of things around him always being run-of-the-mill extends off the ice, too.
Kocur was asked about what he thought of the article after its publishing; Howard said, “He said he thought it was OK.”
