by Mark Lazerus
Nine games in, Ray Emery had one of the greatest individual goaltending performances in Blackhawks history, making 47 saves and stopping all three Calgary Flames in the shootout at the Saddledome, allowing the Blackhawks to escape with two points after Hossa scored with less than three seconds left in regulation. Emery made 22 saves in the third period alone, many of them spectacular, or in his words, “scrambly.”
Joel Quenneville somehow was both furious and giddy afterward.
“It was criminal; you’ve got to call the cops after that performance,” he said. “We stole two points. He was spectacular. I’ve never, ever been out-chanced, outplayed like that in my life. It was a special performance.”
Eleven games in, Jamal Mayers provided some long-overdue closure on Raffi Torres’ dirty hit on Hossa in the previous year’s playoffs, hopping the boards and dropping the gloves. Patrick Sharp had three assists in less than four minutes, twice setting up Patrick Kane.
After the third assist, Kane did the unthinkable. He praised Sharp—a guy who never saw a shot he didn’t take, a guy who even named his dog Shooter—for his passing.
“That was the first time he ever came to me after a goal and said, ‘Nice pass,’” Sharp said. “Usually, it’s the other way around.”
Responded Kane: “It kills me to say it. He has become a better passer as time’s gone on.”
Seventeen games in, rookie Brandon Saad’s shorthanded goal beat the Sharks as the Blackhawks set a new record with 17 games to open a season without a regulation loss. Nineteen games in, the Blackhawks rallied from a rare third-period deficit against Edmonton to make it 16–0–3. Twenty games in, Emery had to relieve Corey Crawford, who stumbled off the ice in St. Louis after the first period and didn’t return. All Emery did was make 15 saves to finish the shutout.
“We got thick skin,” Toews said afterward. “Whether there’s momentum going against us, or a call that we didn’t like, or any sort of adversity that might get in our way a little bit, we’ve always been positive, we’ve stuck with it, and we know even if we’re down in a game we can find a way to come back and make it really tough for them to close out the game. We’ve been hungry and determined to win every single game.”
Twenty-one games in, it started to look like they just might do that, as Daniel Carcillo, of all people, scored the game-winning goal in the final minute of regulation to extend the Blackhawks’ streak to 21–0–3—fully half the entire regular season without losing a game in regulation or overtime. Carcillo slid across the ice on his knees in exultation, the group hug that ensued becoming the now-famous image on the Sports Illustrated cover. That night, LeBron James tweeted, “Hey Chicago Blackhawks, u guys are AWESOME!! #streaking”
For Kane, a big basketball fan, that was almost as cool as all the hardware he’s racked up over the years.
“He’s the most coveted athlete in the world in terms of popularity, and he’s talking about us,” Kane said. “Gotta like that.”
By this point, the Blackhawks had become something of a traveling circus. Local media outlets that usually don’t bat an eyelash at the Blackhawks until the playoffs were storming the United Center in droves. National columnists showed up on a nightly basis. Seemingly half the Canadian press corps was tagging along. Even the hockey wasteland of ESPN couldn’t get enough of The Streak, leading SportsCenter with Blackhawks updates on a near game-by-game basis.
Two days after LeBron’s tweet, on March 8, the Blackhawks traveled to Denver to face the Avalanche. They were greeted by a derisive hot take by Denver Post columnist Mark Kiszla, who deemed The Streak “bogus” and “malarkey,” because of the three shootout losses. Blackhawks fans descended on Kiszla online, and the Blackhawks brushed it off publicly. Privately, players were less pleased, with one veteran member of the core going on a profanity-laced tirade after learning about it.
Didn’t matter. All good things must come to an end. You can’t win them all—or, at least, you can’t not-lose-in-regulation-or-overtime them all—and the Blackhawks faceplanted in a 6–2 loss to the Avalanche, who scored five unanswered goals to swiftly end the drama in the second period.
Even the unflappable, unwavering Blackhawks had been feeling the weight of The Streak by that point.
“Maybe the last handful of games, the talk about it kind of got out of control,” Jonathan Toews said with a shrug.
The circus left town after that, not to return until the unforgettable second-round playoff series against the hated Detroit Red Wings.
The Blackhawks’ record-breaking mark of 21–0–3 to start the lockout-shortened 2012–13 season was commemorated on the cover of Sports Illustrated. (© Sports Illustrated)
The second half of the sprint season was utterly meaningless by then, the Blackhawks 10 points clear of the Anaheim Ducks in the Western Conference, and 17 points ahead of the Wings in the Central Division. Yet the Blackhawks pressed on, cruising to an absurd 36–7–5 record, winning the division by 17 points, the conference by 11 points, and the Presidents’ Trophy by five points.
The delirious fun and overbearing attention of The Streak was gone, but the Blackhawks were just getting started.
“When you sit out a lockout and you don’t have hockey, you’re excited to play,” Duncan Keith said. “We’re excited about every game.”
Revenge on Raffi
Marian Hossa said, “I don’t really care.”
Raffi Torres said, “It’s not a big deal.”
Joel Quenneville said, “Getting even is winning the hockey game.”
But Jamal Mayers cared. Jamal Mayers thought it was a big deal. Jamal Mayers thought getting even meant more than just winning.
For 295 days, Mayers had been anticipating his eventual meeting with Torres, after the Coyotes’ agitator sent Hossa off on a stretcher with a terrifying and illegal hit to the head. Torres got a 25-game suspension for the hit, but thanks to the lockout, vengeance had to wait. And wait. And wait.
It finally came on February 7, 2013. And Mayers—the veteran enforcer on a team of young, skilled stars—knew what his job was that night in Glendale, Arizona. He knew 295 days earlier.
“That was going to happen,” Mayers says. “But the toughest part for me is the anticipation. It’s one thing to fight when it’s reactionary, in the moment. It’s another thing to have to think about it for months and months and months leading up to it.”
It didn’t help that Torres, while a menace on the ice, rarely fought. Mayers had a playbook on most of the tough guys around the league, but didn’t know how to prepare for Torres. All he knew was Torres was going to be scared, but that he’s stronger than he looks.
“If it was just any tough guy, I know what I’m going to do,” Mayers says. “And there’s some comfort in knowing what they like to do going into it. But not knowing what he’s going to do, it’s hard. I like to have a solid nap before a game, but that day, I did not have a nap.”
After waiting nearly 10 months, Mayers didn’t have to wait long once the game started. He yelled to Torres from the bench to let him know what was coming, hopped over the boards, and two minutes and 35 seconds into the game, they went at it. Torres at least had the courtesy—perhaps the smarts, given how ducking Mayers might have played out—to oblige him.
It wasn’t much of a fight, with neither player landing any significant punches. But the message was sent, Hossa’s honor was defended, and the hockey world kept spinning.
“I’m glad it happened early,” Mayers says. “I’m glad he knew that it was coming. I wish it would have lasted longer, to be honest with you. But we’ve got to get those kind of hits out of the game, and the part where we self-police will never leave the game.”
And while many fans scoff at staged fights, they can serve a purpose. The fight ended the 10-month saga. There was no other retaliation. No cheap shots. No intents to injure. The matter was closed.
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sp; And it sure seemed to fire up the Blackhawks, who went up 4–0 in the first period and cruised to a 6–2 victory.
Mayers’ teammates talked about the fight for weeks.
“It just shows we’re a close team,” Andrew Shaw said.
“What Jammer did was great for the team,” Ray Emery said.
“It takes a lot of guts to do something like that,” Patrick Sharp said. “That’s the toughest job in the game.”
After all, Mayers was just doing what any teammate would do. Just two nights earlier, in San Jose, future Blackhawks forward Andrew Desjardins crushed Mayers. It was a clean hit, but it came while Mayers was in a vulnerable position. Duncan Keith, not known for his fists, went ballistic on Desjardins. It certainly factored in that Keith’s bad pass put Mayers in that position.
“That was a great play by Duncs,” Hossa said. “You don’t see Duncs fighting at all. It’s nice to see. It just shows the character that’s on the team.”
Mayers still remembers it fondly.
“That goes a long way,” Mayers says. “Obviously, he’s our best defenseman, so we don’t want him fighting. But he saw me get hit in a vulnerable position and he reacted to it. And that kind of thing doesn’t go unnoticed.”
Detroit: Game 4
To say there was an air of confidence in the Blackhawks dressing room during their 99-day lockout-shortened march through the Western Conference in 2013 would be like saying Patrick Kane has pretty good hands, or Andrew Shaw is a little annoying, or Jonathan Toews takes things pretty seriously.
This team wasn’t confident. It was cocky. Arrogant, even. The Blackhawks felt basically invincible. And why not? After their record-setting 21–0–3 start, the Blackhawks not only felt they were the best team in the NHL, they knew it. Occasional losses were shrugged off, slumps were a non-issue, and after coasting through March with a comical lead in the Western Conference standings, the Blackhawks had little doubt they could and would flip the switch and steamroll their way to the Stanley Cup Final.
The Hockey Hall of Fame wasn’t already etching the Blackhawks’ names on the Cup, but the Blackhawks might have let their minds wander to the inevitable summer-long celebration a few times. A ho-hum five-game thumping of the Minnesota Wild in the first round did nothing to change that. A three-goal third period in a 4–1 win over the hated Detroit Red Wings—in their final showdown as division rivals, with the Wings heading to the Eastern Conference the following season—in Game 1 of the second round only lifted expectations even higher.
But five days later, Toews sat in the Joe Louis Arena penalty box and stewed as the world crumbled all around him. Already feeling the weight of a 4–1 Game 2 loss at home and a 3–1 Game 3 loss in Detroit, Toews was in a full-blown meltdown. He took a hooking penalty at 5:20 of the second period. Forty-four seconds after he was freed, he was sent right back to the box for another careless penalty, this time a high-stick that was basically a cross-check to Justin Abdelkader’s jaw. Fifty-one seconds after Detroit’s Jakub Kindl scored on that power play for a 1–0 lead—with one second left in the penalty—Toews was sent off yet again for yet another high-sticking infraction, this one on defenseman Jonathan Ericsson.
Toews lost his mind. He screamed at the officials. He made wild gestures. He slammed his stick against the boards, stomped into the penalty box, and spewed F-bombs at everyone and no one.
Nobody in the Blackhawks organization—not Kane, not Joel Quenneville, not Stan Bowman, not John McDonough, not Rocky Wirtz—feels the weight of the franchise like Toews does. He’s the captain, the face of the franchise, the rock, the guy other players look to for guidance and strength, direction and heart. And perhaps no player in the league is more mentally capable of handling that weight than Toews is. But he’s still human. And he clearly was feeling the pressure as the Blackhawks fell into that hole against Detroit, their coronation suddenly devolving into a dogfight.
Nine games and zero goals into the playoffs, you could hear it in Toews’ voice, as he gritted his teeth through platitudes about just needing a break, just needing to see the puck go in. You could see it in his mannerisms on the bench, leaning forward, head tilted down, eyes glaring upward, taking out his frustration on the poor mouthpiece dangling from his lips. Mr. Calm, Cool, and Collected was antsy, hot-headed, and falling apart on national television.
“That was easily my low point,” Toews says now. “I was feeling some pressure and the offense wasn’t happening and I took a handful of penalties in one shot. As a captain and as part of this team, I was feeling that I wasn’t bringing what I needed to do.”
Enter Brent Seabrook.
Toews may be the Blackhawks captain, and deservedly so. But Seabrook always has been its beating heart. Seabrook’s the guy who stands up and talks in the dressing room. Seabrook’s the guy pounding everyone’s fists as they walk out of the room and down the tunnel—so hard that it catches new guys and rookies off guard every time. Seabrook’s the team’s soul.
And so Seabrook took the extraordinary step of skating over to the penalty box, stepping inside with one foot, forcefully patting Toews on the head a few times, and telling him to, well, to chill the hell out.
“You could see the frustration in his eyes,” Seabrook says. “He’s a heart-and-soul-type guy and I think he was frustrated with being in the penalty box and putting us down in a big part of the game. I think our whole team was frustrated, and I sort of just needed to let him know it’s okay, we’ll get it figured out.”
A physical force on the blue line, Brent Seabrook has also been the soul of the dynasty-era Blackhawks. (Newscom)
“He let me know it didn’t matter,” Toews says. “That we were going to get through it together. And he ended up scoring the overtime goal in Game 7, and to me, that was fitting.”
The Blackhawks lost the game 2–0, and Toews again faced reporters, defiantly saying that he would start scoring again, that the Blackhawks would start winning again, that the world wasn’t ending. Even if it felt like it was.
“Eventually, something’s got to give,’’ he said after the game. “We’re too good of a team. We’ve got too much talent. For as hard as we’re working, something’s got to go our way.’’
And sure enough, Seabrook was right in the end. Toews scored a huge power-play goal in a therapeutic Game 5 victory at the United Center, and the Blackhawks went on to win Games 6 and 7 to complete the epic comeback.
It wasn’t the only time Seabrook had to play captain for the captain. Toews ended his scoring drought with a big goal in Game 5, but then went another 10 games without a goal, through the first three games of the Stanley Cup Final against Boston. The Blackhawks trailed 2–1 to the Bruins, and while Toews didn’t have any more on-ice meltdowns, he was again feeling that pressure, that weight.
Seabrook again pulled him aside, this time in private. And this time, it wasn’t for a pep talk. It was for a wake-up call. Reporters and pundits were largely letting Toews off the hook for his lack of goals, because he’s so good at every other aspect of the game—from faceoffs to penalty-killing to shutting down the opponents’ top players.
Seabrook was having none of it.
“I was sick and tired of hearing about everything Jonny’s doing right,” Seabrook says. “I just told him he’s got to stop thinking about that, too. Stop thinking about everything he’s doing right and start worrying about not scoring goals. He’s got to score goals for us.”
Toews did score the next day in Game 4, and the Blackhawks didn’t lose another game. Kane won the Conn Smythe that spring for his scoring explosion in the final two rounds. Corey Crawford probably should have won it for his brilliant play in all four rounds. But Seabrook—beyond his Game 7 heroics—was the Blackhawks’ unsung hero during that playoff run. Whether it was with a comforting pat, a wrist-buckling fist bump, or a verbal smack upside the head, Seabrook reminded Toews and the rest of h
is teammates that the Cup wasn’t just the Blackhawks’ goal in 2013, it was their destiny.
“As a team, we always kind of knew that we had a special group,” Toews says. “And the more you win going forward after that, I think the more invincible you feel. It doesn’t matter where a team gets you in a series, you feel there’s always a way out. We found that way out.”
Detroit: Game 5
As they filed into the dressing room and put down their phones and sat attentively at their stalls to listen to Joel Quenneville and the Blackhawks coaching staff try to buck up their spirits, an uneasy feeling settled over the players. Thanks to the lockout and their ridiculous start to the season, it had been more than a year since the Blackhawks truly had played a must-win game. Now, suddenly down 3–1 to the Red Wings—their captain in emotional tatters, their season in jeopardy, their future uncertain—the Blackhawks faced three such games in a row.
So Quenneville went around the room and asked if any of the players had ever come back from a 3–1 deficit before, at any level. It just so happened that Jamal Mayers had, in St. Louis, with Quenneville as his coach. So Mayers talked a bit. Quenneville talked a bit. A few others talked a bit. It was nice, but it was hardly the stuff of Hollywood. Nobody was ready to storm out of the room in a rage, Blutarsky style, to take on the world.
After the meeting, Mayers—a highly regarded veteran but a guy who played just 19 regular-season games and zero playoff games that season—requested that the coaches leave the room so he could have the floor. Over the past couple of weeks, as he sat in the press box for game after game, Mayers had come to the difficult realization that this was his last hurrah. And he wasn’t ready to become a civilian just yet.
First came the pep talk.
“We’re a team that won 24 games straight,” he told the room. It wasn’t exactly true, but everyone got the point. “We could make excuses. We could say we ran into a great goaltender. We can say all the things we want. But we won 24 straight games. We can get more out of each other. We can do more. We can play harder.”