Gord Strate played for the Detroit Red Wings when there were only six teams in the NHL so it was a big deal when he started playing for the Fort St. John Flyers. I wasn’t very old when I started going to Flyers games with my dad and grandpa but I can still remember the night that I watched Gord calmly carry the puck up the ice while blood dripped down the side of his face. His head was up, his Brylcreemed hair was perfect (he wore no helmet), and he was in control. He was cool to say the least. I don’t know for sure but I’m guessing that if he’d needed to be stitched up that night it would have been done in the dressing room between periods and he would have continued the game.

Over the years I played in quite a few hockey games and, although I’m able to say that I never lost any teeth, I ended up with stitches in my face of several occasions. Each time I tried hard to be like Gord Strate when the bleeding started.

Most of my lacerations were caused by sticks and pucks (and on one occasion, even a skate) during on-ice “action”. Most of my stitches made for good stories which, especially if a couple of beers were involved, could become great stories.

However, the very last time I needed stitches didn’t happen quite the same way. I was playing in an recreation league tournament at the Kid’s Arena in Fort St. John. I’d just come off the ice after what was probably a long shift. I was sitting on the bench huffing and puffing with my head almost touching my knees when I heard one of my teammates shout, “Duck!”. Being both alert and inquisitive, I sat up quickly to see why.

The puck skimmed over the edge of the boards and hit me just below my right eye. I don’t remember it knocking me backwards off the bench, but the boys watching from up in the beer gardens said it did.

Other than a bit of a sting it really didn’t hurt much, but because it was right on the cheek bone the skin split open a bit dramatically and bled quite a bit. I was on the bench holding a towel over the cut when one of the fellows from the beer garden showed up behind the bench to help out. Mike (sadly, I don’t remember his last name), who had been a trainer when I played for the Flyers, took a look and then made a couple of butter-fly bandages from a roll of white hockey tape. They seemed to work fine, so I continued playing.

A few shifts later I was out on the ice taking a face-off. The linesman dropped the puck and my opponent and I both swept at it. Our sticks connected with the puck at the very same time sending it straight up between us. The other guy batted it out of the air with his glove and, quite by accident, bounced it off of the cheek bone just below my other eye. The cut was small enough that it didn’t need so much as a band-aid but I was pretty sure it would leave a mark.

After the game, and a quick visit to the beer gardens, Deb drove me up to the hospital. I was given nine stitches and a bit of a scolding by the doctor for using hockey tape instead of a real bandage.

The next day two black eyes were looking back at me as I stood in front of the mirror brushing my teeth. Being a junior high school vice principal at the time, I was pretty sure my eyes would receive some attention when I got to work that morning. I was right. There were lots of looks and several comments but one comment in particular has stuck with me. As I met a young science teacher in the doorway to the staffroom she looked at me with what seemed to be teary eyes and said, “Oh, Larry… that is a stay-at-home-face.”

It turns out she may have been right. I guess getting two black eyes in the same game sounded a bit far-fetched to some, so they speculated about what else may have happened over the weekend. For example, Deb, who was teaching at the high school at the time, heard more than one student share his idea that I’d been in a bar fight of some sort. The truth is I didn’t try really hard to dispel the rumours… wanting to maintain my “tough guy” image.  🙂

Since then I’ve only had to get stitches once. I cut my thumb with a utility knife while working with drywall. It’s really hard to make that into a good story, let alone a great one. 😦

Post Script:  Gord Strate passed away in 2012. At that time I posted some words on my Peace River North blog about how he, and several other Flyers had been such wonderful role models. Click here if you are interested.