"The most storied and treasured trophy in all of the sports."
That's what Gary Bettman called what he's charged with handing out each summer to the NHL's championship captain. And later in his half-hour press conference and a subsequent media call yesterday, he called it "cherished." Another time, it was "coveted." On yet another, he described how "this is what our fans want, to see that great trophy raised."
The man never once called the Stanley Cup by its name. Maybe, I'm guessing, because there was no need. There never is. Its tradition preceded Bettman, just as it preceded all other commissioners and, hey, the NHL itself.
Oh, and you know what he didn't call the Cup?
"A piece of metal."
Yeah, I'm going there today. As if the comparative trajectories of the NHL and Major League Baseball aren't carrying us there either way.
One's on the way up. The other's hellbent on heading out. As in out of the public consciousness for good. And not just in Pittsburgh anymore.
I'd been critical of Bettman for being too passive, too apparently complacent in waiting to see what other leagues, notably the out-of-season NFL and his arena counterparts at the NBA, would do first. But the Bettman who spoke yesterday did so with authority, with the right mix of confidence and caution regarding safety, and he became, in fact, the first to put forth a real plan toward resuming an existing season.
Not that he or anyone should plant any such flag. But it's still something. It's still noteworthy that, unlike his peers, Bettman had a solid enough relationship with Donald Fehr and the players' union -- despite massive upheaval in the past -- that all concerned could quietly come up with the firmest, smartest scenario yet for a return to sports.
The NHL's got the lowest national profile of the four major sports and, in turn, the least revenue. Because its national TV money lags badly, in particular, it's got by far the most to lose from a return.
"Tens of millions" was as far as Bettman would take a response to that question yesterday.
And yet, the NHL will be back, pending the resolution of matters that are comparatively minor. "It won't make everyone happy," as Bettman maturely acknowledged, and he's right. The 24-team tournament is unsightly and will undoubtedly bring an ugly upset or two. The two-city hub system feels more like a science project than a playoff. The biosphere approach will surely have players uncomfortable, away from family for weeks, even months.
In the end, the Cup will be etched anew.
Why?
Because it's expected. Because it's wanted. By the league, by the teams, by the players and by their fans.
If that sounds like I'm guilty of over-simplification or being too sappy about a sporting culture, so be it. Hockey's intense, passionate and largely younger fan following comes with far more of a familial feel. The playoffs, the championship, the raising and distribution of the Cup ... it's not something just for the fans of the participants. The whole hockey world watches. The whole hockey world applauds. It's a community far more than it's a consumer base.
Anyone who was inside Mellon Arena in 2008 knows what I'm talking about. It's the one time the Cup was awarded on Pittsburgh ice and, painful as it was to witness the Red Wings doing the raising, most everyone in the old Igloo stayed, stood, even cheered as Nicklas Lidstrom and Co. whooped it up.
Hockey just hits different, as the cool kids say.
Baseball hasn't hit this way in most of America, certainly not in Pittsburgh, for decades.
Attendance is down. Ratings are way down. Youth participation's way, way down. Even the star recognition's faded so badly that Mike Trout could walk uninterrupted through Market Square. At lunch time. Bearing a flashing-neon sign that reads 'I AM BASEBALL'S BEST PLAYER.'
There are countless reasons for this, each capable of filling its own column: Games are too long, too slow, with too few balls put in play. The lack of a salary cap crushes hopes for one-third of all teams before the first pitch is thrown. The players ... don't all deserve to be branded like Blake 'I gotta get my money' Snell, but there's more of a clubhouse focus on finances in baseball, from my own experience, than all other sports combined. Gerrit 'technically unemployed' Cole was minutes removed from the Astros' elimination from the World Series when he wondered aloud if he should grant interviews since he was suddenly a pending free agent.
It takes observers a while, but eventually, they figure it out. Even the most devoted. They turn cold, too. They turn away.
Rob Manfred sure hasn't helped. He's every bit as lawyerly in his role as his old bud, Frank Coonelly, was here, and it's a terrible fit for a position that once held outsized prominence in our country. At times, also like Coonelly, he's been outright embarrassing. As with his bid to diminish baseball's grass-roots minor-league systems. As with his bungling of the Astros' cheating scandal. And never more than with the 'piece of metal' debacle back in February.
If anyone's forgotten that, Manfred was doing an ESPN interview and defending his decision to not strip Houston of the 2017 championship when he blurted out, "The idea of an asterisk or asking for a piece of metal back seems like a futile act.”
Which brought outrage the next day from players, not least of whom was the Dodgers' always colorful Justin Turner ...
Justin Turner was honest in his response to Comissioner Manfred’s statements about the Commissioner’s Trophy pic.twitter.com/3leAZKGOoG
— Nikki Kay (@NikkiKaySN1) February 17, 2020
Alright... y’all want another video of my thoughts on this or would you rather I just “shut up and play baseball”??
— Trevor Bauer (@BauerOutage) May 27, 2020
The #NHL's season ending stats leaders:
Art Ross Trophy - Leon Draisaitl (110 pts)
Rocket Richard Trophy - Pastrnak & Oveckhin (48)
D-Man Scoring: John Carlson (75 pts)
Rookie Scoring - Quinn Hughes (53 pts)
Points per 60 - Evgeni Malkin (3.43)
Shutouts: Connor Hellebuyck (6)
— Randip Janda (@RandipJanda) May 26, 2020
