This article is presented by Antonio’s Italian Cucina

 

One of my earliest memories as a sports fan was the March 1997 brawl between the Av’s and Wings at Joe Louis Arena. To regale you with the details of that fight, what precipitated it, the bad blood, and all of that would be pointless- it’s been the subject of countless ESPN pieces, Fox Sports Detroit B Reel footage, and Podcast interviews. To be honest, I don’t even remember any of the details of the game. I remember sitting on the floor with my mom and dad at our old house in Sterling Heights, in the dark, with the clean white light of the ice cutting sharply through the darkness. I remember my dad yelling passionately, and in turn, my heart racing, as bodies collided on the ice. The image that stands out the most to me (although I could’ve just convinced myself I saw it, considering the amount of times I’ve watched Youtube compilations of the fight), is Vernon and Roy fighting each other at mid-ice. Even though I barely understood the rules of hockey as a five year old, I knew that goalies shouldn’t fight each other, so this fight was really serious. My dad came up behind me, pointed at the screen, and in his fervor, I found myself beginning to jump up and down, cheering for the Red Wings to beat up those scumbag Avalanche players. The whole event, thinking back to it, feels like the scene in Lord of the Flies where all the boys begin chanting in the rain and end up tearing apart their friend, Simon. It was a flurry of noise, violence, and blood spilled on the blank sheet of ice; a display of the raw emotions of excitement and passion. As the story goes, this became the catalyst to one of the greatest runs in all of professional sports- the Red Wings would go on to win the championship in 97, 98, and 2001- and it was imprinted on me that the Red Wings were the pride of Detroit. We flew (as did seemingly everyone in Metro-Detroit) our car flag proudly on our sea blue 1996 Plymouth Voyager, and going to see Red Wings games became like a pilgrimage. We would eat at Hockeytown Cafe, drive to the circular parking deck by The Post bar, and this nervous excitement would take over me- like I was getting to see legends in person. And at the center of this entire worldview I had constructed for myself; the world where adults, people on TV, teachers, and even our priests at Catholic mass all worshipped and praised the same team, stood one figure overseeing all.

 

Steve Yzerman.

 

He was “The Captain”; the steady hand that remained loyal to Detroit despite all the criticism, and handled every situation with grace and class. My mom and all my aunts (and probably every Midwestern housewife, if we’re being honest) talked about how handsome he was, and it was only tolerated by the men in my family because, well, he’s a “damn good hockey player who plays the game the right way”. I remember one of my teachers even named her dog Stevie! For some reason, that blew my mind as a kid. Like, I didn’t realize you could name dogs after athletes, let alone one of the like 10 athletes that I knew (who does that- naming a dog after a hockey player). It felt as though he almost cultivated this God-like presence in everyone’s mind; and being a rebellious shit of a child, I always claimed that he was “boring” compared to all the other players on those legendary Red Wings teams. Federov, Shanahan, McCarty; later, Hull, Hasek, and Lidstrom- these were all Red Wings that played with style and sex appeal, unlike Yzerman, who was just.. Bleh. I’d even sub him out for Larionov in NHL Hitz 2002 for Playstation 2, because my parents let me stay up to watch Larionov’s 3 OT goal in the 2002 Stanley Cup Finals against the Carolina Hurricanes and I thought that it was so cool that I got to stay up super late. Plus, his back-handed goal was nasty in that OT winner.

 

It wasn’t until the end of his playing career that I began to gain perspective on Steve Yzerman, and why he was so beloved by Detroiters and the NHL. Towards the end, it felt like the guy could barely skate. Laboring on the ice, he could still make savvy passes, but it felt like watching your beloved family dog from when you were a kid get too old to walk up and down the stairs. I became an avid reader in my later elementary years, and my parents got me a subscription to ESPN The Magazine (RIP). One of the featured articles was a story about Steve Yzerman, and his off-the-ice work with a kid dying of cancer. The twist in the article, if you’ve never heard of it, is that the kid doesn’t actually have cancer, and this kid’s piece of shit dad lied to manipulate Yzerman into giving them sticks, autographs, tickets, etc. It’s a real heartwarming story; the kind that, even as an eight year old, made me think “wow, get a load of this fucking guy”. But what made the story stick with me so much was reading Yzerman’s reaction. He wasn’t mad, or upset, or really anything. The piece details that Yzerman just said the whole situation was “really bizarre” and that “I’m not going to stop reaching out,” to the kid, because it wasn’t really the kid’s fault that his dad manipulated him. I think about that reaction often, especially when I feel personally slighted or wronged in some way. For anyone, regardless of position or celebrity or fame, to take such a high road when there’s a clear moral wrong, speaks volumes to their character. That story, coupled with the sacrifice of health and body, really made me start to get why he was simply referred to as “The Captain”, and as players like Hull and Robitaille slowly left the Red Wings, there was one who stayed until he physically couldn’t anymore. In 2008 when I bought my first real hockey jersey (not the shitty replica ones in the Meijer clothing section), I knew who I had to get. 

 

Since those early days, the Red Wings became the anchor to my sports identity. You don’t need to be an avid sports fan to know that Detroit has historically been plagued with mediocrity, and my lifetime has been a textbook to this. The Tigers were largely ass in the 90s and early aughts, and despite the magic of that 2006 postseason run (the Magglio walk-off home run is still one of the greatest sports moments of my life), and the infamous Verlander, Scherzer, Fister, Porcello, Sanchez photo, it all felt like it amounted to nothing- no championships, and a bunch of smart asses going “gee, how come you couldn’t win a World Series with THAT rotation” Answer? We couldn’t hit a fucking baseball to save our life, and our bullpen imploded. Thanks Jose Valverde. I was born in ‘92, so the Bad Boys era was over, and the Jerry Stackhouse/Grant Hill era didn’t yield much excitement, other than a Sprite commercial. The “Going to Work” Pistons were fun for sure, but despite how great those teams were, only having one championship to show for it feels like we fell short of true greatness. The Detroit Lions, as I’m sure you know, were an absolute fucking dumpster fire for the majority of my formative years. I honestly don’t remember Barry Sanders (except when my Uncle would get drunk on Thanksgiving and start playing homemade VHS tapes of Barry highlight runs), and the entire 2000’s were just one embarrassing shit show after another. Even when the Lions would make the playoffs with Matt Stafford, it felt like we were just inevitable fodder for the Saints, Seahawks, or the referees (Fuck you forever on that Brandon Pettigrew non-PI call). But the Red Wings? That was a team that meant something. An Original Six team with absolute legends throughout its history, multiple Stanley Cup championships, and consistent playoff appearances well into my adult life. This was a team that commanded respect, and it was a team that I felt proud to call my own. Some of my best memories in college were getting drunk in Kalamazoo (Go Broncos) with my friends from Chicago, and watching the Wings and Blackhawks battle it out in the playoffs. Despite losing those series- that Game 7 still haunts me- it honestly felt like the Red Wings dynasty would never end, and I would always be able to watch meaningful hockey well into April and May.

 

And then, reality began to sink in.

 

I moved down to Atlanta in 2014 to get a job, because, quite frankly, I was a broke 21 year old who would’ve rather taken any meaningful employment with health benefits and retirement plan than dead-end contracting work in Metro-Detroit. Sports were always my way of connecting with people and so, when people asked me where I was from, I would respond with “Detroit”, and probably out of the niceness of southerners, they’d always respond with “oh yeah, I remember watching the Red Wings- does (insert player who retired 8 years ago) still play for them?” I leaned into this identifying factor, and when NHL season started up, I’d wear my Red Wings jersey on casual Fridays and strike up idle conversation about how the Wings were looking for that year. This was in the twilight of the Zetterberg and Datsyuk years, when they were good enough to make playoffs, but would inevitably end up as cannon-fodder for the (in a cruel twist of fate) Steve Yzerman-led Tampa Bay Lightning in the first or second round. As the years went on, and the now famous Kenny Holland comment of “less can be more exciting” started to sink in, a stark realization occurred that the glory years of my youth were over. The Wings missed the playoffs for the first time in my life, Zetterberg and Datsyuk retired, and all of the Detroit sports seemed to be entering dark days. My brightest point of hope was the Matt Patricia led Detroit Lions, which was snuffed out abruptly on Monday night against Sam D’Arnold. It wasn’t until April 19, 2019, that I had any real sense of “hey, maybe things would be alright.” Stevie was coming home to be the GM of the Detroit Red Wings.

 

I, like everyone else, was thrilled at this signing. Seeing his success in Tampa, watching him interact with journalists that covered him from his playing days, it felt like a return to Halcyon days. It didn’t matter that our top forwards included Flippula, Adam Erne, and Frans Nielsen; it was a short-term sacrifice for long-term benefit. It all was a part of “The Yzerplan”- the idea that we would eat shit with short-term contracts of aging, but competent NHL players, while we drafted and developed young talent. I remember when we drafted some German defenseman named “Moritz Seider” in Yzerman’s first year as GM,. But when he won the Calder and proved to be not just a competent defenseman, but a legitimate cornerstone franchise player to build around, I felt at ease knowing that, hey, things are going to be alright.

 

It felt like everything Yzerman touched turned to gold. Picks like Raymond, Edvinsson, Solderblom, Johansson- they all held immense promise. Even trading away guys like Jacob De La Rose and Anthony Mantha netted huge returns for promising talent in Robby Fabbri and Jakub Vrana. Adding in some pieces like Alex Nedeljkovic, who at the time felt like an underrated and underappreciated goaltender, made me start to believe that The Yzerplan was in overdrive, and that the prospect of returning to meaningful hockey in late April was going to be a “sooner rather than later”. Once Blashill was fired, and Lalonde (part of the Tampa coaching tree) was brought in, it felt like “okay, now shit is about to get real”. And then, shit did indeed get real. The beginning of the 2022-2023 season felt like, okay, let’s see The Yzerplan in full effect. Our top line looked legitimately nasty, with Bertuzzi, Larkin, and Vrana projected to be a real threat to other teams, and the defense, with actual NHL talent in Oli Matta and Ben Chariot alongside Moritz Seider, felt like we could actually contend for a playoff spot. But, as the season went on, and Vrana dropped off the face of the earth for off-the-ice issues, and our defense/goaltending looked legitimately shell-shocked at points, we slid to 7th in the Atlantic, and out of a playoff spot. The 2023-2024 season, which seemed a bit like a retool instead of a major shakeup, felt much of the same until the signing of Patrick Kane, which proved like a shot in the arm to my fandom. Riding a hot handed Alex Lyon- which felt like another 4D chess move by Steve Yzerman to keep Tampa Bay from acquiring a goalie in the midst of their net-minded roulette in the beginning of the year- the Wings would go on these crazy win streaks when they looked unbeatable; and lulls where they couldn’t find a point if it was flung at them. That season came down to the final game, when we unceremoniously won in a shootout in OT, only to have Washington win in regulation, sealing our fate as missing the playoffs by the slimmest of margins.

 

I sat over last summer, firing back trade scenarios with my brother to try and address ways our team could improve. It felt like we were so close, and the Yzerplan had almost come to fruition, that there could just be one or two moves we’d make that would really put us over the top. But, like many others, I was dumbfounded by a notification that the Red Wings had traded away Jake Wallman for next to nothing. “Okay” I thought, “surely this is part of some masterclass move to free up space to go get Trouba or something like that”. And when the days turned into weeks, and no move was made, most of us were left wondering “okay, what was the point of all that?” It felt like a legitimate questioning of The Yzerplan, and for the first time since his hiring,  the discourse surrounding the direction of the Detroit Red Wings seemed to be one of pessimism and doubt. The Red Wings started the 2024-2025 season in the most limp-dick way possible, playing uninspiring hockey, and to be quite honest, I couldn’t even muster the enthusiasm to tune in. It wasn’t just that the on-ice performance was bad; it felt like we were legitimately stuck in this purgatory of watching middling talent occupy spots that could be taken up by younger, more exciting players. On top of that, I had to almost disassociate with the “highlights” (lowlights?) I was seeing on social media. Six years into Yzerman as GM, the guy that was supposed to be the prodigal son of the Detroit Red Wings, the anchor to my sports identity, and this was what I was watching? The cognitive dissonance was unresolvable.

 

And the day after Christmas, I got the notification that the Red Wings had hired Mclellan as coach- an interesting rhetorical spin- and for the first time all season, I felt intrigued by the prospect of meaningful hockey. Mclellan obviously had connections to some meaningful parts of Detroit Red Wings history, being the assistant coach to Babcock on the 08 Stanley Cup team, and had kind of a reputation for being a red-ass. But seeing some lineup decisions being made that were definitely a departure from the Lalonde era, reports of practice going on for longer than 30 minutes, and some much anticipated ice-time for Yzerman draft picks, it felt like, okay- maybe we’re back on track. Stringing together some win streaks definitely helped the vibes of the team.

 

This was, of course, short-lived. Shortly after the Four Nations tournament, the team looked flat- a combination of injuries, exhaustion, and maybe some overall apathy kicked in, and after dropping pivotal back-to-back games against Columbus and Ottawa, the Wings season ended quietly and uneventful. After what feels like the third of fourth season in a row of this happening, many are questioning the Yzerplan, and Steve Yzerman’s leadership in general.

The Yzerplan has to work, because there really doesn’t feel like an Option B. Prior to the Mclellan hiring, there was legitimate discussion about whether or not Yzerman needed to be the GM moving forward. With the shortcomings of the Red Wings season, those conversations are heating up again. I certainly understood people’s frustration at the mediocrity on the ice, but to actually think about the consequence of firing Steve Yzerman- The Captain, a first ballot NHL Hall of Famer, and a guy who has his jersey in the rafters next to hockey royalty like Gordie Howe- is almost unfathomable. To let him go because “it didn’t work out” is almost like putting a giant asterisk next to his name in any discussion moving forward; a glaring blemish on what is otherwise a pristine record of excellence. I don’t think we’re ready to have the discussion of what happens if the Yzerplan doesn’t work out, because in all honesty, I don’t know what the backup plan is.

 

-The Professor